May Day Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will go to San Francisco to arrange an equipment rack in San Jose. A new home for all our voicemail lines.

Although my appointment is for lunch at noon, I had a vision, in which I see Jon E. slipping away for a ball game. In this vision, I will catch him at a bus stop at the last minute.

I also imagine that I will arrive early, and will by accident meet the last actual web designer in San Francisco, standing in a hallway.

This is all just a premonition, of course. Let's see how it turns out.

April's Mystery Avocado

San Francisco, 1983: April R. was a pretty girl with red hair and pale skin. She and Madonna M. started work at Network Answering Service at the same time. Madonna was a beautiful black woman, and the two of them were physical opposites in every way. April was thin, quick, shrill. Madonna was voluptuous, languid, calm. They went through training together and became best of friends.

At Network, operators worked in pairs, according to an eccentric scheme I'd developed with Bob back when we were the only two operators. With your team partner you develop a coordination, passing calls back and forth. The training was extensive, including training in how to communicate effectively with another human, as well as how to operate the telephone machinery. April and Madonna worked together with style, wit, and humor.

But today April was in the kitchen, very unhappy. She was hungry, and somebody had stolen her avocado.

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Trade Winds

Honolulu Harbor, 1980: The fishing boats were tied to the dock, ready to set out, but the men aboard sat on boxes and watched the very young woman as she climbed the stairs of the elevated scaffolding on the dock. Her skirt fluttered as the clerk of the Teamsters Local handed her the microphone.

"Hello," she said.

Three hundred fishermen looked up at her. They were Hawaiian, Japanese, Samoan, Philipino, and Chinese, and they spoke many different languages, though generally not English. She was here promoting a blood drive for the blood bank.

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Moving Phone Lines

Come to find out, there's a better way to set up voicemail lines than what I've been using for the last fourteen years.

I don't know if this always existed, or has just emerged from some new technological marvel. But it's here now, so I'm changing.

One day at a parade, Layla's Greg told me about this. Following up promptly a year later, I discover that my cost immediately drops in half, and by chance the cabinet is free.

But that's not all ...

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Sunday Was Dreadful

Adrienne and I are sometimes just not on the same wavelength. We had a disagreement, regarding funds and moving costs, and it left us both in the dumps. While I feel clear about what needs to be done, it's also clear that the talk was damaging. I hate that, and don't know any better way of proceeding.

I'm quite concerned about our financing of our move, and maybe this is making me too edgy. I'm not sure. I wish I could be more loving. I'm just not quite sure how.

Law 23 of Human Belief Systems

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

A human will find it easy to believe what the human would like to believe.

That's it.

In others, when presenting an idea, if you want it accepted, then express it in a way that they would like it to be true. "Now this snake oil may not make you look like Robert Redford, but it will help to bring out the handsome devil you really are inside."

In yourself, always be chary of thinking you've got it right, just because you'd like it to be that way. And if you'd really, really like it to be that way, check your facts twice!

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

Adrienne is All Better

You wouldn't know, of course, but Adrienne is very allergic to poison oak. And we live in San Anselmo, in what's called the Valley of the Oaks. Ignorant me, I didn't know that poison oak is related to oak trees, found around oak trees, maybe is some kind of evil-spirited oak tree, I dunno. Duh!

It appears that one of her dogs got into poison oak, and then applied liberal doses to her body. It was painful just to look at, and she was clearly itching out of her skin for about a week. But now ...

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The Bullsnake

Near Hurnville, Texas. July 4, 1952. My grandparents farmhouse rose atop a hill, and so, looking south, all the brown fields were stretched out below, and the wandering line of dense green trees showed where the creek wandered across the landscape.

We were just outside the kitchen, by the cistern. This was a well, dug by hard labor into the clay soil, dug by hand down to the water table, and the shaft lined with rock. Above ground, the stone table rose about four feet, and was then topped with wood, and a hatch. Above, a rigging, and a pulley with a bucket on the rope.

Alongside the cistern, we were making ice cream.

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The Morgan Motor Car

North Texas University, Denton, Texas, 1965. Heartbroken, after running off my high-school sweetheart, envious met her new flame, a boisterous trumpet player driving a red MGB.

Shortly thereafter when crazy Becky Jarvis said, "You ought to get a Morgan." I said huh? And then ...

