Law 23 of Paradox

This is a simple law of nature, but one which is very handy:

Paradox is an Illusion, caused by the Limitations of our Perception

That's it.

Early in the morning on March 4th in 2004, Adrienne and I were smoozing over coffee, and she said she was re-reading a book on "enneagrams", a scheme presented by Gurdjieff that classifies humans into nine personality types. She said she was a Two (the Giver) and that I was a Nine (the Boss).

Well, while I like to think of myself as a warm and wonderful person, and although I have learned not to have any employees, perhaps she is right.

But that's not the point.

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Thanksgiving and Good-Bye to an Old Friend ...

Network Answering Service, San Francisco, 1984: Way back in the day, many years ago, my wife Lori and I ran an answering service on Geary Boulevard in San Francisco, with hundreds of musicians, actors, small businesses and the like for our clients.

And one day, a young woman came to San Francisco from the East Coast, to make her fortune. Her name was Andrea Lewis.

She showed up, and we gave her work, and the in-house communication training we did, and she became more and more self-confident and took on more and more. At one point, when I was off on some dumb adventure, the whole place was run by three women: my wife, Andrea Lewis, and our manager Mara Kimmel. That round-the-clock staff of 30+ was just humming.

It was sometimes tough times. And it was some really good times.

A VOICE

Andrea Lewis had a voice. A helluva voice.

She got a lot of encouragement from us, and began to sing in gigs, and found a spot on the San Francisco Symphony Chorus. They won four grammies, and performed in Carnegie Hall.

POLITICAL

Alway political as all get out, sometimes she thought I was a warm and kind fellow, and other times she opined that I was a sexist, honky, capitalist pig.

And she'd tell me about it.

I liked her.

A VOICE ON THE AIR

Not long after the end of Network Answering Service, Andrea found her true home, as a co-host on popular San Francisco radio station KPFA, and she's been a favorite voice on the air ever since.

On November 15, 2009, Andrea Lewis, age 52, died at home of a heart attack.

And I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that she was still on this planet to give me grief like back in those days gone by.

A MEMORIAL

Her parents came in to the San Francisco Bay Area from Florida, because KPFA arranged a memorial service in Oakland.

Some of the old crew from Network Answering Service, including me, went to attend, to remember her and to think back on those days.

THINKING BACK

This woman who had come to San Francisco from Detroit many years ago, and found a home in the community that had arisen around our answering service company on Geary Boulevard in San Francisco.

With us and our gang she got employment, friends, communication training and lots of encouragement.

She went on to become a much-loved radio talk show host on popular radio station KPFA, along with achieving some great results with her music.

WE DIDN'T KNOW

When Andrea died last week, suddenly and unexpected, we were all shocked to hear the news. You see, she seldom said much about herself and we didn't know she was seriously ill, even though for others, she used her gift at interviewing them, both making them feel at home and also getting them to open up on some of the tough questions.

Here is what her friends at KPFA Radio had to say.

A MEMORIAL

The memorial service was amazing: Attending was the San Francisco Symphony Chorus, the local congresswoman, Barbara Lee of Oakland, made arrangements to read Andrea's name into the Congressional Record, and notable speakers remembering her included a Poet Laureate of California, along with professors from Stanford and University of California praising her journalism and mourning her as a friend.

They played recordings of Andrea singing, blues and jazz. Her former jazz band played, and there was even a performance of dancing girls with huge drums. It was a heck of a send-off. The only one who would have enjoyed it even more, Andrea herself, was unable to attend. Or maybe she did.

On the huge wall above the stage in this large church, bigger than life, they showed a montage of photographs, including several dozen from our Network Answering Service days together. Eight of us Network folk had come, some for hundreds of miles, to be there. To say good bye and remember her.

The large church was so packed that many had to sit on the floor, along the walls, and stand in the lobby outside.

THANKSGIVING

And what does this tell us?

It tells us to cherish our friends.

It tells us .. not to let them slip away.

November celebrates Thanksgiving in the U.S., but there's no reason it can't be day of "thanks" everywhere in the world.

So I wanted to say "thank you" to all of you who have been a part of my life and times I've seen, down through all the years.

I just wanted to let you know I'm grateful.

Thank you for being here, on this planet, in these times.

James Bond on the Eigenharp?

November 12, 2009, Weed, CA: It's not a Chapman Stick on Steroids? It's not a sweet-voiced Mobius Megatar. Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's .. an Eigenharp!

Check out this amazing instrument, and then click the Link beneath the Video to pass it on to your friends!


Chapman Stick? Megatar? Nope. Eigenharp.

