Energy

Yes, I’ve been a little quiet, blog-wise. I’ve been finishing up an annual publication, which required a lot of writing, editing and other stuff on my part.

Writing is a cathartic exercise and most people have a limited amount of the energy to expend. I knew one author who would never talk about a work-in-progress for that reason. Too much energy leakage with work yet to be done.

Since I’m doing everything on this project (production, layout, editing, most writing, etc.) except ad sales, I needed to conserve the energy. As much as a challenge as it has been, it’s a pleasant return to my roots.

When I started in publishing, I had a broad array of lower level responsibilities. I was integrally involved in putting each issue to bed, which meant long hours on deadline day, followed by us all going out to tip a few. Even with the pressure on, there was still a great feeling working shoulder to shoulder to overcome the obstacles.

The upper echelon would stick their heads in to see how things were coming but they were gone when the small hand hit five. There was no need for them to be there until the end, but I think they missed out on the team experience.

And, a leadership opportunity. Not much after that, I earned a series of promotions that moved my office closer and closer to the corner of the building. I still hung in on deadline days.

Later, I owned a weekly newspaper with a Thursday night deadline. I’d stay with the team to the bitter end and take them out for beers afterwards. At first, it was at the Westin Hotel, across the street from our office. I didn’t want them to feel I was skimping on them. But, we migrated to Miss Kitty’s, a dive on Third Street. That was more congruent with the roll-up-the-sleeves spirit of deadline day and a lot more fun for cutting loose. They appreciated my participation and support, but it still wasn’t quite like being in the trenches with them.

So, to be back in the midst of the fray is enjoyable to me, even with the inevitable last minute hurdles to overcome. I’m looking forward to the celebratory beer.

Genes

Kathy and Lizzie were both in my high school class. What is notable is that they were sisters, a little less than a year apart in age. I never encountered that before or since.

More to the point, they were drop-dead gorgeous, and that doesn’t even begin to describe it. Not even close. I can’t even begin to catalog their attributes, much less the magnitude thereof. Talk about genes, their parents should’ve received the Nobel Prize for art.

A few years ago, at a class reunion, the question came up as to why they weren’t there. Had to.

“They probably porked up and couldn’t bear to be seen as imperfect,” sniffed one of the women, and the other females joined her in an evil snicker. None of the guys laughed.

I did wonder what became of them. It may sound strange, but as good as they looked, I fully expected one or both to pop up into prominence. There are many beautiful women, but not like they were.

As luck would have it, Lizzie bobbed up in my email inbox today. There was a link to her web site and I downloaded the photo at the top of this column. This woman is in her sixties.

Talk about genes.

Luddite

When I bought my last new car, I spent no small amount of time with the manual in one hand (it, not quite as thick as the IRS code) while dumbly punching buttons with the other. My daughter joked that I would learn half the functions by the time I got rid of it. I believe I achieved about 85%. Take that.

It was a far cry from my first new car in ’75. Make that 1975, in case there was a question in your mind. It was simple and actually still had a three-on-the-tree. If you wanted more heat, you just slid the lever further to the side. More fan? Twist the knob another click. Can’t say that you really needed a manual.

I recently completed the process of shopping to replace the technological wonder. I knew precisely what I wanted when it came time to do the deal. However, a killer incentive on existing inventory and the prospect of augmented price and waiting period on a special order compelled me to take one off the lot that had a bit more gingerbread than I needed.

Before I took possession, the young salesman ran me through the quick start course, which probably saves them trouble down the road. How much more complex could it be than my previous technocruiser? Better question. What am I thinking? I mean, it isn’t like you can buy a laptop now without it turning obsolete by the time you reach your garage.

He puts me in the pilot seat and goes around to the other side, giving me a moment to stare it in the eye (dashboard). It looks fairly benign; especially considering the list of functions in the brochure runs on for pages in font I cannot decipher without an electron microscope.

He mounts the co-pilot perch and begins flicking through screens related to audio functions (radio, CD, auxiliary devices, its own gigs of music memory, etc.), climate control, telemetry, maintenance reminders, telephone and a dozen other areas of concentration. His fingers are a blur as he works a four-way rocker with one hand and keys with the other, like he’s propelling Mario through his paces at light speed on a Gameboy. And, his monologue is keeping pace.

My eyes are glazed over by the second screen. So when he gets to the end and asks if there are any questions, I have just one. “Who’s driving while I’m at the work station?”

He says to just use voice commands. Like Captain Kirk? Cool! Except the computer apparently has some problems comprehending the vestiges of a Philadelphia accent. I try 11 o’clock news anchor enunciation and it works a little better.

Then, we get to other control buttons that present me with dazzling choices. Do I want this driving mode locked in or would I prefer to let the computer select? Do I wish to manually operate that or let the servo drive provide the impetus? Would I prefer to operate these through voice command or steering wheel buttons?

