A Sci-Fi Kind of Feeling

I was exploring part of a city last night with Linda. She wanted me to see where her grandson would soon be working. So we were on a video chat using Skype, and we were using Google Maps to look at a section of Roanoke, Virginia. Sometimes I was hovering 200 feet above the ground, then I would zoom down to ground level, gliding up and down 9th Street looking at buildings. Then I would be hovering again, an eye in the sky, looking down on streets and buildings and people and cars. And the conversation would be something like, “I’m above the big smokestack, and I see the front-end loader, and there are two guys, one is wearing an orange shirt and one is wearing a lime-green shirt…” And suddenly it struck me as surreal: Linda and I were 200 miles apart, each in our own home, but video chatting while exploring pictures of the city where she lives and where I lived for 17 years. Even 15 years ago, such a thing would have been science fiction. And after that virtual visit was finished, I began another video chat with another friend in Roanoke and his cousin in Texas. And I’m not even a high-tech kind of guy.

Google Maps was launched in February 2005. The first public beta version of Skype was released on 29 August 2003. And now people hundreds of miles apart—or on opposite sides of the planet—can visit and speak with each other in real time while hovering over a city, perhaps a city neither has visited, and “walk” its streets. I think Millennials take such things for granted. I was born into a world where transistors were laboratory curiosities, computers were women at desks with mechanical adding machines, television with crude black-and-white moving pictures was on the horizon of reality, and something like the Internet was a science-fiction fantasy. Even when I graduated with an engineering degree, engineers still used slide rules to make calculations. The first 4-function electronic calculator I ever saw was one that I built.

So sitting in my home while flying over a distant city, while at the same time visiting and chatting with a friend in that city, struck me as a bit like living in a science-fiction story. It was a momentary feeling, but it was enough to remind me that I am living in a science-fiction reality. In another 20 years, another 50 years, another 70 years, what will the world be like, and what kind of people will be living in it? Perhaps there will be regular flights to the Moon and Mars, with good jobs for those willing to work in the asteroid belt. Whatever the future brings, it will be something that we people of today cannot imagine, even though some of us—the Millennials, the Gen X-ers, and their children—will bring that future into reality.

That Kobe Bryant Thing

Gayle King is one of the latest to incur the wrath of Kobe Bryant fans by mentioning something that is already widely known, even by fans of the basketball legend. However, let’s all keep one thing in mind: a famous aphorism coined by American writer and historian James Truslow Adams.

“There is so much good in the worst of us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it ill behooves any of us to find fault with the rest of us.”

If anyone has a problem with that, take it up with Mr. Adams. If you want a better world, begin by being a better human. Keep in mind that when you point your finger at someone, you have three fingers pointing back at you.

Rainy Days

My friend Linda says she loves rainy days. That makes two of us. I love ‘em, too. It wasn’t always thus. Back in my more out-and-about days, rain was a nuisance. But now that I’m mostly a homebody, rain gives me an excuse to not do anything outside. (Not that I need an excuse.) So instead of feeling guilty because I’m not mowing the grass, not trimming the shrubs, or not doing some other boring chore, I can always think, “Rain, doggone it, and I was so looking forward to yard work today."

When I was young and for most of my life, I loved thunderstorms. My parents were not the kind of people to show affection, and when I was just a young sprout they never touched or hugged or kissed me (or each other) or did anything at all to show affection. But my mother was frightened of thunderstorms, so whenever there was a thunderstorm nearby, she would call me and my brother to her bedroom and the three of us would sit on her bed and talk. It was a kind of closeness I never experienced any other time, and I loved it. I came to associate thunderstorms with that feeling of closeness. But that was long ago and memories fade.

I was lying on my couch one night during a thunderstorm, almost dozing, when suddenly there was a flash of light and a huge boom of thunder outside my front window. Lightning had struck my house or very near to my house. The circuit breaker to my kitchen stove was tripped, and a fuse in the garage was burned out. The lightning burned out the power supply in my garage door opener. It didn’t affect the motor, but it became impossible to command the motor to do anything. Spare parts were not available for the old door opener, so I jerry-rigged a workaround that allows me to operate the motor to raise and lower the door. For me, the shine has worn off thunderstorms.

