Yesterday the wife and I went to the Memorial Day observances at the Yankee Air Museum in Belleville, MI. We went there because the vocal group she performs in was going to be singing as part of the ceremonies. I mainly went along because I'm a dutiful husband. Had I given it more thought I would have gone simply to observe the Day.
Over the years we have been fairly regular in attending Memorial Day remembrances for those who have served to protect our country. For the last four years we have attended the local Memorial Day service as our daughter's band marched in its parade. Even before then we often attended some sort of Memorial Day ceremony, and if circumstances prevented us from attending we would take a moment and remember those who had served. As both my father and father-in-law are vets, I feel it is my duty as a civilian to remember those who have made it possible for me to live the way I do. I've come to feel that attending ceremonies such as these are an important way to remind myself of their sacrifices.
When we arrived I found another reason for being there: airplanes. The YAM takes old military planes and restores them. A few are kept in flying condition, and the rest are put on display. A couple of the largest are even open for people to walk through. I happily spent a bit of time walking around taking pictures of them as we waited for the time for the ceremony to begin. I was especially fond of the towering B-52 Stratofortress, a plane so large that the Ypsilanti Community Concert Band set up and played in the shelter of one wing.
I stood there surrounded by airplanes that made up our country's military history, and the thought came to me that many service men and women had served, lived, bled, and died in planes such as these. While the airplanes were interesting photography subjects to me, they were reminders of service given to others. Of the few hundred of us that were attending, many of those were either veterans who had served on one of these planes or had a link to those who served in the air.
The keynote speaker at this event was astronaut Jack Lousma. He gave a good speech, complete with pithy quotes from Abraham Lincoln that I wish many politicians would heed (but that is another blog entry). Representatives from the Tuskegee Airmen said a few words. Plaques and awards were handed out.
Over the course of this ceremony my brain kept returning to something the President of the museum said in his opening remarks. He spoke of the need to remember those who fell in service to their country, and to honor those who served and returned to civilian life. I hear these same words every year, and I usually just nod my head in agreement. But this time it occurred to me that he was preaching to the choir. Those of us who were there were doing just that.
What would happen if everyone in this country would reflect, remember, and recognize the sacrifices that these brave people made, not just those of us who came out for yearly observances? What if we all keenly felt it is our duty to not take for granted what has been freely given to us by our fellow countrymen through their blood, sweat, and tears? I think a great many political debates would die on the vine if such an attitude was prevalent.
So if you did not attend a Memorial Day ceremony yesterday, if you did not give a thought to why we live in this great country, if yesterday was just an extra day off of work, please take a moment and let gratitude fill your heart. I'm not asking that you stop a vet, shake their hand, and thank them publicly. I simply ask that you recognize, if only in your innermost thoughts, that the service of current and former members of the military has affected your life for the better.
And to all of the veterans of our armed forces, active service men and women, and families of our deceased heroes I can only say from the depths of my heart:
Thank you.
May 27, 2008
May 17, 2008
One Geek's Confession
Since my teen years I have been battling lust. I would see a perfectly formed body, those soft curves, and my eyes would cloud over as I imagined having her for my very own. I was not alone in this, as most of my friends felt the same way. Some even had the good fortune to possess such beauty, and I would live vicariously through them. It was a grand time full of desire and frustration, happiness and bitterness. Through it all I battled my foe, techno-lust.
I am speaking, of course, of the dawning of the age of the personal computer. A time when the possibilities were endless and the variety was vast. Almost daily a new model appeared with sexy lines and large floppies, and through it all I was a-quiver with insatiable desire.
It all began in my senior year of high school when I took a computer class. There on the table was an exotic looking device with a keyboard, cassette tape player/recorder, and monitor all contained in one neat package. Her name was Commodore, but I could call her PET. She was like something from a dream, and I nearly swooned when I got to touch her for the first time. I wrote a small program in which I said "Hello!" and tried to connect with her in a meaningful way. When I ran the program she said "Hello!" back to me in a endless cascade. It was love at first sight.
But then the teacher wooed her away from me with some serious bling; dual external 5-and-a quarter floppy drives. It soon became clear who she really belonged to and I slunk away dejected.
I tried to drown my sorrows by seeing her kid sister, Commodore 64, for a while. While she was a great time, she soon figured out that I still held a torch for her older sibling and we parted ways.