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Durn Ol Kitty

From time to time, I miss that Mogo.

Looky Back: San Francisco 1988. Charlie was a thin gay guy with black hair, manager for a time at Network Answering Service on Geary Boulevard. One day our operator Anita came to work with a small paper bag. Inside a kitty. Someone had abandoned it on the street; she'd found it near the bus stop.

It needed nursing, from a tiny bottle. I did that. But couldn't really keep another cat at Network. We already had Rosie, who had founded Network, and Cosmo the wild refugee hitchhiker from Mendocino. So Charlie said he'd take her home, and named her Morgan.

Just a few months later ...

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Annelie's Haiku

Denton, Texas, Spring 1965. It is perhaps 2 a.m. at my job at the Holiday Inn. I have been given a tiny book by Annelie W., an attractive and somewhat zoftig girl from my statistics class. My work complete, the lobby empty, I am reading this book now, a book of Haiku poetry.

Annelie. If I had been smarter- But let that pass. Any college girl who wears leopard-spot pants, and gets away with it ... any college girl who, learning I'd never had a bagle and had never heard of lox, brought an entire picnic to my apartment ... Well. So many missed opportunities in a life. A pity they are so clear, later.

This Haiku.

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Colorful Easter Time

Easter has come, arriving on the morrow, and Adrienne has made a vasty project again. Marvellous baskets for grandchildren Jessica, Dameon, and Rhiannon. What has happened to the naming of children in these times?

Jessica, becoming ever a more beautiful teen, should be too old for these baskets, but I guess she likes getting one, too. They're very, very elaborate. Adrienne shops for weeks or months ahead of time, packing away trinkets, tiny toys, spongy yellow duck confections. Then, confetti and ribbons and cellophane. Frankly, it's fancier than the VIP Fruit Basket at the Hilton.

Law 23 of Marketing Differentiation

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

You don't have to be better, but you must be observably different.

That's it.

If you're not somehow different, then you're just another one. No winner is ever just another one. It's best to be the first one. But if not, then find a way to narrow the field so that you're the first one in the subdivision.

For example, be the first vacuum-cleaner manufacturer. If you can't be the first vacuum-cleaner manufacturer, then be the first vacuum-cleaner manufacturer with modern designer colors.

Knowing this important secret of the universe, go forth and prosper.

Changing Your Name

The indians had the right idea. It's said they believed the name of a thing captured its spirit. Some indians had a "true" name, that they only told to trustworthy folks, on the grounds that handing it out willy-nilly might lead to credit-card fraud in the spiritual realm.

I don't know about that. But I do believe that each of us acts out our name. Or, rather, we act out the meaning of the name, as it appears to us.

It might not be as obvious as somebody naming himself "Ringo Starr" and then becoming a star. Or it might.

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Latin Class

Henrietta, Texas: When I reached high school, studying a language was optional. We had a choice of Latin.

Our school was small, and the reason we had Latin offered, instead of French or Spanish or German, was because of Ms. Edwina Nutter. A teacher of English, she also knew Latin.

Ergo, Latin.

(J'regrette! Lo siento mucho! Gotdammenstein!)

Ms. Nutter was no nutter; shrewd and humorous she was. She liked to travel, and since a nine-month teaching job paid frugally, every other year she'd promote a grand tour of Europe, with herself as the guide, travelling free. An educated woman in a small Texas town.

Latin not useful, you say? Ha! I beg to differ ...

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Law 23 regarding the Senior Solution to the Problem of Work

For most of us, the thing we'll do most in our adult lifetime is to work. It's part of the deal about being alive: it is incumbent upon you to obtain what you need.

A few get lucky: Born rich, inheritance, trust funds. Some are smart early: Wise choice of occupation, diligently applied, with talent, and retire early [*1]. Some become thieves: Living off mommy, divorce settlements, sponging off friends, scam artists.

For most of us, work is the lifelong price for existance. That being the case, there is a wise way to handle it ...

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Here Comes the Bloggard

It is Sunday, and it has been raining. The air is now cold, and the sky is dark in the middle of the day. Tulip, my border collie, shivers. She can hear thunder in the distance, though I cannot. This is a good day for writing a weblog.