Easter Gift -- Super-Quick Tune-Up Makes You Feel Good

Weed, California, Easter Sunday 2009: Here is a super-quick little thing you can do in about twenty seconds, and it makes you feel really good. Most likely this is very good for your body and mind as well, though I can't prove it!

I call it my 'Quick Tune-Up', and it's both startlingly effective and super-easy ...

A) Get an index card, or something similar, about 3" x 5".

B) Write on the card the following seven questions --

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Adrienne Searches on Google

Weed, California, Spring 2009: Adrienne is still somewhat new to computers, and she comes up with things that often elude me.

(Even around the house; she fixed the 'broken' garbage disposal; I'd never have thought to use the plumber's friend plunger!)

She has good results with the search engine, and uses it all the time.

One day I watched, and she types in entire sentences, like "Where can I find a list of all the major dog sanctuaries in the United States?"

I asked her why she didn't just enter "dog sanctuaries".

"What do you mean?" she said.

I repeated my question.

"I don't know," she said, "I just always think of it as the Magic Eight Ball."

For anyone raised in foreign climes, the Magic Eight Ball is a long-popular toy that looks like the Eight-Ball on a pool table. But it's flat on the bottom. You ask a question, and pick it up and turn it over. When you look at the flat part, an answer floats up into view in this little window.

My favorite answers: "Not at this time" and "Signs point to yes."

I have been giving her technique a try. After all, the plumbers friend plunger worked on the dishwasher. Why wouldn't the Magic Eight Ball technique work on Google?

And does it work?

Signs point to yes.

Paul Harvey ... Good Day.

Henrietta, Texas, 1960: When I was a senior in high school, at lunch I'd run to my car and drive quickly down to the Lo' Boy drive in, to order a BLT sandwich and coke, and then ... on with the radio.

Paul Harvey. One day he said, "Sniffing glue. All the kids in Texas are doing it."

Because my high school, and the Lo' Boy, were located in Texas, I was dubious about that particular story. I knew he was full of beans.

But most of the time, he was so on. And then one day he said he'd be speaking at the VFW hall in Vernon, which was less than an hours drive. I vowed to go.

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The Wonder of Acupuncture

White Crane Kung-Fu Studio, Geary Boulevard, San Francisco, 1974: In my Kung-Fu phase, I was crazy about everything Chinese ... except the interior decorating. I know that may sound just too, too gay, but aside from mysteriously grand Chinese interiors in old movies, have you ever been in a Chinese restaurant that wasn't garish as hell?

I've come to learn that it's because Red is Lucky, and no sensible Chinese person on the planet wants to be unlucky. Of course, when you think about it, that makes perfect sense. I wouldn't either.

Back to the Kung-Fu and acupuncture. This is a story about needles and eyeballs, but it turns out OK. Just warning you ...

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The Abandoned Road

Dallas, Texas, 1966. On this particular day, my girlfriend and I decided to take the psilocybin before heading out. Driving the Morgan from Dallas to Shady Shores was an odd adventure. It was about thirty miles, and seemingly many days driving.

I knew of this place from years earlier. College roommates and I had lived nearby, and some scouting trip discovered an abandoned roadway that had once run atop a dam built across Lake Dallas. In a concrete building halfway out, remnants of the dam's machinery remained, huge wheels and vast pipes, going nowhere.

Whoever these mysterious builders were, they were fickle, for after building the dam across the lake, they'd cut a hole through it, so it was no dam any longer. Just a finger of elevated land reaching toward, but not touching, a finger of land from the other side. On the elevated crest, earth and stone and even trees, and the once roadway ran, and stopped at the cut.

Just the spot for our picnic.

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The Good Old A-B Test

Weed, California, February 2008: Many years ago, when I lived in San Fransisco on Beery Goulevard, I had to do some layout work. I had very little skill, but I found a simple method. Although my method was slow, it worked.

I would just make up a layout, then change one thing. Then I'd look at version A and version B, and ask myself which version sucked less.

Then I'd take the winner, and discard the loser, and then on the winner I'd change something else, and again compare A to B.

In this way, I could slowly create a layout that looked pretty much OK, if not truly outstanding.

I just realized ... I'm still using the same method. Still slow. Still works.

This little story was version A. Version B sucked more.

So version A is my story. And I'm sticking to it.

Gosh. You learn something every day. Some days, you learn two things. I wonder if today is one of those?

Bobby's Communion

Wichita Falls, Texas, 1960: My cousins Bobby and Danny lived in this nearby city. Their father Pfeiffer sold insurance and had a fancy red Farmer's Insurance sign painted on the doors of their white Studebaker. "It makes the car deductible," he said.

