Tonight I am uploading photos onto Flickr and considering the evolution of personal computing technology.
In the early 90s, my DOS-running 286 was considered hot stuff. It had a 40 megabyte (yes, megabyte) hard drive which was considered huge. As in "oh, you'll NEVER fill that up" huge. This was, of course, before digital media got started.
Tonight I am uploading approximately 500 photos from the last trip to London. My HUGE hard drive of the early 90s would have held (stripped of all operating system and other files) as many as, oh, six or seven of these 500 photos. Hell, the camera uses compact flash cards that I buy in 4 or 8 Gigabyte sizes (or 100 to 200 times the storage on that hard drive).
My cell phone has a mini-SD card holding 2 Gigs and it's about the size of the fingernail on my little finger (the SD card, not the phone).
The cell phone itself is smaller than a deck of cards, incorporates phone, camera, internet - including email of course - calculator, alarm, PDA, etc. It charges in a couple of hours and lasts many many hours of talking/surfing. It works in most of the countries on earth.
My portable GPS is a bit larger than a deck of cards, has comprehensive maps of the 48 contiguous United States as well as detailed city maps for both London and Paris. It relies on a constellation of satellites in orbit around the earth, all emitting timing signals which the unit receives and interprets to identify its position on earth to within a few yards by comparing those signals to its internally stored maps.
Then we have iPod, portable blood glucose meter, Kindle, digital cameras (still and video), laptop, etc. In one not very large backpack I can travel with an information library that would probably dwarf some of the largest libraries on earth present and certainly past (with a dedicated use miniaturized medical diagnostic device thrown in, too). That which I don't actually have stored as bits in the devices themselves is accessible through the internet connections and the 3G connection on the Kindle.
Should I choose, I could buy solar chargers for the goodies. The cell phone can be configured as a wireless hotspot for the laptop so if I can't find WiFi nearby (increasingly unlikely) as long as I have cell coverage I'm still connected. Add a webcam and I actually have a broadcasting studio in a briefcase.
I take my not-very-big backpack as one of my two carry-on items and get into planes. I sit in air-conditioned comfort in a reclining seat six and a half miles above the surface of the earth moving at 500 mph or better with even more on-demand entertainment, meals, beverages, etc. and in 10 or 12 hours go from California to Shanghai or London.
Personally, I never really stop marveling. People say I'm a gadgeteer but what I really am is somebody who is just agog over it all and what it can add to my life. Think about everything that went into designing the GPS satellite system - the conceptualization, building and launching and controlling the satellites and so on. And don't forget the maps - somebody somewhere has taken maps of all the roads and bridges and mountains and lakes and rivers and stuff (centuries in the making originally and then refined and updated with space imagery and computer design) and then digitized it all so that all those timing signals from all those satellites would actually be useful.
It's staggering.
Douglas Adams observed in his Hitchiker's series that the one thing you absolutely could NOT afford to have was a sense of perspective*. If one truly had a sense of perspective, one would sit staring at a GPS completely entranced at what the little box does, in fact, actually represent, until death from starvation or thirst finally put an end to the rapture.
Staggering.
*Can't remember which book right at the moment. But it was in reference to the Total Perspective Vortex machine and its devastating effect on the human psyche.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Seven Things That Are Actually Older Than Kevin Harvey
Our own Kevin is soon to be 50 years old. That seems pretty old to some of you, but is it really? Here are seven things that are older than he is.
1) Telephone
The invention of the telephone is usually credited to Alexander Graham Bell who first transmitted voice on June 2, 1875. The telephone is 2.7 times as old as Kevin.
2) Linoleum
Linoleum, a floor covering made from solidified linseed oil, was invented in 1860. Linoleum is 3 times as old as Kevin.
3) Canned foods
In 1809, Nicolas François Appert developed a method for preserving foods by vacuum sealing them in glass jars. Canned food is 4 times as old as Kevin.
4) Beer
Beer, in one form or another, has been produced for at least 7,000 years. Beer is over 140 times as old as Kevin.
5) Toenails
Toenails and fingernails are present only in primates (members of the Class Mammalia, Order Primata), including lemurs, monkeys, apes, and humans. Primates have existed for at least 60 million years, making toenails at least 1.2 million times as old as Kevin.
6) Sharks
The cartilaginous fishes (Phylum Chordata, Class Chondrichthyes), comprising the sharks, skates, and rays, appeared in Earth’s oceans at least 350 million years ago. The cartilaginous fishes are at least 7 million times as old as Kevin.
7) Dirt
The origins of dirt lie in Earth’s remotest history – extending back perhaps as far as 4.5 billion years. Dirt is really a WHOLE lot older than Kevin. He’s got some catching up to do.