The weather forecast calls for an inch of rain today and the same for tomorrow. My house is quiet with only the patter of raindrops on the metal awnings and the whir of the fan in the heater at my feet. The coming week will have morning showers every day. If it’s cold enough next week, I’ll build a fire in the fireplace and feed it the paper and cardboard I’ve been saving for the recycling truck. Sitting in front of a fire, watching the flames, feeling the warmth, is a kind of heaven, especially on a cold, rainy day.

Coronavirus Conundrum

Americans should relax—at least for now—regarding the new Coronavirus (official name: 2019-nCoV). Why?

At this moment, there are 17,496 cases confirmed worldwide, with 17,308 of those cases in China. There are 11 cases in the US. There have been 362 deaths from Coronavirus, all of them in China. There is a global map here of confirmed cases—a map created and updated by Johns Hopkins CSSE. If you examine that map you may be scared or reassured, depending on where you live. Will this Coronavirus develop into something we should all worry about? Only time will tell. Should we worry about it now? No. Unless you live in China, then maybe.

The CDC estimates that in the 2018-2019 flu season (the last flu season, not the current one), 35,520,883 people in the US got sick, 647,000 people were hospitalized, and 61,200 died. That flu season was considered moderately severe. Compare that to the previous year’s flu season, 2017-2018, in which 48.8 million people in the US got sick, with 959,000 hospitalizations and 79,400 deaths.

Now let’s look again at Coronavirus in the US: 11 people sick and 0 deaths. Those numbers are likely to rise, but at the moment, almost anything else is more likely to kill you. Such as lightning (about 51 deaths annually in the US). Or falling out of bed (about 450 deaths annually). Or opening a bottle of Champagne (about two dozen deaths annually). People have died while taking a selfie for YouTube. So before you freak out, remember that your chances of not dying are excellent.

And as for influenza, you did get your annual flu shot, didn’t you?

Perchance To Dream

“To sleep, perchance to dream…” So said Prince Hamlet in Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet. But I often don’t dream. I fall asleep if I’m lucky, and the night passes unnoticed by me. The night could be a single night or a million dreamless nights. I wouldn’t know the difference. I’m what some people call “dead to the world.” But Hamlet wasn’t talking about that kind of sleep.

Hamlet’s soliloquy begins with another famous phrase: “To be, or not to be.” So, “To sleep, perchance to dream…” has nothing to do with that thing I often struggle with during the night. Hamlet is talking about death. “To be, or not to be … to sleep, perchance to dream …” Sleep is a metaphor for death; dream is a metaphor for consciousness after death. Hamlet is contemplating suicide but fears he might not find peace even after death.

I feel like I’m back in my British literature class in college. But in those long ago days, Shakespeare’s play was merely words. Now they have meaning. Especially after so many people have recounted near-death experiences. We have to consider it is possible that consciousness does not end at death. And if it does not, then what will be our fate? Will we have to account for each and every one of our failings? I fear that we will.

I try to live my life on the principle that if I intentionally hurt someone, I’ve got a lot of explaining to do to The Powers That Be. I have a feeling it’s not the kind of thing I can talk my way out of. If only I had been a lot smarter a lot sooner.

Sleep Cycle

I went to bed early last night—I think. I went to bed at 7:30 PM. At 8 PM I was still awake, so I got out of bed and watched Young Sheldon. My intent was to go to bed when the show ended, and indeed, I turned off the TV at that time. I may have watched some YouTube, but in any event I was in bed by 9 PM.

It was one of those increasingly frequent nights: sleep ninety minutes, awake ninety minutes, repeat. Around 2 AM I awoke and heard a small, single-engine airplane flying overhead. The sound faded, grew louder, faded again, grew louder again, repeatedly. I wondered if the pilot was lost. There is a general aviation airport nearby, and I thought perhaps he was looking for it. The plane sounded as if it might be circling. If he was, the pilot could certainly see the headlights on I-95 a half mile east of me. When clouds are hanging low, I am able to hear the constant rumble of tires on the interstate. Sometimes I hear a trucker applying his truck’s Jake brake. But not tonight. We have a cloudless sky. There is nothing to reflect sound back to the ground.

