Do you remember the postscript? You know, that extra thought preceded by a PS, usually appearing after the signature in a letter. I’ve come to the realization postscripts are a thing of the past, a relic of the days in which we would actually write letters, cards, and notes and send them to others. When using pen and ink, one had no choice but to put an afterthought in a postscript. The computer has put an end to that. Regardless of the medium, any afterthought you have can easily be inserted in the body of the main message prior to sending. Even when instant messaging or texting, there’s no longer a need for what used to be the fairly ubiquitous PS (sometimes even a PPS). Just keep adding to the thread.
This came to me the other day when, after posting something to Facebook, I realized I wanted to add another thought. Of course, it was too late to edit the original post, but I was able to comment on my own post, which is exactly what I did. In fact, I even preceded the comment with a “PS”. It dawned on me this wasn’t quite the same usage as those of us who can remember actual written communication were used to. In those days, if you didn’t include the PS you were forever barred from adding – and let’s not forget commenting, texting, etc. are virtually instantaneous – the afterthought.
I have no clear idea how this affects our ability to communicate, though I suspect it’s an improvement in clarity of thought. Given some of the lamentations I’ve read over the decline of the English language and proper grammar, spelling, and punctuation in today’s rapid-fire communications, I assume there are those who would disagree with me. Nevertheless, that’s my story.
I don’t obsess about death or life after death but I have thought about it a lot over the years. Haven’t you? After all, one of the main consequences our religions offer us for a life well lived is eternal life in heaven once we die. Some offer the eternal antithesis as well and I know that motivates quite a few. An afterlife. Have you ever thought about what that would be like? I’ll bet you have. What really happens after we die? Everyone seems to think about it. With far fewer years ahead of me than are in my rear-view mirror, I have to admit I think of it even more, especially when I try to imagine the consequences of my death if it occurs before my children are adults and well on their way to a truly independent life. It matters because I’ll be 72 when my oldest is 18 . . . and I’ve already outlived my father by nearly six years. Not saying it’s going to happen, but it’s a reasonable alternative and it concerns me at times.
Now to the other side of the void. I’ve often wondered what the allure of life after death is for most people. I have a hard time believing anyone truly understands what eternity or, more accurately, death is . . . or means. Imagining what it’s like to be dead has got to be one of the most difficult intellectual pursuits known. Consider the following. When you wake up after even a very deep sleep, there’s some sense of time having passed, isn’t there? We may not remember precisely what our dreams are – or even that we dreamt at all – but there is some sense that time has passed and all is well. This is not the case if you’re unconscious. When you come out of anesthesia after surgery it’s entirely different. Almost everyone comes out of anesthesia, even after many hours under, with no sense of time having passed. It’s not uncommon for a person to ask when their surgery is going to begin, the sense of the passage of time having been entirely suspended. And they weren’t even dead!
Now try and imagine what it would be like to not wake up, ever. Can you do it? I would argue it can be approached, but I think it takes some time and, most likely, can never be done completely. It’s like imagining being pond scum, only vastly more difficult. The latest evidence and theory seem to point to the universe being around 14 billion (that’s 14,000,000,000) years old. Do you have a sense of loss for not being around most of that time? Yet, I maintain it’s difficult to imagine that same nothingness now that you’ve experienced consciousness. Somehow, we just can’t imagine the absence of everything.
Now, this isn’t a scholarly article. It’s based entirely on my experience, the things I’ve read and observed, and some obvious guessing. I have not been able to interview anyone who’s been dead for, say, 100 years to learn about their experience. Now that would be something! There is ample evidence the only experience they have is that of returning to dust, and only dust. I am, philosophically, a Materialist. I believe the physical world is a necessary prerequisite to the world of ideas, that is thought and consciousness cannot exist without a brain (and it’s attendant system, a body) to “think” it.
