It’s been an interesting week…

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Though not without its price. I’ve apparently caught a cold or flu. I feel lousy!

Monday, we realized that the Pompeii exhibit was closing on the 11th of this month. We’d been meaning to go see it and for some reason thought it wasn’t going to close until the end of Jan. OOOPPPPSS!!!

As things turned out there were tickets available for Tuesday, and we got in to see the exhibit. The only problem was the number of people who were stopping in front of each of the items in the exhibit then listening to the prerecorded message thingy while crowding in, to completely obscure the items being described.

There was a time when children and people in wheelchairs were given room to get close, so they could press their noses against the glass.

Those days are gone! Folks you’re totally on your own. I had several really rude FEMNAZIS, (based on their attire, complete lack of courtesy, lack of personal hygiene and ample stink-eye toward any and all males,) actually shove their damn iPhones in front of my face so that they could take pictures. 

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They were afforded this opportunity because I was maintaining space between myself and the display cases, allowing children to press their noses against the glass!  

Had I been thinking I’d have snatched the phone(s) out of their hand(s) said, “Thank you” then walked away. These women were handing me the phones weren’t they? 

Nonetheless, I enjoyed the exhibition. I’d prefer to see Pompeii and Herculaneum “In Person” and perhaps someday I will.

I did find the exhibit a bit daunting simply because there was a ton of people in a very confined area. Picture the 405 in LA or I-10 in Houston, or the Holland Tunnel in NY, at 5PM. You know, a whole lot of people going absolutely nowhere!

I didn’t bother to take any pictures. To get decent quality you’d have to be able to get to the exhibit itself (or shove your camera phone in front of someone else) then angle the camera such that the glare from the overhead lights reflecting off the cases wasn’t obscuring what you were taking a picture of. In other words why bother trying to take photos yourself when professional photos of all the pieces are available online.

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They had a VERY TAME representation of a brothel that they also allowed you to bypass lest you were easily offended. Honestly, there was nothing, and I mean NOTHING in that brothel that was more racy than you’d see any night on TV.

I expected polished alabaster or marble phalluses that had been used as sexual toys. The only representation of phallic art was a horny little fertility god, who had a small penis growing out of a larger erect penis. BIG DEAL! (I can’t locate his image at the moment.)

This statue of what looks like a satyr having sex with a goat on the other hand, would have warranted a “Caution Parents, your children shouldn’t see this!” warning. However, this statue wasn’t on display in the LA exhibit.

I would have thought the casts of the bodies would have been far more disturbing, “Mommy, will that happen to us?” especially for children living in Los Angeles.

With the pointed explanation that earthquakes preceded the eruption of Vesuvius which then destroyed Pompeii, I picture that being of more immediate concern to a child than some goat thing wrestling with goat. 

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The glasswork, farm tools, cooking utensils, coins, and jewelry were impressive. The jewelry was beautiful work. The tools and cookware were as common and comprehensible as anything in my kitchen or garage.

FYI, the LA version of the exhibit was very minimalist.

I know from photos, reading archeological reports, and generally being interested in both Pompeii and Herculaneum that there is a surprisingly large amount of well preserved artifacts from both sites.

At a guess, I’d say the LA exhibit was far less than 1% of the artifacts recovered and catalogued.

Looking at the artifacts on display at the Field Pompeii exhibit, it seems  that for some reason LA didn’t put out all the artifacts that the Italian authorities provided. Perhaps this subset of artifacts was due to space restrictions. I’m somewhat disappointed, given the significance to archeology of this particular find.

One thing that was really interesting is the stark contrast in human achievement afforded visitors to the California Science Center.

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After spending 2 hours patiently waiting for people to move along so that we could see the Pompeii artifacts, we found ourselves in a section of the museum dedicated to space. Apollo, Gemini, and a wide variety of space probes were well represented. But the crown jewel was the Endeavor.

One thing that might have been particularly interesting would have been to place the Pompeii exhibit in the Endeavor’s hangar. The contrast underscoring how far we’ve come, the skill of our hands, and our capacity for achievement might have provided food for thought.

For me exhibits like Pompeii are touchstones. Reminders, that our technologies may not have made us “better” only more technological. At our core we’re still humans seeking solutions to everyday problems and dreaming of the next horizon.

What makes one reality better than another?

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I dream a lot. Sometimes even when I’m supposed to be awake.

When I have recurring dreams I tend to pay attention. Those are usually the kind of dreams where I’m trying to give myself advice. If I listen, that advice is pretty good.