I often rise at 4 AM or 5 AM, but not today. I stayed in bed until 7:30 AM, by which time my full bladder was signaling that a bathroom trip was needed. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. Before my body was erect, an intense pain in my lower back pulled me into a bowed position. I sat down on the bed. My bladder still required a bathroom trip. I stood again, but this time in a bent-over position and hobbled awkwardly to the bathroom. I was able to slowly get my body more erect, little by little, until I was standing normally. But it lasted only until I sat down again. When I tried to stand up, my back pain grabbed me and bent me over. I had to repeat the procedure of getting to a standing position little by little. It’s a nuisance, but it happens. It has happened before, and likely will happen again.

When I reached my computer, the outside temperature was 24°F. I turned on the TV and spent a few minutes watching impeachment shenanigans on the morning news, then I turned off the TV. I finished off a family-size bag of potato chips that I had bought just yesterday. I decided it was time for breakfast, so I warmed a burger patty I had cooked yesterday. I added mayo and ketchup to the bun, salted and peppered the beef patty, and put a slice of onion on it. I was going for the BK taste, but it wasn’t even close. I recalled the spatula incident that happened last night. I was cooking beef patties, and I pressed down on one with my plastic spatula (that I’ve used for years) and apparently I pressed down too hard. With a loud snap, the spatula exploded into three pieces. Two pieces sailed away, leaving me holding one short piece of handle. I grabbed my backup spatula and finished cooking the patties.

After I had consumed my so-so breakfast hamburger, I fired up my blogging software and set about pretending I was doing something useful. The time is 9 AM. The morning’s local weather is now on the TV. The weather guy says we have a 30% chance of rain today. (Until 9 AM we have a weather gal, and a traffic gal as well.)

The outside temperature has warmed to 33°F now. The habitable zone starts at 45°F, in my opinion. A weak sun shines through a thin overcast. The boiler in my cellar is running, cranking out hot water for the radiators. A small electric heater sits on the floor beside my legs, blowing warm air on me. For the moment, life is good. It doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. Simple things are important: chocolate chip cookies, a glass of cold orange soda, and a quiet place to munch and sip go a long way toward happiness in my world.

Lazy Saturday

It’s 1:20 on a sunny Saturday afternoon in late January. The temperature outside is 61°F according to the NWS. My city’s Emergency Operations Center also says the temperature is 61°F. The air feels quite comfortable outside.

I drove to Wally World this morning and picked up some junk food: two large bags of chips (a regular and a salt-and-vinegar), a bag of chocolate chip cookies, an Italian sub, two pre-made salads, a 2-liter bottle of cola, and maybe some other stuff. Now, half the chips are gone, as are many of the cookies and much of the cola. I have no self-control. That’s not quite true; I’ve gone from daily alcohol to no alcohol for the past three weeks. That takes some self-control. It also takes self-control to not eat the entire bag of chips, or the entire bag of cookies, all at once. Although, the Italian sub is definitely in jeopardy.

I diced a green Bell pepper and a white onion. I plan to make chili with beans later. I bought a pound of ground beef made from grass-fed steers. The product comes from Australia, so it costs a little more than ordinary ground beef, much of which probably comes from China. (If a package says “Product of U.S.A.”, that really means little. Steers can be born in, raised in, and slaughtered in another country, but as long as the imported meat is processed in a USDA-inspected facility, it can bear the label “Product of U.S.A.”.) But grass-fed steers are supposed to be healthier than grain-fed steers shot full of antibiotics to make them gain weight. Maybe it will taste better, too. I’ll find out.

Enough blogging for now. I may get back to it later today. Or not.

Sorry Ladies

I’m starting to get a complex. Every day I read about high-profile and powerful men being accused of sexual harassment by various women. Donald Trump bragged about abusing women and look what happened: the public elected him president. I’m beginning to feel that sexual harassment is normal behavior for men and there must be something wrong with me because I’m averse to doing it.

I don’t know why I don’t harass women. I wasn’t taught to not do it. When I was growing up, it wasn’t even a thing. Despite a seriously screwed-up home environment, no one mentioned sexual harassment. I had to learn about it through hundreds of women in the news. And that has only been in recent years. So for decades of my life, I was avoiding a behavior that other men were practicing seemingly everywhere—in the business world, in the Hollywood world, in the academic world, in the athletic world, just … everywhere. No one told me to get busy, to begin being aggressively obnoxious around women, and all those other manly responsibilities that men routinely engaged in for all those years. I knew nothing about it.

