I’d watch a TV show based on a 50’s era family that made their living performing on small town radio stations. I might make one or both of the children “little people” passing as kids. Maybe the wife transgender. The gimmick would be they are all very talented but couldn’t make it as solo acts and discover — by humorous accident — that they’re a hit as a family. The thing practically writes itself.
From an article by Tim O’Reilly
“When news of import spreads around the world in moments, is this not the awareness in some kind of global brain? When an idea takes hold in millions of individual minds, and is reinforced by repetition across our silicon networks, is it not a persistent thought?”
It’s a rare day I don’t “ask Google” a question. Usually several. Increasingly, Google provides a useful answer. As this bit of magic becomes commonplace, the line between Me and the Net becomes thinner and thinner and will soon disappear. (Already, perhaps?) My mind (whatever that is) feels like it’s escaping the cramped confines of my head and it feels wonderful.
“AI that we will confront is not going to be a mind in an individual machine. It will not be something we look at as other. It may well be us.”
As our Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal ancestors slowly became what we are today?
“I am pro-abortion like I’m pro-knee-replacement and pro-chemotherapy and pro-cataract surgery. As the last protection against ill-conceived childbearing when all else fails, abortion is part of a set of tools that help women and men to form the families of their choosing. I believe that abortion care is a positive social good. I suspect that a lot of other people secretly believe the same thing. And I think it’s time we said so.”
To call it “begging” seems… harsh. “Panhandling” feels a little too cute. I don’t know the politically correct term for when someone asks you for money. I assume it’s pretty common in cities with lots of foot traffic but we don’t see it as much here in Hooverville. I believe I’ve previously mentioned the woman who stands on a highway off ramp I use frequently. Indeterminate age. Somewhere between 30 and 60. She stand there, very still and straight, in one of those ankle-length dresses some favored by some fundamentalist religions. I think she might hold a small cardboard sign but I couldn’t tell you what it says. Unless it’s going to hold up the drivers behind me, I usually give her a five or a ten, sometimes a twenty. She used to try to give a small religious tract but I decline and she eventually stopped.
On some days a different person has that spot but I rarely contribute. They put off a very different vibe. Some are almost jocular. Lots of eye contact. Ready to approach your car at the slightest encouragement.
There are a couple of guys that work the spot together. Can’t believe that’s very effective.
Another young man has a boom box sitting on the ground nearby. Boring ‘work’ no doubt, but I’d tell him to leave that at home. If I told him anything.
One man always has a cane but it doesn’t look natural in his hand, if you know what I mean.
Some of these men — and it’s men, mostly — only seem to show up when the weather’s nice. My lady can stand there, hour after hour, in the heat or the cold. Only moving when a motorist waves with a bill or some change.
So, is it shitty to be judging and evaluating like this? Are these people, in any sense, “selling” something? Do I need to know — or believe — anything beyond they help? Would it be a dick move to go buy some diapers (size 6) and hand it to the guy whose sign says that’s what he needs? I’d really like to know what she/they are thinking/feeling during the long hours at that intersection. Despair? Gratitude? Anger? Boredom?
As I coast up the exit ramp, trying to time the light, there’s little time for such analysis. If I can find a bill and my lady is there, we make our awkward hand-off. (“God Bless!” or “Jesus Loves You”)
Atlantic Light from Peter Cox on Vimeo.
We’ve all had this experience but it’s less common with mobile phones. You’re in your office and your “desk phone” rings. You can’t answer it for some reason. You’re talking on your mobile or you have someone in your office, but you didn’t set the phone to go to voice mail so it keeps ringing until the caller gives up.
This happened to someone being interviewed on a podcast I listen to and the phone rang 20 or 30 times. Still ringing when the interview ended. So here’s my question: what’s going on in the caller’s head?
He obviously believes the person he’s calling is ‘there’ or he’d just hang up. So. He’s there but not answering the phone. Why?
a) He’s in a coma
b) His office is being robbed and he’s duct taped to his chair
c) He’s doing something that prevents him from answering THE MOTHER FUCKING PHONE!