I know there are those who believe after (or as) we come into existence we are imbued with an eternal soul, so what happened before we were born (many would say conceived) is of no consequence afterward. I’m not one of them. I think once you’re dead you will not be looking down on your friends and relatives. Maybe there’s a short period of time, while everything is shutting down, you will imagine looking upon your now lifeless body, but I doubt it. I am quite convinced there is no afterlife and we won’t miss our family, friends, or anything else . . . because there won’t be any we to do so.
Much to my consternation, I just can’t imagine how that will feel. 😀
Graphic shamelessly stolen from BuzzFeed in case the link to their pic didn’t work
As many of you may or may not know, the White House has a system whereby anyone can ” . . . petition the Government for a redress of grievances.” Loosely translated, as it surely is, this means you can ask for just about anything your little ol’ pea-pickin’ heart desires even if what you really mean by “grievance” is “I wanna”. However, there’s a catch or, should I say, a couple of catches.
First of all, you need to create an account at Whitehouse.gov. This is so, regardless of the aluminum foil on your windows and the tin foil hat blocking those priceless brainwaves of yours, the government will be able to track you down and whisk you away in a black helicopter to an undisclosed and unknowable location where people like you can be dealt with appropriately.
OK, so I made that up . . . though it’s true if you’re a member of the Tea Party. Maybe it’s true. More likely, petitioning the government for a redress of grievances is serious business, shouldn’t be taken lightly, and there has to be a way to keep people from signing petitions more than once. This seems eminently reasonable, don’t you think? Never mind. It’s a rhetorical question.
Also, there are two thresholds that must be reached for a petition to be taken seriously. The first is that it must get 150 signatures within 30 days for it to be searchable on WhiteHouse.gov’s site. The second is that it must reach 25,000 signatures within the next 30 days for it to receive a response, though the administration reserves the right to answer at a lower participation if it deems it appropriate.
Why am I telling you this? Well, actually not because I’m cajoling you to participate. Don’t get me wrong, I think participatory democracy is important, maybe even essential, but my feeling is this is even more important. No . . . this is a rather long-winded way of sharing my favorite petition with you and, more importantly, the answer it received.
The administration asks that each petition complete the following phrase, “We believe the Obama administration should . . . “. Recently a petition completed that phrase as follows – “Secure resources and funding, and begin construction of a Death Star by 2016” – and received 34,435 signature, reaching the second critical threshold and requiring an answer. The answer was entitled “This Isn’t the Petition Response You’re Looking For” and begins:
The Administration shares your desire for job creation and a strong national defense, but a Death Star isn’t on the horizon. Here are a few reasons:
The construction of the Death Star has been estimated to cost more than $850,000,000,000,000,000. We’re working hard to reduce the deficit, not expand it.
The Administration does not support blowing up planets.
Why would we spend countless taxpayer dollars on a Death Star with a fundamental flaw that can be exploited by a one-man starship?
. . .
You can read the rest, which is well worth your time (especially if you’re a dweebed-out space cadet like I am), at the site. I think it’s a – you’ll pardon the expression – stellar response.
What is time? Here we have a question that has baffled philosophers and scientists since, well . . . since time immemorial. We measure it in numerous ways and, frankly, we’re not terribly interested in any of them other than the calendar at this point. For our intents and purposes, then, time is measured in days; by the rotation of the Earth 360° on its axis and by years; the compilation of 365.25 days as the Earth completes one orbit around our home star, Sol.
To be even less precise, we’re actually only interested in a simple calendar, whether it’s an application running on a computer or a slick-paper collection of rare and beautiful pictures of well-tended gardens and ornate architecture situated in the world’s most exotic locations. The Gregorian calendar, actually, will suit us.
Furthermore, let’s confine our study of time to – essentially – one day; New Year’s day. The first of January, regardless of the year. This is, perhaps, the only day we celebrate that is entirely arbitrary; marking a line in the continuum we call time that isn’t tied to any particular event we’ve experienced or chosen to memorialize for the purpose of not working and having a bar-b-que, stuffing our faces with rich, fattening food, or conducting a car, bed, or linen sale.