Some time later I met Timex Sinclair 1000 , and my techno-lust reared its head again. She was so tiny, so petite. She could go with me anywhere, unlike my big-boned PET. All she needed was an AC outlet and TV, and we were ready for good times. But after a while I discovered that while she was cute and fun to be around, she was rather limited. Her small capacity made a meaningful relationship impossible, so with a sad heart I moved on.
A friend of mine became attached to one of the popular models, TRS-80. She had some of sexiest curves I'd ever seen, and a coordinated outfit that suited her perfectly. As happens envy raised its head and ugly rumors abounded about her, and some even took to calling her Trash-80. I didn't listen to these slurs on her character, so completely enraptured was I in her charms. After a while it became apparent that she and my friend were serious and that I had no chance at all. Reluctantly I allowed my fantasies to die away.
Then when I was in college I got lucky. I snagged the eye of the most beautiful blond on the planet. She had one of those names that stood out and spoke of hippie parentage: Macintosh. Beside her the others were a pack of braying donkeys, and my techno-lust consumed me for the want of her. She was the whole package with a handful-sized floppy drive built right into her chassis. Her display did not show plain text like the others, but an intuitive windows-based interface. She was magnificent. I spent one weekend with her, and it was everything I dreamed it could be. But I soon realized that I was out of my league, and I simply could not afford such an expensive relationship. With regret I let her go.
A short time later I met Mac's younger sister, and while you might be wondering why I didn't learn my lesson with 64, I took my time getting to know Apple ][e. We made sure we were right for each other as my techno-lust reached a new peak until it eventually transformed into love. I knew I was finally ready for a mature relationship. She had none of the vapid bombshell qualities of Mac, and we did everything together. We spent hours playing games and writing stories. It was wonderful. We had our differences, like all couples. She had a penchant for not telling me I had attached her floppy drives backwards until she had fried the control board, and I had a penchant for keeping her up all night. We learned to live with each others quirks.
Then a couple of years later a co-worker introduced me to PC, a stunning model with big blue eyes. Despite myself I felt that familiar feeling of techno-lust course through my veins. She sang a siren song of games and applications, and I was captivated.
Since then I have had several PCs, but they no longer inspire the potent type of techno-lust that those early systems did. So while I enjoy my current systems, I remember the old days when the joining of man and machine was new and exciting. And I wonder, what will provoke my techno-lust in the future?
I am speaking, of course, of the dawning of the age of the personal computer. A time when the possibilities were endless and the variety was vast. Almost daily a new model appeared with sexy lines and large floppies, and through it all I was a-quiver with insatiable desire.
It all began in my senior year of high school when I took a computer class. There on the table was an exotic looking device with a keyboard, cassette tape player/recorder, and monitor all contained in one neat package. Her name was Commodore, but I could call her PET. She was like something from a dream, and I nearly swooned when I got to touch her for the first time. I wrote a small program in which I said "Hello!" and tried to connect with her in a meaningful way. When I ran the program she said "Hello!" back to me in a endless cascade. It was love at first sight.
But then the teacher wooed her away from me with some serious bling; dual external 5-and-a quarter floppy drives. It soon became clear who she really belonged to and I slunk away dejected.
I tried to drown my sorrows by seeing her kid sister, Commodore 64, for a while. While she was a great time, she soon figured out that I still held a torch for her older sibling and we parted ways.
Some time later I met Timex Sinclair 1000 , and my techno-lust reared its head again. She was so tiny, so petite. She could go with me anywhere, unlike my big-boned PET. All she needed was an AC outlet and TV, and we were ready for good times. But after a while I discovered that while she was cute and fun to be around, she was rather limited. Her small capacity made a meaningful relationship impossible, so with a sad heart I moved on.
A friend of mine became attached to one of the popular models, TRS-80. She had some of sexiest curves I'd ever seen, and a coordinated outfit that suited her perfectly. As happens envy raised its head and ugly rumors abounded about her, and some even took to calling her Trash-80. I didn't listen to these slurs on her character, so completely enraptured was I in her charms. After a while it became apparent that she and my friend were serious and that I had no chance at all. Reluctantly I allowed my fantasies to die away.