His wife, formerly Rosemary Hurn, my mother's older sister, was in fact the eldest of the Hurn children, and she was quite beautiful. As we remember that screen sirens of the 1940's were somber-faced and dramatic explains a lot about how Rosemary and my mother dressed when they were dressing up. The difference between them was that my mother, a plump and cheery-natured woman, didn't really fit in that picture, but Rosemary brought it off fairly well.

Rosemary, in my opinion as a child, rather put on airs. It was this snooty outlook which made Bobby's first Communion so unfortunate for her.

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Follow Your Bliss, Know Thyself, Change the World

On the E1KaD forum, December 13, 2008: I enjoyed the following, which was posted today by Steve in Texas. Maybe you might like it, too --

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There has been a lot of talk on [this] forum about focus, building your business, marketing and so on, but I have seen little about being self employed, knowing yourself and getting the most out of yourself and your life.

Here’s my brain dump on "being" for you to use or disregard as you choose.

Why are you here?
Let’s face it, working for someone else is ultimately easer than working for yourself; no accounting, chasing payments, marketing or product creation. Turn up, put the nut on the bolt, get paid, go home. So why are we working for ourselves?

For me it’s the need to create, plus I don’t play well with morons, sorry managers. I used to write and record songs for a living. A couple thousand later I got it out of my system. Now I create other stuff. I love houses and remodeling (who knew), I bang out web applications, websites and and other apps on a regular basis… I can’t help myself. As my mother said when I was debating whether to build my first recording studio, "of course you should, it’s what you do dear".

What is it that you "do" dear?

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Law 23 of Project Design: Successive Refinement

San Francisco, 1976: I got my first computer! It was a high-class Cromemco, in a kit, and had a lightning fast Z80 processor that ran at (gasp) 3 megahertz, and a full 64K of memory.

I had a buddy who knew computers in and out -- he wrote code for our satellites to determine whether a field in russia had wheat or alfalfa -- and he put the kit together for me, cause I didn't know how to solder back then. (He's rich and retired long since, because he went to work for a new startup called Cisco, and they gave stock options; but that's another story.)

He also gave me a book about beginning to program in Basic.

It showed a simple technique called 'successive refinement.' If you are a programmer then you know this technique but for non-programmers here, it's really simple. And mongo useful.

Here's how it works ...

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Remembering John Lennon

New York, December 9, 1980: In the evening, John Lennon returned from the recording session at The Record Plant in New York. The limosine let him out in front of The Dakota, the gothic stone building pictured in the movie "Rosemary's Baby", and as he and Yoko Ono approached the building, Mark David Chapman called out "Mr. Lennon?" and shot Lennon five times with a .38 revolver.

Lennon was hit in the torso and the back. He called out, "I'm shot," took a few steps, and collapsed. When policed arrived, they found Chapman standing nearby, the gun on the ground. A building security guard asked Chapman, "Do you know what you've done?"

Chapman replied, "I just shot John Lennon."

Police rushed Lennon to the emergency room at the Roosevelt hospital, but he could not be revived.

Something died for many of us that day.

The sound of the Beatles, coming from the radio, startled us, back in the day. Those were college days for me. But perhaps you remember when you first heard their harmony, the enthusiasm, the sound was new and fresh.

A memory floats, quiet, like a blossom in a busy stream, and rushing around a bend, is gone.

A Tale of Toblerone ...

A Movie Theatre near Picadilly, London, 1968: Funny how memories come back to you. Pointless little things, a turn of phrase, the way some trees looked against the clouds on a dim horizon.

One of the moments in my life that I remember, from time to time, from 40 years ago, and still laugh each time, was a snippet of conversation overheard, when I first sat down in a theatre in London, to watch the film Barbarella.

The film had not yet begun, and I gradually became aware of the two guys in the row right behind me. Being American, it seemed to me that their cockney accents were thick as bad pudding.

Said one: "I'm going to the confession, mate."

Said the other: "Get us a Toblerone, eh?"

"Save me seat?"

"Guard it wi' me life, I will!"

Perfect Man, Perfect Woman

Someplace, Any Date: There was a perfect man and a perfect woman. They met each other at a perfect party. They dated for two perfect years. They had the perfect wedding and the perfect honeymoon. They had two perfect children.

One day the perfect man and the perfect woman were driving in there perfect car, they saw an elf by the side of the road, being the perfect people they were they picked him up.

Well as the perfect man and the perfect woman were driving with the elf, somehow they got into an accident. Two people died and one lived.

Who died and who lived?

The perfect woman, because the perfect man and elves aren't real.