Then there are dreams that are so real that when I wake up it’s as if I was living another life. For want of a better term, visualize a Matrix like reality.

What really gets my attention are dreams that are, both recurring and Matrix-like. Lately I’ve been having one of those dreams.

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This dream is either loaded with meaning or I’m living another life someplace else. I suspect it’s the former, but can’t help hoping it’s the latter. If this dream was/is another reality I think I’d like to stay there. It feels like I have a chance to get it right, if I somehow could stay.

It’s winter. There’s a lot of snow on the ground and I’m checking a fenceline. I look almost like I do now, maybe a bit more weathered. I’m wearing a stetson just like the one I have, but it’s beat to hell. It looks like it’s seen more than a few seasons outside.

There’s a noise behind me. It’s a good sized chestnut horse. I know his name instantly, and I notice he’s a bit skittish looking to the east and a line of storm clouds. I calm him with easy familiarity and he settles. This action feels like a dance we do often. Usually, its about him wanting a lump of sugar from my pocket, he knows I’m a soft touch. I know he knows, and he knows I know.

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Today is a bit different, this squall line is heavy, and there’s winter lightening in it. The wind is rising and every once in a while I can hear the rumble of thunder. I nuzzle the horse, “Come on Mac, lets finish up and get back home. I’ll turn the heater on in your stall.” I mount up, the horse continues a slow walk allowing me to inspect the fence from the saddle instead of trudging through the snow.

We walk for a while, then I notice we’re near the abandoned house on the property. The house is steep roofed, built solid and is at least 100 years old. When I bought the property I chose the other house to live in, because this place is so close to a busy road.

Snow is starting to fall. I see what looks like movement through one of the windows of the house. “Great! Squatters,” I think.

“Mac, we’re going to have to make a slight detour then I’ll get you back to your nice warm stall.”

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I tug the reins slightly toward the house. Mac’s not happy about it but he does as I ask. We get to the house and I put Mac under the roof of the back porch. When I walk through the door to the place I’m met by an astounding sight.

The squatters have a full-on business going in here. They’ve knocked out all the walls they could and turned the lower level of the house into a wide open space with sellers stalls in it.

Out front toward the road is a wide parking area. There are cars and trucks and all kinds of people selling all kinds of things. A lady offers me a cup of coffee for only 7.99!

I tell her and the rest of these people that this is my property and they all need to leave. I feel a little guilty about it. But come on! Shouldn’t I at least be getting a little rent? Then I notice there’s power here. I didn’t connect the electricity to this house.

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I stomp through the front door and out to the road. There, at the edge of the property is a brand new power relay. Nice shiny new transformer, a new fence surrounding the unit and bright coppery connections at the top of the insulators. Obviously someone is paying for this, I wonder if it’s me, and I just haven’t gotten the first bill. Everything I’ve seen looks like this is all new and these people have recently arrived.

I go back inside the house and ask to see whoever is in charge. I’m directed to some punk who smells of weed and who tells me they thought the house was abandoned.  Since the house needed people and they needed a place to live it was like a match made in heaven so they moved in. He’s telling me I shouldn’t be upset. The power company was really nice connecting the house to the grid, they said they’d send a bill later.

I asked him about the fence that they cut to gain access to the property, meanwhile I’m thanking my lucky stars that I didn’t just turn the heard loose into this pasture and decided to check the fence first. If I hadn’t, I’d have lost the whole damn herd.

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What I get from weed boy is more bullshit about no fences and that the house needed people. I realize I’m getting nowhere with this dumbass. I’m pissed off because this is exactly the kind of shit I moved out here to avoid.

I pull my cell phone out of my pocket, I have just enough signal to call the sheriff.  I’m going to make this his problem. Then I’m going to get on Mac and go home, we’re probably going to get caught in the storm at this point and his nose will be out of joint for days.

I press the call button…

Suddenly back in my bed. The sun is shining warmly through the bedroom windows, I can see the bright green of the vegetable garden and beyond it the barn. I’m freaked out, I jump out of bed throw on a pair of flipflops and walk out to the barn. Mac is half asleep in his stall. I can hear Lucy barking at the cows in the pasture, she’s probably making them do cardio, the cows must be just thrilled with her this morning.

I think Lucy’s the bossiest dog I’ve ever had, she’ll be up here soon demanding her breakfast. I open the barn door to the corral. Mac meanders out into the sun, and starts his morning routine. I smile, it’s like he stretches and warms up before the start of the day. I put his breakfast in the trough and make sure his water is fresh.