The Wrongest Man in the World - So Long, Saddam

Marines sweep title. Scoreboard Marines 150,000, Iraq 200. Recently Saddam Hussein forgot to Beware the Ides of March, and ... Whoops! At first, I was thinking ...

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The Cyberworld is Taking Over my Life!

Help, help! Since engaging in this project to offer webservices on a dedicated server, I find that, every day, hours and hours get eaten up by the project, because ...

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Looky Back -- I am Born

April 7, 1944. Visilia, California. Margaret Ellen Hurn (army nurse) and Jack French (dashing soldier) hit it off. The resulting human shows up and begins yet another chapter in the vast library of humanity.

Soon after, Margaret visited her parents farm 8 miles north of Henrietta Texas. I see pictures of each of my uncles holding me as an infant. The uncle that looks the happiest in this role is her mother lounged in lawn chairs behind, dressed in stunning, up-to-date 1940's fashions. That is, somewhat baggy dresses of light material, tending to be covered with tiny, tiny, tiny little prints of flowers and lacy stuff at the collar.

Modern times!

On This Day: Now I am 59

I don't feel much different, but when I look into the mirror there appears to be more mileage than previously. What is today like? So far, similar to other days. But maybe it will be different in a minute.

Big Trip to the Grocery Store

Seeking wild adventure, Adrienne and I drove in my motorized automobile. We took a prepared list, and then we ...

And then we went first to the Petco, where we bought some stuff. Then we went to the Trader Joe's, where we then bought some stuff. And then we went to the Whole Foods, where we, err, bought some stuff.

And that's the way it was.

Bagle & Cream Cheese. The New York Times

Adrienne brought them in when returning from dogsitty Izzy. Clearly I'm going all to hell here.

On This Day: Starting hyperengines -- Status: Almost 59.

San Anselmo, Maggie's house ::Almost Birthday Party::

HB2U coming up Monday 4/7, will be 59. Whoah! Today Celina's tribe and Layla came for a party. Midmorning I found Adrienne laying out a jazzy table setting with chili-peppers-on-black party tablecloth. The colorful streamers, the baloons (falsely printed Happy RETIREDMENT!), party hats and a birthday tiara for me.

The little kids made the chocolate cake: Rhiannon mixed, and Dameon iced. I got all presents with a food theme: a kitchy gadget that's a spatula, a tongs, a whisk, but wait there's more. Apron, wooden salad tongs, a book of captioned animal pix from Layla, and a gift cert for snazzy lunch come monday with Adrienne.

Joe and Celina doing some sort of therapy, made some conversations odd-sounding. Jessica very proud: Picture on the front page Marin newspaper sport section, tagging an opponent at homebase, and she's OUT! I enjoyed their visit. We had fun today.

This seems like a good spot to start my weblog.

Simple Simon

January 1975. I lived in a studio apartment above 3rd Avenue in San Francisco, just north of Golden Gate Park. There I started a little bookeeping business, and charged $8 per hour, big money. I called it 'Simple Simon Bookeeping.'

It was a nice little occupation, although annoying in that people tended to call me either 'Simon' or 'Simple'.

It came about in an odd way ...

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I'm near 59 and not dead. Something of an Accomplishment.

Lots of people -- some of them I knew well -- have failed to achieve this milestone. So I'm grateful for the good health and long life (so far) which I have enjoyed ...

I got several calls from family and a friend to wish me a happy -- Folks, keep those cards and letters coming in! -- So far having a pleasant day, and Adrienne cooked us lunch. The casual visitor here may not appreciate the earth-shattering significance of ...

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The Gypsies by the Slough

Near Hurnville, Texas, 1949: I think the horse's name was Blue. I was five. My grandfather placed me before him, upon the saddle, and we rode down past the creek.

The house sat at hilltop, and the creek wound and wandered below. That's where the trees grew. Thick and stunted trees, unruly, choked with vines and grasses, and below the west field tall pecan trees reaching high. And beyond the creek was a sluggish backwater. Grandfather called it the Slough.

It was there that we found the gypsies.

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Bloggs for the Huddled Masses

What is new about weblogs?

What's new here is that anyone can publish. No thought required about the format, about FTP clients. Just open a webpage, type into a box, and click. Bango! You're published. This means that ...

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April Food!

Ha, ha, ha! Today is April Food Day! April Food!