Take for instance President’s Day. On second thought, and upon a little research, let’s not take President’s Day as it is a convoluted mess made somewhat abstruse by it’s being a combination of Federal and State observances of the birthdays of George Washington and, sometimes, Abraham Lincoln, and the occasional desire to commemorate the existence of all Presidents (past, present and, presumably, future) of the United States of America.
How about a holiday that marks a specific date on the calendar and hasn’t been moved around yet for the purposes of creating a three-day weekend and making working stiffs and the travel industry happy? How about the most venerable of them all, the Fourth of July – Independence Day? We celebrate this holiday on the same date of the year, regardless of the day on which it falls. Something happened on that day and, each year – relative to the rest of the days on our calendar – we celebrate that thing; that one thing common to us all.
The new year, however, is merely the day on which we’ve – somewhat arbitrarily – determined everything rewinds and starts over. Never mind that every four years we need to tack another day onto it, which we’ve chosen to do in February, the only month short enough to make room for another day without making the other months jealous. It is, for many, the beginning of a new life; a chance to start over and jettison old habits like a layer of useless, molted skin.
There is one thing – one time independent thing – the new year and its joyously celebrated recurrence is inextricably associated with; the New Year’s resolution. That “time-honored” tradition indulged in by an incredibly large portion of the world’s population. The moment when old habits die with a glass of champagne, the singing of Auld Lang Syne, raucous noisemaking, and the occasional over amorous kiss.
What, we may ask, is a New Year’s resolution and why is it so bound up in this arbitrary date that marks the completion of a year’s journey around the Sun? Why do people not make these changes and affirmations when the need for them becomes apparent? Why wait for one, somewhat otherwise inauspicious date to sever ties to the past and, Phoenix-like, rise to embrace a bright, new future? Especially when, usually no later than mid-February, the Phoenix perversely transforms into Icarus and plummets to the Earth, there to lie – seemingly lifeless – until another December 31st rolls around.
Perhaps most people find it necessary to draw a figurative line in the sand of their personal hourglass at the moment we mark the numerical change from one year to the next. Perhaps it eases our ability to put bad habits and worthless pursuits behind us; to bury them in the mists of time and move toward a brighter, more promising future. Perhaps we just like to kid ourselves – like setting our alarm clocks to read 10 minutes fast in order to ensure we arise in time to begin a new day. Who knows?
So here’s my resolution, but it isn’t a New Year’s resolution as I reaffirm it many times a year. When it becomes obvious something I’m doing isn’t working all that well, I’m going to endeavor to change direction as quickly as possible. I’m going to allow my creativity the freedom to find better ways to proceed and I’m going to look for innovative paths to make those better ways pay off in a richer, fuller life for me and my family.
How about you? Do you wait until the new year to change your evil ways, 🙂 or do you move on down the road as soon as practicable once you realize a change is in order? Either way, I wish you a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2013 et seq., ad infinitum.
It has been pointed out I need to add Festivus to the mix. Presumably, this means in the short title I’ve used for this post. That probably means I should add Mele Kalikimaka as well. There may be others. In the spirit of the season, I offer the following:
Based on the amount of traffic I’m seeing about the tragedy in Connecticut yesterday, I’m reasonably certain the fallout from this event is not going to soon subside. In fact I’m wondering if, now that the election is over, all the energy that had gone into finding ways to communicate and share in order to affect the outcome of the November contests isn’t looking for another avenue to express itself. We’ll see.
There’s one particular aspect of this tragedy that struck me recently and I wanted to quickly share my feelings about it. It has nothing to do with guns and violence, but it definitely has to do with death and loss. A Facebook (and real life) friend of mine shared this article from the New York Times and, in a comment later, said the following: “Ordinary people are much more courageous than we give them credit for being.”
This reminded me of something that has long intrigued me. I’m curious to know if others have felt the same. I have been to quite a few funerals or memorial services in my life for people I either didn’t know at all or knew very superficially. These include members of my wife’s family, spouses of co-workers, employees at a favorite venue, etc.
One of the things that stands out in my recollection of those experiences is the feeling I always got that I had missed something; that a special person had slipped through my fingers and now I would be forever barred from appreciating their existence and the particular light they shone out into the world.
