One could argue that the military is responsible for the development of the mobile technology (from mobile phones to computers), that we have come to depend upon. Since this access may soon turn Orwellian in nature, I thought it would be prudent to show potentially new modes of public transportation, courtesy of passionate human engineering.
Battlefield 3 is a video game that allows for the singular exploration of all vehicles made available by some of our most advanced territorial technologies. Thought their ad was clever:
Update: I am still reading and enjoying your blogs, but am unable to comment for now. I do read and appreciate your comments though.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Technical Difficulties
Dear Readers,
We are currently experiencing technical difficulties.
Negotiations with hardware squatters have been reduced to four letter words.
We shall respond to much appreciated comments when more extensive vocabulary resumes.
Please rest assured that our CEO is standing by with a hammer in the event that negotiations fail.
We look forward to visiting your blogs again.
Please join us for a complimentary illusory nostalgia session on the topic of wood cabins, the pony express and pigeon mail.
With warmest regrets,
Management
Ye olde fridge and stove still work; have a happy thanksgiving.
We are currently experiencing technical difficulties.
Negotiations with hardware squatters have been reduced to four letter words.
We shall respond to much appreciated comments when more extensive vocabulary resumes.
Please rest assured that our CEO is standing by with a hammer in the event that negotiations fail.
We look forward to visiting your blogs again.
Please join us for a complimentary illusory nostalgia session on the topic of wood cabins, the pony express and pigeon mail.
With warmest regrets,
Management
Ye olde fridge and stove still work; have a happy thanksgiving.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The Stockmarket Explained...
A man wants to invest, but is terribly confused about the stock market. He asks his friend, an investment banker, to advise him.
"Here is what you do, you take your savings and buy 10 chickens and a rooster. Those chickens will lay eggs and breed," his friend advises. "Not only will you have eggs to sell, but after some time you'll have a 100 chickens and expand your business."
"That is great. I shall do that."
"However, there is a risk."
"There is?"
"Yes, if there is a flood, the chickens will drown and you will lose all of your investment."
"Oh, no! That is horrible. What am I going to do if that happens?"
"You should have bought ducks."
"Here is what you do, you take your savings and buy 10 chickens and a rooster. Those chickens will lay eggs and breed," his friend advises. "Not only will you have eggs to sell, but after some time you'll have a 100 chickens and expand your business."
"That is great. I shall do that."
"However, there is a risk."
"There is?"
"Yes, if there is a flood, the chickens will drown and you will lose all of your investment."
"Oh, no! That is horrible. What am I going to do if that happens?"
"You should have bought ducks."
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Some People Come With Baggage. I Come With Books.
I have been to places and times that I will never visit. I have met cultures that I will never meet in person, but am now aware of. Worlds, thoughts, stories and discoveries contained between covers, are free to roam in my imagination.
I look at the words that surround me and the memories attached to every book in my possession and remember. I read that one when I was a teen; philosophy hidden in a cheap pink paperback. This one was carelessly dropped in the sand. "Notes from the underground" on a beach. What would Dostoyevsky say if he knew that his work is associated with scent memories of surfboard and ocean? My earliest copy of Tolkien reminds me of reading past my bedtime.
My library, carefully packed up with care across distances, some great, some small. There is a sense of accomplishment when I look upon the visual display of books organized by subject and author. I gave up counting them a long time ago. Books given to me as gifts, inscribed by my friends, mentors and relatives. I cannot look at them without remembering the person who gave them to me, where I read them or what stage of life, opinion and interests I was in.
Paper books.
My reading experience is indelibly linked to cover art, edition, shape, size and weight of the books that line my shelves and occupy side tables. Some are old and instantly transport me to small, cramped little bookstores, where I found some of my most valued treasures. Others have been sold, donated, recycled through many different hands, passed on, gifted, lent, borrowed, valued. Even when discarded, they can be altered or left to the elements to biodegrade.
E-books, while convenient and accessible will never replace any of that. They require an energy source to read, sometimes irritate with their flash to black when turning a page and contain components of disposable technology that are toxic to the environment.
Paper books satisfy all senses; the smell of new paper and ink, the sound of a turning page and simply holding a book turn reading into a sensual experience. I recall where I saw an important passage or quote. I can read with a pen, adding my own thoughts to the margins. The e-book, however, is silent; the sound of a turning page is imaginary or artificial. I cannot feel the embossed lettering of a cover, I cannot tell by weight alone how much reading enjoyment is left.
Future generations of e-books will likely be more interactive and therefore distracting. I have already viewed some animated children's books. I want a book, not a smart phone.
I am certain that paper books will continue to be published for a long time. It is unlikely that the ancient art and technology of using ink on parchment or paper will become obsolete within the next few decades.
Given a choice, there shall only be paper books in my domain (and no wire hangers). As to the e-book that someone gave me? It's so thin that I cannot find it. It probably lies buried beneath a pile of books.
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