Again, one question. How the hell do I know? “Look, for now, if I just move the lever to D and steer, will it get me home where I can make those decisions after having read the manual (and paying a 12-year-old to interpret the technical instruction)?”

“Yes, but you can elect to read the manual, view the supplied DVD or go online to get the information.” Oh good, more decisions.

It didn’t appear to have an ejection seat button so I just shooed him out and engaged warp drive. Miraculously, the star cruiser responded to prosaic pedal depression and steering wheel rotation. I made it home and managed to stop short of the garage door.

Okay, I’m playing the Luddite. I’m sure I’ll use and enjoy most of the conveniences as soon as I learn them.

Which should be right around the time I sell the vehicle.

Sandday

For you, it may be Sunday. For me, Sandday. I camped on a beach for almost a week and brought home half of Florida.

So much for life on the beach. This is amazing stuff. It gets into every crack, crevice and crease of absolutely everything. I’m hosing and hosing and still finding grit.

And then there’s sand’s evil twin, salt. From paddling days in ocean spray, my clothing is stiff with it. You can’t see it but, rest assured, it’s there.

I’ll gladly pay the price. I no longer think I’d enjoy it as a permanent lifestyle, but it’s tough to beat for a cold weather retreat.

Happy Sandday to me and my fellow travelers.

Challenges

I heard on the radio that the government was probably going to shut down nonessential functions as a result of last minute budget wrangling. I shook my head, thinking of all the lower echelon workers who would suffer as a result of the inept leadership not getting the job done when they should have. Of course, there will be no bump in the road for those who botched it and will continue to live the good life at our expense.

Then, I almost went off the road as it dawned on me that I was also on the pointed end of the screw. Many months before, I had planned a kayak expedition, reserving an area controlled by the National Park Service. I had ten people who had put in for vacation time and were about to drive a thousand miles to enjoy it. Or not.

A good part of the next 48 hours was spent coming up with a solution. I emailed the contingency plan to the group. They responded with approvals and compliments. Don seems to like to employ observations and, in this case, added that I enjoy stuff like this.

Guilty. I like a challenge or a puzzle. In a case like this, I analyze the situation, define the problem and generate potential solutions for prioritizing.

The first step included investigating if this truly applied to us. We were using a remote and primitive area that required no services from government personnel. I called the ranger station and was told that the entire area would be closed and that we would be prohibited from using it.

That answered the principal question but raised another. If all the personnel were furloughed, who’d be there to arrest or evict us? I found an article that alluded to the last time we experienced a shutdown. Many people entered park space anyway. I toyed with the idea of going renegade. No, I wasn’t going to take responsibility for leading others into that situation.

The problem crystallized as finding a place on a par with the one I had reserved. I had spent long months identifying the perfect spot and wasn’t going to allow myself the excuse of the shutdown to lower the bar.

Unfortunately, the feds control much of the pristine locations on the Florida coast. State and commercial facilities tend to cater to the RV tourists because that’s where the bucks are. And, we were also competing for space with spring breakers.

On top of that, the shutdown wasn’t a certainty. I needed to find a spot where I could not only make a reservation on short notice, but cancel it if there was an eleventh hour breakthrough in the budget negotiations.

No such animal existed, or at least not one I could find. However, I had located two facilities with the desirable traits. Could I negotiate the right terms of reservation? Both were government entities so I didn’t anticipate much flexibility.

Faint heart never won fair maiden. I had to take my best shot and used our sob story as the sales hook. It didn’t hurt that one of the managers I approached detested the feds. Success!

As it turned out, the threat of the shutdown evaporated at the last minute and we were good to go with the original location. It had been a hair-pulling couple days.

But, Don was right. In spite of the angst, I did enjoy pulling it off.

In our genes

Went to the Museum Center tonight to see the Cleopatra exhibit. There were a lot of amazing artifacts, but one struck me more than the others.

It was a piece of papyrus, handwritten and signed by Cleopatra. The translation was an edict, waiving the wine tax for a merchant who was a friend of Mark Anthony.

Government corruption predates Christ. It’s in our genes.

Adventures in Paradise

The TV series, 1959-62. Gardner McKay sailed his schooner from adventure to adventure in the south Pacific. The image of sun-drench, palm-fringed beaches cooled by gentle ocean breezes took root in my fertile young mind. Someday, that would be me.

I did learn to sail and applied that in the Caribbean. Every year, I’d take about a half dozen buddies island hopping on a rented boat. Lots of rum, snorkeling and fun. It wasn’t the Pacific, but the clear, aqua waters and white sand did just fine, thank you.

But then, kids came along and our annual trip petered out. I didn’t miss it right away, but the yearning to scrunch my toes into hot sand and live the life of a beach bum returned.

It would happen again, although not under canvas. This time, it would be sea kayaking and camping on remote beaches. You wake up, look outside your tent and see dolphins playing in the surf under a rising sun. I can’t get enough of it but will get my fix, soon.