Am I missing something obvious here? I do that. As horrible as it is to contemplate, I always suspected the caller was thinking, “If I let it ring long enough, if that becomes annoying enough, he will stop what he’s doing and answer my call. Passive-Aggressive that I am (was?) I would usually just pick up and immediately hang up the phone.
I don’t get a lot of calls these days and I don’t miss ‘em.
Jonathan Safran Foer had an idea for Chipotle so it shared it with their CEO.
They had nothing on their bags. So I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be cool to just put some interesting stuff on it? Get really high-quality writers of different kinds, creating texts of different kinds that you just give to your customers as a service.’
In the Vanity Fair piece below they give a few samples. One by Michael Lewis (The Two-Minute Minute) resonated for me.
“Recording the quotidian details of my day seems to add hours a day to my life: I’m not sure why. Another trick is to focus on some ordinary thing—the faintly geological strata of the insides of a burrito, for instance—and try to describe what I see. Another: pick a task I’d normally do quickly and thoughtlessly–writing words for the side of a cup, say–and do it as slowly as possible. Forcing my life into slow-motion, I notice a lot that I miss at game speed. The one thing I don’t notice is the passage of time.”
The slowing of my life over the past two years has been one of the best and most interesting parts of not having a job. I still notice the passage of time but it’s moving more slowly.
If you write a nice check (for a good cause) you get your picture taken with the celebrities. (Barb 2nd from the left; the lady in the middle is Pam, a high school friend).
The artists appearing with Sheryl Crow were pretty much unknown to me. I knew their fathers but haven’t followed their careers. And they play country music. “Redneck Country” in the case of Noll Billings, singer for Blackjack Billy. Looks like David Nail had a #1 song in 2012. They all have wikipedia pages if you’re curious. Blackjack Billy; Trent Tomlinson; David Nail
I assume it’s damned hard to make it in the music business so it does seem noteworthy that four kids from a small (10,000) town in southeast Missouri managed to do so well.
“A Fox News guest has been forced to apologize for suggesting Britain’s second biggest city was off-limits to non-Muslims.”
This story got me thinking about apologies. “I’m sorry” must be one of the first phrases learned by American children. Say you’re sorry.
Like everyone, I’ve done plenty of things to “be sorry” about but it sure feels like a meaningless expression. Even if you are sincerely contrite, so what? Does saying you sorry mean anything? Does it make a difference? It must because when someone fucks up, demands for a public apology are loud. But for the life of me I can’t see how it makes any difference. Certainly doesn’t unring the bell and more often than not it’s a half-assed apology (“I’m sorry if anyone was offended by seeing my johnson on Twitter. It was an error in judgement. My penis misspoke.”)
Let’s make it more personal. Your husband/wife gets caught sneak-fuckin’ and hopes to repair the damage with an apology. Is it somehow important to the injured party that the offender regrets his/her actions? (“Well, as long as you feel badly about what you did, okay.”) No. Not okay.
Maybe an apology is more about forgiveness than contrition. You won’t forgive me until I say I’m sorry. It just seem like bullshit to me. Maybe if I had kids I’ve have a better handle on this. They need to feel bad when they do something wrong. Is there no way to get there without an apology (genuine or half-assed)? And, honestly, I don’t have an alternative.
Reporter: The video shows you knocking the snot out of your girlfriend in that elevator. Are you sorry you did that?
Me: I wish I hadn’t done it but I did. Wish I had a do-over but I don’t.
Reporter: So, are you sorry or not?
Me: What difference would it make if I was. Wouldn’t change the fact I knocked crap out of her.
Maybe what I’m struggling with is after enough apologies, they become meaningless. A meaningless noise we’re expected to make. If I’m a dick, I’m still a dick no matter how many times I say I’m sorry.
There’s a sad little woman
with a cardboard sign
standing by the off-ramp
pretty much rain or shine.
The sign says “god bless you”
but I never look too close.
She wears those long dresses
that say I’m a child of god,
you can forget about my legs.
When I miss the light
and have to stop
I hold up a bill and she trots over
“God bless you, god bless you”…
Whoosh I’m gone.
When the light is green
I go sailing by, “next time” say my eyes.
Or we try a daring hand-off move
like passing the poor person baton.