I apologize to all the women I’ve known for not pinning you against the wall and running my hand up the back of your skirt. I really didn’t know it was a thing that men were supposed to do. Stupid me, I seriously thought that a part of being a real man was respecting women and even, if necessary, protecting them. I feel stupid for being so clueless. But after reading all these accounts in the news—and new stories still seem to pop up daily—my eyes have been opened. Old habits are hard to break and I’ll probably never be able to sexually harass women properly. It’s just not me. I can’t even do a decent wolf-whistle or catcall, much less make persistent unwanted sexual advances. But don’t worry ladies, apparently there is no shortage of men available and willing to harass you, even if it’s too late for me to do it.

Big sigh.

Let There Be Light

I got up at 4 AM, my new usual morning wakeup time. When I was drinking alcohol and awoke at this time of day, I’d have 2 or 3 more shots and go back to bed and to sleep. Now that I’m not drinking, I simply get up and stay up.

First, I take a pill that requires me to wait an hour before eating. Then I wait 15 minutes before eating breakfast, which varies in quality. This morning, breakfast consisted of several servings of potato chips, plus a banana, plus a couple of chocolate chip cookies. Perhaps I should call it “first breakfast” in true hobbit fashion. In a couple of hours I’ll have “second breakfast.” Then first lunch and later, second lunch. Followed even later by supper. Or dinner, if you prefer, but of late I’ve been returning to my roots. My grandparents called it supper. If I were eating a fancy meal, maybe I’d call it “dinner.” But I might end up eating a BBQ sandwich or a couple of hot dogs at the end of the day and for that, “supper” is good enough.

The house is quiet—only the gentle whir of the fan in the electric heater at my feet. Yesterday morning, the halogen bulb in the torchère lamp near my computer desk burned out. After only three decades of burning faithfully day and night, the bulb failed. I was so disappointed. Where’s the quality these days? I was considering taking the entire lamp back to the store where I purchased it in 1989 and asking for my ten dollars back. But I lost the receipt.

So I went to Home Depot and began searching for a replacement bulb. I needed a 300 watt type T bulb. I wasn’t sure if I needed a T2.5 or a T3, or something even harder to find. But I thought it was probably a T3 that I needed. For those of you not yet in the halogen world, type T means tubular and the number refers to the diameter in eighths of an inch. So T2.5 is 1/4 inch diameter and T3 is 3/8 inch diameter. It looks like this, more or less:

I began strolling the halogen lamp aisle and a young man in a Home Depot apron asked if he could help. I told him I needed a 300 watt type T halogen bulb, and he set about assisting me. Another fellow joined us, and he was dressed in civvies, no apron. He overheard me say 300 watts and he jumped in.

“Three hundred? That’s a big number. Are you sure? What’s it for?”

“It’s for a torchère lamp,” I replied.

“What’s that?” he said.

“You don’t know what a torchère lamp is?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s a floor lamp, about so high,” I explained, holding up my hand. “It has a bowl shaped reflector on top and the bulb goes inside. The light reflects off the ceiling.”

By then the other young man had located a look-alike, but it was 500 watts. “The current goes through a dimmer, and a bulb that size might burn out the dimmer,” I commented, thinking: let’s stick to what the lamp was designed to handle.

Soon he found a 300 watt T3. He said if it didn’t work I could get my money back. I thanked him and went to a checkout machine and paid. I took it home and it worked like a champ. I have light again. And it only cost ten dollars, as much as the entire lamp cost me three decades ago. Of course, for that price I got 2 bulbs, so in another three decades when this new one burns out, I’ll already have a spare bulb ready to use. Thinking ahead, you know.

Joel and Lia Visit HEB

It’s dark outside; 6:15 AM here. I’m catching up with some YouTube channels I enjoy, and I ran across this video from Joel and Lia’s channel. It’s from their Texas Series.

Joel and Lia are young Brits exploring America and posting their many adventures on YouTube. In this video, they visit an H-E-B store and experience some Texas hospitality. I live on the East Coast, but I know a fellow who works at an H-E-B in San Antonio (the chain is found only in Texas.) The food looks very appetizing. I’m jealous.