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The morning sun is comfortable on my skin and if it wasn’t for the work that I need to do around the place, I’d stay naked all day up near the pond in the north pasture. The thought brings a smile to my face.

Lucy comes padding up to the porch, all tail wags that I’m up already. She goes into the house through her doggie door. I grab the door handle…

I wake up here, in this bed, I’m sweating in a panic. I feel like I’ve travelled, and that I’ve lost something. I call for Lucy, I don’t know at first where I am. Sunny, my golden retriever, jumps up on the bed. He’s looking at me with the concerned look all retrievers get when their “people” are upset. I get a nose lick from him, then look at the clock.

It’s after 12PM. I’ve slept for 13 hours.

I pull some sweats on and hustle it to the slider, both dogs run down the stairs gratefully. I feel bad that they waited so long. Usually one or the other will wake me up but for some reason today they didn’t or couldn’t.

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There’s no mess to clean up. They come back inside bouncing and wanting their treats. I give them more than the usual allotment to thank them for being patient with me.

I flip the coffee maker on and over the first cup of coffee wonder at the reality of the dream. Or the reality of this place. Scent, sight, taste, sensation all were equally vivid and “real” in the dream. Even the weirdness of the dream within the dream felt “real”.

The strange part is that I’ve dreamt about the house the squatters were in before. I’ve seen the fence, the property, Mac the horse and Lucy. I have memories of being at that place and having a completely different life there.

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I have equally “real” memories of being here.

Is this what some of the Native American tribes were describing when they said their dream life was just as real as their normal life?

I notice a couple of things between the realities.

Here, now, I’m a technocrat. There, I have technology, but my life is more physical.

Here I live in a town and while it’s not LA, there are people around me. There, I live alone except for the animals.

Here, my view of the world is defined by what others have built or let me see. There my view is defined by nature, I see sky, sun, trees, mountains, and fields, I don’t see humans. Obviously they exist, but as a rule, in that life I know solitude.

My first cup of coffee is done, I’m awake and the dream life is fading.  As I wake up more and this “reality” settles in, I wonder if I’m just wanting to return to the places where I was truly happiest. Secret places from my childhood that were green, and alive, and where my future spread before me. Back to the places where turning left, or right on a particular day could’ve changed the entire outcome.

I can’t get over the feeling that I’ve lost something.

I’ve been feeling Compressed

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No, not as in diving compressed, (although I could use some underwater time). Any Divers out there wanna get wet? [Thanks to PADI for the nifty photo]

My compression stems from issues in my life.

As I’ve mentioned before, I share internet with the next door neighbor. Generally this isn’t a problem,  they’re using an old Windows based machine that I suspect is rife with malware. This doesn’t really affect me, except that when that machine logs onto the network it sucks up pretty much all the available DSL bandwidth.

For the non techies… The internet gets really slow.

Most of the time, even that doesn’t bother me unless I’m streaming a movie or something. But it reminds me that I’m not alone, and someone else has the ability to affect my life through my own niceness.

Then there’s the ugly assed fence which focuses my vision on their back yard, making me to be completely unable to ignore all the kids stuff, trampoline, monkey bars, various toys scattered about, and the pile ‘o junk stuffed in the corner.

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This fence also makes me feel that I have no privacy because it’s a constant reminder that there are kids there, even when they’re not out screaming, squabbling, or using the trampoline to jump up above the fence to ask me what I’m doing out on my deck. I can’t look past it, god knows I’ve tried. The 7ft tall monstrosity is THERE  protecting the children from… what? The occasional wayward hiker?

Then there’s the ceiling fan in my office. You see, the neighbors apparently put up a new ceiling fan in their house, and they left the unit’s code set to default. (Lots of new ceiling fans have these nifty remotes that allow you to change the speed of the fan and / or control the light in the fan.)

The problem is that when you put one of these fans in, you really should choose a new code other than the default one. Guess how I found out the electrician that built this house hadn’t bothered to change the code?

You guessed it. The great fan war started this summer. There are three neighbors that could possibly be close enough to control my office ceiling fan. One house is under going major remodeling. Since that place is gutted, I scratched them off the list. The other neighbor isn’t likely to have made any real changes, since she’s cold all the time. Which leaves the next door neighbors!