Now, I know I can’t possibly get to know everyone, yet listening to friends, family, and co-workers reminisce and reflect on the life of the person for whom we were gathered together in memory of, always seemed to leave me with a feeling of incompleteness, of having missed something wonderful and extraordinary.
I’m of the opinion there’s no such thing as an ordinary person.
So many dead. So many children. I am numb . . . and I can’t wait to see my kids when I pick them up from school today. I’m also a gun owner. I am not, however, so numb I can’t recognize a need to address the issue of gun control. We treat these occurrences like we treat earthquakes; as if they’re natural disasters and, with the exception of securing loose objects and having some emergency supplies at the ready, there’s nothing we can do about ’em.
We seem to face a choice; either arm everyone – including the children – or come up with rational policies that keep guns out of the hands of those who have no business possessing them. I’m kind of thinking the latter would be easier, cheaper, and more humane . . . not to mention rational.
I didn’t do a comparison of the populations of all six other countries listed, but we can look at one – Canada. With these numbers (assuming them to be accurate) the U.S. population would have to be 47 times that of Canada. Actually, the population of the U.S. is 9 times greater than that of Canada so, were all things reasonably equal, we could expect a gun murder rate of approximately 1800 people, less than 1/5 of what it actually is. That’s got to be pretty strong evidence of some kind of fundamental problem. Don’t you think?
Last month, during the third game of the 2012 World Series, there was a pitch that was called as a third strike. Seconds after the call, which ended the at-bat for whichever team was up for that inning, there was a graphic shown of the strike zone and the location of the ball as it passed the plate. It was clearly outside the strike zone and, therefore, should not have been called a strike.
It got me thinking. We use technology to help us with a lot of things and it seems to me calling balls and strikes ought to be one of the things we consider using it for. I have no doubt the technology not only exists, but that it’s currently being used during baseball games. They showed the graphic and, frankly, inasmuch as they’ve been able to obtain the speed of the ball using radar for years, I see no reason they can’t use it to ascertain the exact track of the ball.
Now, I no longer watch much baseball. Ever since the game showed their disdain for their fans by canceling the 1994 World Series through the inability of the players and owners to reach an agreement on how they would divvy up the enormous sums of money they garner each season, I have determined not to be a contributor. Amazingly enough, I have managed to make it through most every season without paying attention and my life has continued rather nicely. I have, on occasion, attended a game or two in all these years, but only because I was invited and did not wish to ignore the generosity of someone whom I respect.
I have also watched many of the games in the World Series over the years, though not much lately. The one I watched this year was – I believe – the third game of the series between San Francisco and Detroit. It was the first game I had seen all year. Frankly, I’d rather watch golf; I’d actually rather play golf, but that’s another story. Besides, it’s difficult to play golf in the dark. I’ve heard Stevie Wonder does it. 🙂
Since I began writing this particular post, I’ve spoken to several friends who are baseball fans and asked them what they thought about the concept of using technology to replace the home plate umpire. Not one of them thought it a good idea. I’m not surprised. There is something to be said about the human factor in games involving humans. After all, if we could replace the umpire with a near-infallible robot, why not seek to replace the batter/runner with a robot capable of calculating the trajectory of the ball when pitched? That would suggest the possibility of a home run each at bat, obviating the need for fielders. Oy! Now my head hurts thinking about this.
So . . . blog posts should have substance, should they not? They should tackle thorny issues and momentous decisions; social policy and government actions that affect us all. I’m sorry to say this one just doesn’t fill the bill. There’s nothing momentous about it at all. In fact, part of it is a commercial for Chevrolet, though that isn’t the reason I’m including it here.
I was born in downtown Los Angeles and raised in the San Fernando Valley. As is true with many of us native Angelenos, I have somewhat of a love-hate relationship with the automobile. My very first car was a 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. It had a 3-speed manual transmission, and the previous owner had transitioned the shifter from the steering column to the floor. It was a dream car, but for one flaw. It was a four-door. Still, I was only 16 and it was truly something special.