That’s paradise.

Continuation of the Great Tron War

I lose again. In a previous blog, I held forth on my heroic efforts to assemble, connect and operate computer components in such a way as they functioned as advertised, or at all. I was outthought at every turn by the hardware and software engineers, not to mention the semi-literate author of the manual and the unctuous sales geek. Casualties were heavy on my side. So, why thrust myself into the breach again?

I’m leading a kayak expedition through some islands in the near future and all available reports indicate that it’s possible to get lost among them. I interpret that as “easy to get lost” and decided maritime charts weren’t sufficient to avert disaster, not to mention mutiny.

The obvious answer is my trusty GPS. I came up with that answer several years ago, only to discover that it lacked in detail, to put it mildly. The cost of adding maps of dubious quality would equal or exceed the price of the device. I settled for “close enough.”

Up until now. I fired up the GPS and cursored down to the target location to see if it brought up sufficient detail among the maze of islands. The result was like staring into a lava lamp.

I had heard tell of non-OEM downloads, some that were even free, and searched the web. Gadget geeks described the application gymnastics required to accomplish this and reported mixed results and even some equipment damage. This was no time for me to start experimenting. I went to the OEM web site, prepared to take my medicine.

Ah. They’ve come down in price, perhaps bludgeoned by the outside competition. Still falling short of cheap, though.

Even now smarting from my previous forays into geekdom, I carefully read the details, especially regarding compatibility. My model was specifically listed so I naively made the purchase. On to the download and crisp, detailed map images!

But, not before the dance. They coerced me into setting up an account, coughing up personal data and swearing not to share their secrets with the Chinese. Okay, now can we proceed? I click the download button again.

Uh, uh, uh! You don’t have the communication plug-in. Wouldn’t that be a good place for it to pop up? But, it doesn’t. So, I have to search the site. I find it and click the download. It does immediately, which should’ve made me suspicious. Next comes the install wizard, except it tells me it can’t because I have to close the browser window. I do and retry, getting the same error message. I hit the help button and it says to try closing all applications. I do and it still admonishes me about other programs interfering. Why is it always me?

It isn’t. I go up on the web and find about a billion other victims. Solutions range from obtaining a doctorate in computer science and editing the firmware in my computer to hanging cloves of garlic over the mother board. I pick something in between where I understand at least half the steps. It fails. I try another and strike out again. Three times is the charm. The plug-in is in the house.

Let’s roll. I try the download button three times and each time the screen goes blank. What happened to the charm? When all else fails…I rebooted.

The magic pill worked again. The download button now commenced leading me through steps. Then, it pulled up short. Insufficient storage. I tried again and again. No dice.

At this point, I was so frazzled that I decided to contact the manufacturer’s customer service department. That, of course, involves jumping through many hoops to finally arrive at the company’s most condescending employee.

The first thing he did was interpret the message for me. “Your device lacks sufficient storage for the program you bought.” Thanks for walking me through that one.

“But, I checked your compatibility list and it says it is suitable for my model.”

“Yeah, but not with the supplied card. You need a bigger one.”

“And where does it say that?”

There was a moment of silence where he was undoubtedly gaping at the phone in disbelief. “It goes without saying that you’re loading a great deal of data.” I had something to say, but let it go without saying.

I dug out the owner’s manual and found the GPS came with a 16MB card, or about as much memory as you’d need to route from your garage to the curb. The maximum it would take was 2GB.

I hightailed it to the store without benefit of navigation assistance. This was no time for half measures. I went whole hog and got the 2MB card. With the trip preparation clock ticking, I raced home.

Scrupulously following the manual, I removed the supplied card and placed the new one. I sprang to the web site and initiated the download. Once again, it aborted and informed me I had no storage. None? I took a step back?

Not yearning for a reunion with my new pal in customer service, I went up on the web. Digging through a few forums on the many glitches users have encountered, I unearthed the undisclosed step. Format the card first. I formatted. I didn’t get the no storage message. We were back to insufficient. You’ve got to be kidding.

Web forums didn’t seem to address this so I had little choice but to call my buddy. I wended my way through the roadblocks, growing a little more irate with each step. However, I calmed myself before explaining what I had done and still received the insufficient storage message.

“You still don’t have enough storage.” No wonder he has that job.

“And what do you suggest?”

“You need a 4GB card.”

“The manual says 2GB is the max.”

“Don’t listen to that.” Don’t listen to that? Why didn’t I think of that?

“Doesn’t it say somewhere that unapproved modifications void all warranties?”

“Can’t help ya there, dude.” Because help would be too close to customer service?

I burn rubber for the store. I really don’t have time for this. I go to 4GB and remember to format it. The download commences. Finally. The little “thermometer” pops up. “Estimated time remaining, four score and seven years.”

Not quite, but I go upstairs to locate a bottle of beer. I know how to download that.