9.30.2003: Random Signals
For those of you who have read past installments, you will know I mentioned that we may be getting a foster child in our home soon. That fell through, at least for this specific child. And that's all I really want to say on that subject, thank you.
On a lighter note, here's a way to entertain your coworkers: if the elevator in your building has handrails on the sides, use them to do ballet stretches. This is especially effective if the elevator is empty when you get on and there are people waiting on the next floor as you do your stretches.
From two extremes back to the median: I recently got myself a cell phone (Ok, technically, a PCS phone.) It doesn't do me a lot of good at work, though. I work in a big stone and iron building on an Army base on an island in the Mississippi river. Signal strength is not great no matter whose service you have. Can you hear me now? BLIP --hello? Hello?
This is something of a departure for me. For a long time I was in the camp of those who were not comfortable with the idea of holding a high-powered transmitter up to my skull. My own personal conspiracy theory said that the proliferation of so many wireless devices over the last couple decades must have something to do with the appearance of diseases like Alzheimer's and such.
I finally gave in to the inevitable: there are so many random TV, Radio, Cellular, PCS, Microwave, Ham Radio, Remote Control, Satellite, and GPS signals out there it probably no longer matters how close your brain is to the transmitter anymore. If it's gonna fry, it'll happen whether you can be reached away from home or not. So why withhold the convenience from myself any longer?
That's all I really had to say today, but I wanted to write something before we left on vacation. To compensate for this brevity I will close with my favorite poem rather than a simple quote. I got this from the liner notes of the Was (Not Was) album "Born to Laugh at Tornadoes" (which could be the subject of a whole rant in itself.) There was no author listed, I would be greatly indebted to anyone who can provide me the name of the author of this marvelous little work. I like it because the latter half reflects my own attitude towards life (and with a buildup like that, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.)
Poet:
Crowds give me the jitters.
One look at them and--Boom!--
My spirit turns to loose change.
And they'll get you turning
Cartwheels if you let them get too close.
No--I'd prefer a quiet cloud
In Heaven to this noisy tenement.
Living on love and friendship...
What else does a poet need?
What you hear in your heart,
The clumsy truths that stumble
Past your teeth half-naked
Are smothered by the
Ticking of a clock.
It takes years to
Dress them in a
Time-proof suit.
Toys are made for the moment.
What's genuine outlive galaxies.
Clown:
Rust-proof truths, eh?
If I hear another word
About posterity, I'll flip.
There's a crowd waiting--
Who's going to entertain them, you?
They can tell you'd rather
Sit on a tombstone groaning
Than juggle or joke
Lighten up, my brother,
Listen to that applause!
Go ahead--be a noble fellow,
Vent your every fantasy.
Squeeze your heart dry--
But, take heed:
Nietzche died a lonely madman--
Jerry Lewis has his own telethon.-- Unknown