I’ve only had one new car in my life. A 1967 Chevrolet Camaro SS 396. Actually, if I remember correctly it was leased to the business my father had bought for me. I only owned the car for about six months, because I decided I didn’t want to spend the rest of my what at that point was a very short life working about 15 hours a day. The business was mine for about eight months. It was somewhat of a disaster as my father ended up having to sell it at a substantial loss. I didn’t realize just how much it mattered until, years later, I did a time-value of money calculation. I was an idiot. I chalk it up to youth, naiveté, and incredible stupidity. The Summer of Love may have had something to do with it as well, but that’s another story.
As the years went by I came to view automobiles primarily as conveyances to and from locations that were important to me. Creature comfort was nice, but much of it not absolutely necessary. I was in no way invested emotionally in my cars and, over the years I’ve had plenty of them. In my late twenties, when I was in Law School, I worked for a lawyer whose practice involved representing three of the largest car rental agencies in town. I drove everything from a Porsche 914 to a Mercedes 450 SL. They were fun, but I never once wished they were mine.
At any rate, this video was sent to me by an old friend from High School. We are only a few years away from our 50th reunion, so it’s been a long time . . . and some of us have stayed in touch. He, being an old man like me, still shares most everything via email (unlike me). I was moved by the story and, even though this is around a year old and is a commercial for Chevy, the story is moving and I thought I would share it. You might get a kick out of it. I did. The car sounds awesome.
I celebrated my seventh birthday in June of 1954. We had recently moved from our modest home in Panorama City, California to a two-bedroom apartment in Palms, West Los Angeles. The San Diego Freeway (Interstate 405) wasn’t even approved for construction yet and behind our building was a small pond. I have no precise recollection of the day I went to see the movie I’m sharing this trailer from, but I do remember it was a Saturday matinee. The Creature From The Black Lagoon was, for a seven-year-old, a very scary movie. I’m sure today it would be rated PG-13, though it would undoubtedly be far more violent and bloody.
That evening my parents went out and left me to fend for myself and my almost 4-year-old brother. At the time, it seemed perfectly normal for us to be alone on occasion and we enjoyed playing together and watching television. Come to think of it, I’m not sure how much there was to watch back then. I don’t think there was a great deal of children’s programming in 1954. At any rate, we managed to entertain ourselves and, at the appropriate hour, we trundled off to bed.
Our apartment was in the very back of the building we lived in and our bedrooms were in the back of the apartment. The window in our bedroom faced to the West and overlooked the pond behind our building. When you’re seven years old everything is bigger than life and exaggeration comes easily. It wasn’t long before that pond (which I have no doubt was pretty small by any standard I would use today) became a Black Lagoon! As I lay in bed, reliving the still-vivid scenes of horror I had witnessed that afternoon, I became increasingly convinced the creature was preparing to smash through our window and whisk us both off to his lair in the lagoon, almost certainly to be consumed at his pleasure.
I was determined not to let that happen and, mustering up my courage, I leapt out of bed, aroused my brother, and fled with him to the Building Manager’s apartment, where we sought the protection of adults. They were most likely quite surprised to hear we had been left alone by our parents and, as I learned much later in life, my mom and dad were quite embarrassed by the whole affair. Nobody called the police and nobody suggested they were neglectful. Young and impetuous, perhaps, but not criminals. I doubt that would happen today. Here’s the trailer to the movie. It was a humdinger back in the day!!
Addendum 05/02/17 – Thanks to a comment to a friend’s post on Facebook, I need to add the following video, which I think adds a little more flavor to the Creature’s panache.
Based on the amount of traffic I’m seeing about the tragedy in Connecticut yesterday, I’m reasonably certain the fallout from this event is not going to soon subside. In fact I’m wondering if, now that the election is over, all the energy that had gone into finding ways to communicate and share in order to affect the outcome of the November contests isn’t looking for another avenue to express itself. We’ll see.
Systems Savvy 