Then when I was in college I got lucky. I snagged the eye of the most beautiful blond on the planet. She had one of those names that stood out and spoke of hippie parentage: Macintosh. Beside her the others were a pack of braying donkeys, and my techno-lust consumed me for the want of her. She was the whole package with a handful-sized floppy drive built right into her chassis. Her display did not show plain text like the others, but an intuitive windows-based interface. She was magnificent. I spent one weekend with her, and it was everything I dreamed it could be. But I soon realized that I was out of my league, and I simply could not afford such an expensive relationship. With regret I let her go.
A short time later I met Mac's younger sister, and while you might be wondering why I didn't learn my lesson with 64, I took my time getting to know Apple ][e. We made sure we were right for each other as my techno-lust reached a new peak until it eventually transformed into love. I knew I was finally ready for a mature relationship. She had none of the vapid bombshell qualities of Mac, and we did everything together. We spent hours playing games and writing stories. It was wonderful. We had our differences, like all couples. She had a penchant for not telling me I had attached her floppy drives backwards until she had fried the control board, and I had a penchant for keeping her up all night. We learned to live with each others quirks.
Then a couple of years later a co-worker introduced me to PC, a stunning model with big blue eyes. Despite myself I felt that familiar feeling of techno-lust course through my veins. She sang a siren song of games and applications, and I was captivated.
Since then I have had several PCs, but they no longer inspire the potent type of techno-lust that those early systems did. So while I enjoy my current systems, I remember the old days when the joining of man and machine was new and exciting. And I wonder, what will provoke my techno-lust in the future?
May 03, 2008
Adventures in Bathroom Remodeling
Over the last few months the plain bathroom in the building where I work has been getting quite the makeover. It all began with the arrival of the Xtreme 4000 touch-less hand dryer. This unit appeared without fanfare on the wall one day, and looked much like any other hand dryer.
In all honesty I admit that I hate hand dryers. As far as I am concerned the procedure for using these things is as follows:
I had no such problems with the Xtreme 4000. With a howl reminiscent of a F-14 taking off from the deck of the USS Enterprise, this hefty dryer could blow the skin off of a zombie. (No, I wasn't able to test that. Despite much looking on my part, no zombies were available.) As it turned out the "4000" in its name indicated the wind speed it produced. This "little dryer that could" dried my hands in about 5 seconds flat, and also rid them of hair and dry skin at the same time.
The problem the the Xtreme dryer was the noise. The scream of the dryer was deafening in the small cinder-block bathroom. I found it best to be ensconced on the throne in one of the two stalls if the blower was activated when I was not expecting it. Otherwise I had a mess to clean up. The sudden noise was so loud that it would literally scare the poop out of me.
Eventually the Xtreme 4000 was replaced by a much quieter automatic paper-towel dispenser. At first this unit was eager to please and we got along famously. I just had to wave my hand in its general direction and a foot of brown paper towel was dispensed for my hand-drying pleasure. It was no problem if I needed more as my little wall-mounted friend would happily produce towels for every wave of my hand. But then the dispenser changed toward me. As time passed its attention waned and I had to wave my hand closer and closer for it to take notice of me. It got to the point that I actually had to touch the device for it to give me what I needed. I knew our relationship had soured when it started making me wait five whole seconds between dispensing requests. No matter what I did to make amends, the spark was gone from our relationship. We still interact daily, but keep it on a purely professional level.
Then one weekend the building staff decided to put in new lighting. Before this remodeling project I can't say I ever noticed the configuration of the lights, but the room was always lit to a reasonable level. Unfortunately this was not the case after the new lights were installed. There must have been a "two-fer" sale at the Home Depot because they put in two florescent ceiling fixtures that hold four bulbs each, and a couple of smaller two-bulb fixtures over the sinks. That's twelve florescent bulbs in a 12x12 room! With this misguided implementation of the "more is better" philosophy, the end result was a room so bright that I found myself wishing for my sunglasses when I opened the bathroom door. Using the facilities was very problematic. As I tried to see through squinted eyes I think I successfully found the urinal. Eventually. (Sorry about the wall, guys.) When I got back to my desk one of my co-workers asked me where I had gotten the tan. This issue was finally resolved a couple of days later when most of the bulbs were removed so we could finally use the room with our eyes open. Ah, the luxury!