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Dammit! They’re jacking my internet up, have destroyed the view, have left me feeling like I’m having to accommodate their kids, “Asked” that we hose down our back yard every day during a drought while letting our plants die because she was pregnant and her nose was too sensitive, and finally…

Because they don’t want to figure out why their new fan isn’t working quite right, I’m the one that has to get up on a ladder with a screwdriver and a spring hook, (a spring hook looks a lot like a dental tool its sharp and pointy with a slight hook at one end. Great for flipping tiny little switches.) to manhandle 70lbs of ceiling fan to change the code to something they’re not using. 

But then it continues…

Once I’ve got the fan issue fixed, I think, “hey its time for me to rearrange the office” and so I begin that process only to find that my other half has systematically occupied every single open space in both closets, the filing cabinet, and a substantial portion of the basement with… for want of a better term CRAP! 

There’s no way for me to put my stuff out of the way or reorganize my stuff because his stuff is literally everywhere.

SO after grumbling about living with the equivalent of a 13 year old packrat, LOUDLY.  I start whipping through my shit and tossing anything that isn’t nailed down and functional. 

But the whole time I’m thinking, why am I the one that’s adapting to the situation AGAIN. 

I find myself thinking, “Maybe I should just pack whatever shit from this house that I want, and that will fit in my damn car and that will be MY space. Perhaps my life will be easier if I just allow the forces in my life that are conspiring to compress me into a tight little space, win. Then everyone will be happier and I’ll finally have some peace. Maybe I should sell every vehicle I own, buy a pickup truck with a tonneau cover (I don’t like camper shells) and be a true nomad, wandering towns and highways randomly. I’ll stop in interesting places do piece work for cash then move on. Maybe I should become ’That Guy’, the stranger, the scary dude in the corner of your local bar. ”

Then again maybe all this is just another way for the universe to tell me “Its time to move on.”

Reflections

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It was my birthday last week.

This one is a strange one.

I am the same age my father was, when he died. It messes with your head, I’m a young guy.

When I look in the mirror, at first glance I see myself in my early 30’s

When I look deeper, I see grey around the edges. The beginnings of that awful “Chicken Neck” thing that happens in some of my family.  Some blotchiness in my skin, a bit of sun damage and crows feet. My beard and goatee aren’t nearly as youthful as they once were. I take a moment in the steamy mirror to contemplate the changes and decide either due to reality or my ability to delude myself that I’m still not “OLD”.

The grey at my temples doesn’t look bad, the sprinkling of grey throughout my hair is still easily hidden with a shorter hair cut and even the slight recession in my hairline isn’t a disaster.

Then I flash on Dad lying in the hospital bed. With a little imagination I can strip away the ravages of disease and I see a guy that looks remarkably like me. It’s strange and disconcerting to think that If Dad was alive today he’d be in his 70’s and probably still spry and active. He’d certainly be able to hold his own in a political discussion.

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What would my Dad think of things as they are today? Would he be pissed, or would he have just given up; realizing that the battles he’d be trying to fight have already been lost?

Oddly, and something that spooks me deeply is that my life has mirrored my father’s in many ways.

Dad made his own way, he started businesses and generally was successful. He had a nice home, nice cars and a successful business when I was a child. He decided to “Check Out” of the ratrace in his mid 30’s and moved to Tennessee. He built a beautiful home, (or so I’ve been told) I never saw it completed. The house burned and Dad was back to square one.

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Unfortunately, for dad, time passed and he’d missed a large transition from discrete electronic components to IC packages. This meant that he had a lot of catching up to do if he wanted to return to office dictation equipment sales and repair. I don’t know if he was ever successful in making that transition, we lost touch with each other for a while.

The next I heard he was in Florida again this time putting together an custom office furniture business where he built all the furniture. I lost touch again then heard from him when he told me he was in Sarasota building and selling houses. Again I gather that he was pretty successful, he must have been in his late 40’s by then.

Next I heard, he was in South Carolina. He was living with his Mom and starting another business. This time in cabinetry, That’s where his time ran out.

Resilience is one word I think of when I think of my father. He did all he did with a high school education, Navy training, determination and raw smarts. 

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In the late 70s I got into computers. By the mid 80s I had been kicked in the teeth, done a bankruptcy, and was clawing my way back up the heap. For the most part I was successful, I was working in an industry that didn’t care what school you went to. All they cared about was your ability to fix shit, make shit, sell shit, or support the shit that had already been made, or sold.

I did quite well for a long time and never thought about going back to college. After all experience trumps book learning any day of the week right?

Well, it did… back in the old days. By the mid ‘90s those of us in the industry were beginning to notice that H1B1 visas were taking positions that we would have recommended our friends for. Often we didn’t even know there were openings in the department we were working in.

Jobs got harder to get.

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California entered a slow death spiral that continues to this day. Suddenly your college pedigree was the most important thing regardless of how much experience you had. 

Then the layoffs happened.

Like my Dad at this age, I’m trying to find and create a new place in the world for myself. College? A new career? A complete change, or only a partial change? Do I want to return to the tech rat race, or would I prefer to do something more interesting? 

I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m running out of time.

I’d expected to retire from the last tech company I was working for, maybe I was retired… 

Must’ve missed the memo.

Lately, it seems that nothing I’ve tried has worked out as expected, perhaps “as needed” is a better description. 

I’m not the only person in this situation. I’m still hearing about friends that are bailing, either out of their careers, or California. 

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I’m starting to get over the weirdness of this birthday,

I’m at a place in my life I’ve been before… It’s the “fuck it all, cinch up my bootstraps, and start kicking some ass” point.

I thought perhaps I didn’t have the strength to do it all over again. I’m tired, I’d grown sick of the bullshit in corporate America, but it’s all I know. I’ve wanted to just give up, to allow myself to just be swept aside, to accept that my fate was not my own and be a victim.

Then I think of Dad, he didn’t have the time to reboot his life.

I think he’d understand what I’m feeling now, then I suspect he’d say “Now that you’ve gotten that off your chest, GET OFF YOUR ASS!”

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OK Dad, this one’s for you…

As you wish…

Hamas Rejects ‘Final’ Ceasefire: “Death for Allah is our most exalted wish”

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Sometimes… You just wonder, sigh.

Some of the earliest tales from the middle east are about Djins. From these tales, come stories of Alladin, and culminate in America in the all time favorite show “I Dream of Jeannie”.

Djin in the original tales weren’t nice. In some tales, they were said to be from an elder race which predated humans. The world had been taken from them and given to mankind… they weren’t happy about it. So they became tricksters and yes, they would grant your wish but at a terrible price.

If you wanted an exciting life, you could find yourself falling out of a plane in a war zone without a parachute. Sure your life would be very exciting for all of about 7 minutes or so.

When I saw the headline and Hamas quote, all I could think of was an old movie where a Djin was released from it’s imprisonment. The creature kept granting the most petty, venal, and childish of wishes. Each wish ended very badly and the creature would always say, “As you wish” with a smile.

This headline tells me a couple of things. 

1) Hamas is not the least bit interested in protecting its people.

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2) Hamas is an illegitimate government and needs to be eradicated from the face of the Earth.

I hope Israel grants Hamas wish.

It occurred to me this morning that Israel has less reason to show restraint.  

In the past, America could request Israel go to the negotiation table.  We were after all supplying the Israelis with defensive weapons and ammunition.

Since president Stompy Foot started interfering with ammunition shipments to Israel, I suspect it’s changed the landscape of the conflict.

Now, Israel has a limited amount of time before Iron Dome runs out of missiles. Once Iron Dome fails, Israel will be vulnerable to Hamas missiles. 

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Were I a commander in the IDF, My recommendation would be to begin an all out assault. After all, my country’s only option for survival would be to utterly destroy my enemy, before my enemy was in a position to harm my people. In other words, I could no longer afford to be magnanimous with my warnings or kind about how I selected targets. 

My orders would be to bomb and destroy my enemy’s positions where ever they were without question.

Rocket launchers in a Mosque? Destroy the Mosque and all it’s surrounding compound. Launchers in a UN sponsored school? Sorry UN I thought you’d become an active combatant.

But Israel has another impetus to take the gloves off. It’s economic, with Europe turning it’s back on Israel  and refusing to accept some Israeli imports, and Pro-Palestinian assholes here in America attempting to interfere with shipping, what incentive to Israel have to listen to anyone? The way I see it, none.

Especially when reports come out of Gaza that indicate Hamas is manipulating the story and painting Israel as the bad guy. Those reports are in fact being buried or ignored by the World press. 

Israel has already been accused, tried, convicted, and condemned of a crime they have yet to commit. There’s little reason for them NOT to go ahead and initiate an operation called “Scorched Earth” or to borrow from the series Spartacus operation “Kill them all”. After the smoke cleared they could legitimately get away with “Ooops!”

The beach front property would make an awesome tourist area.

Hamas should really be much more careful about what they ask for.


Here’s a video that says kinda what I said but in a much nicer, funnier way