As a final exclamation point to the changes wrought in this room an automatic air freshener was added. At first all this device would do was beep in horror at being placed in such a small room. Later, it seemed to accept its lot and actually started to make noises like it was dispensing fragrance. While the building staff could have chosen scents like lilac, pine, or citrus, they went with the seldom-chosen poop scent. As you can imagine this has done nothing to improve the ambiance of the room. While Bugs Bunny might approve, this is one time I could have done without the use of a If-You-Can't-Beat-Em-Join-Em attitude.
I have no idea what is next for this little bathroom. After my painful episode with the paper towel machine I'm thankful that they haven't added automatic toilet paper dispensers, too. Those feelings are still too raw and I need time to heal. All I know is that if they add any kind of auto-magical butt-wiping machine I will be walking to the corner gas station for my sanitation needs. Trust me, it'll be worth it.
In all honesty I admit that I hate hand dryers. As far as I am concerned the procedure for using these things is as follows:
1. Put hands under dryer, or push the button, to start blower.These things never work well enough to make them worth the effort. Despite the Pollyanna assurances printed on the dryer about its effectiveness, after rubbing my hands like Peter Lorrie for a while I usually have to implement step three to get my hands in a state somewhere close to "dry" in a reasonable time frame. Which means within half an hour.
2. Rub hands together for 20-30 seconds.
3. Wipe hands on pants.
I had no such problems with the Xtreme 4000. With a howl reminiscent of a F-14 taking off from the deck of the USS Enterprise, this hefty dryer could blow the skin off of a zombie. (No, I wasn't able to test that. Despite much looking on my part, no zombies were available.) As it turned out the "4000" in its name indicated the wind speed it produced. This "little dryer that could" dried my hands in about 5 seconds flat, and also rid them of hair and dry skin at the same time.
The problem the the Xtreme dryer was the noise. The scream of the dryer was deafening in the small cinder-block bathroom. I found it best to be ensconced on the throne in one of the two stalls if the blower was activated when I was not expecting it. Otherwise I had a mess to clean up. The sudden noise was so loud that it would literally scare the poop out of me.
Eventually the Xtreme 4000 was replaced by a much quieter automatic paper-towel dispenser. At first this unit was eager to please and we got along famously. I just had to wave my hand in its general direction and a foot of brown paper towel was dispensed for my hand-drying pleasure. It was no problem if I needed more as my little wall-mounted friend would happily produce towels for every wave of my hand. But then the dispenser changed toward me. As time passed its attention waned and I had to wave my hand closer and closer for it to take notice of me. It got to the point that I actually had to touch the device for it to give me what I needed. I knew our relationship had soured when it started making me wait five whole seconds between dispensing requests. No matter what I did to make amends, the spark was gone from our relationship. We still interact daily, but keep it on a purely professional level.
Then one weekend the building staff decided to put in new lighting. Before this remodeling project I can't say I ever noticed the configuration of the lights, but the room was always lit to a reasonable level. Unfortunately this was not the case after the new lights were installed. There must have been a "two-fer" sale at the Home Depot because they put in two florescent ceiling fixtures that hold four bulbs each, and a couple of smaller two-bulb fixtures over the sinks. That's twelve florescent bulbs in a 12x12 room! With this misguided implementation of the "more is better" philosophy, the end result was a room so bright that I found myself wishing for my sunglasses when I opened the bathroom door. Using the facilities was very problematic. As I tried to see through squinted eyes I think I successfully found the urinal. Eventually. (Sorry about the wall, guys.) When I got back to my desk one of my co-workers asked me where I had gotten the tan. This issue was finally resolved a couple of days later when most of the bulbs were removed so we could finally use the room with our eyes open. Ah, the luxury!
As a final exclamation point to the changes wrought in this room an automatic air freshener was added. At first all this device would do was beep in horror at being placed in such a small room. Later, it seemed to accept its lot and actually started to make noises like it was dispensing fragrance. While the building staff could have chosen scents like lilac, pine, or citrus, they went with the seldom-chosen poop scent. As you can imagine this has done nothing to improve the ambiance of the room. While Bugs Bunny might approve, this is one time I could have done without the use of a If-You-Can't-Beat-Em-Join-Em attitude.
I have no idea what is next for this little bathroom. After my painful episode with the paper towel machine I'm thankful that they haven't added automatic toilet paper dispensers, too. Those feelings are still too raw and I need time to heal. All I know is that if they add any kind of auto-magical butt-wiping machine I will be walking to the corner gas station for my sanitation needs. Trust me, it'll be worth it.
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