1) Telephone
The invention of the telephone is usually credited to Alexander Graham Bell who first transmitted voice on June 2, 1875. The telephone is 2.7 times as old as Kevin.
2) Linoleum
Linoleum, a floor covering made from solidified linseed oil, was invented in 1860. Linoleum is 3 times as old as Kevin.
3) Canned foods
In 1809, Nicolas François Appert developed a method for preserving foods by vacuum sealing them in glass jars. Canned food is 4 times as old as Kevin.
4) Beer
Beer, in one form or another, has been produced for at least 7,000 years. Beer is over 140 times as old as Kevin.
5) Toenails
Toenails and fingernails are present only in primates (members of the Class Mammalia, Order Primata), including lemurs, monkeys, apes, and humans. Primates have existed for at least 60 million years, making toenails at least 1.2 million times as old as Kevin.
6) Sharks
The cartilaginous fishes (Phylum Chordata, Class Chondrichthyes), comprising the sharks, skates, and rays, appeared in Earth’s oceans at least 350 million years ago. The cartilaginous fishes are at least 7 million times as old as Kevin.
7) Dirt
The origins of dirt lie in Earth’s remotest history – extending back perhaps as far as 4.5 billion years. Dirt is really a WHOLE lot older than Kevin. He’s got some catching up to do.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Morally Casual Blondes
Zeitgeist Zeit•geist (tsīt'gīst', zīt'-) n. The taste, outlook, and spirit characteristic of a period or generation.
It was a Sunday morning sometime during the 1980s and I was savoring my coffee while indulging my peculiar taste for the Personals Ads when I found it. The Hope Diamond of personal ads! The ad that seared itself into my memory so that to this day I can remember it word for word.
This is what it said:
"Superficial shallow capitalist pig-dog seeks trophy girlfriend.
Must be young, thin, devastatingly beautiful.
Morally casual blondes preferred."
OK, ten out of ten for honesty, but really. I mean really, now.
However - it is a great name for a band so I guess there is that.
It was a Sunday morning sometime during the 1980s and I was savoring my coffee while indulging my peculiar taste for the Personals Ads when I found it. The Hope Diamond of personal ads! The ad that seared itself into my memory so that to this day I can remember it word for word.
This is what it said:
"Superficial shallow capitalist pig-dog seeks trophy girlfriend.
Must be young, thin, devastatingly beautiful.
Morally casual blondes preferred."
OK, ten out of ten for honesty, but really. I mean really, now.
However - it is a great name for a band so I guess there is that.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
How Much Pride Do You People Need, Anyway?
Let's talk for a minute about the spaces that separate people. Not the big hatreds and active animosities, but the smaller gaps in communication that exist.
Sometimes they're obvious, as when you're sitting in an airport idly listening to the chatter all around and vaguely aware that people nearby are speaking a language you don't understand. Oh, maybe you can get an inkling of what they're talking about by tone of voice or the fact that that little boy over there has just upended the carryon minutes before boarding and the woman you take to be Mom is just a little bit frayed around the edges by now. But basically you're aware that any systematic communication between you and Mom is out of the question. Simple matter really in this case and not one I think you'd worry about since from the get-go you knew you literally didn't speak each other's language.
Other times the gaps are hidden in plain sight. Stuck in the middle of what seems like normal social intercourse. You think you're actually on the same page when somebody makes a comment that absolutely crystallizes for you just how utterly uncomprehending at least one of you is.
Case in point:
I'm out at work. I don't jump up and down with a flashing sign on my neck but I do talk about my life outside of work without any more censorship than might be considered ordinary for a middle-aged man in early 21st century San Diego. As a result, my co-workers are all aware that they're working alongside (and apparently enjoying and respecting) a gay man. I sometimes wonder if they'd like to ask questions. They don't, but I wonder if they'd like to. Outside of the occasional "do you think he's gay - or just metrosexual?" I don't get asked much. But on the other hand I don't ask them a lot of questions about their lives either so I guess fair is fair.
Anyway, one day in April, the subject rolled around to vacation time and who was taking extra time off over the Memorial Day Weekend. (There was a little more urgency about it this particular year since we were expecting the FDA to visit just about that time and people were naturally concerned that even though they might have time off approved that it would be rescinded. Do ya make those nonrefundable plane reservations or not? You know the sort of thing.) So we're chirping away about who's going where and somebody says to me, "You're going to Chicago, aren't you?" I affirmed that that was indeed the current plan and the normal follow up question of "What are you going to do there?" came up. "Museums and the like", I say, "and it happens to be at the same time as Bear Pride but I probably won't have time for that."
Suddenly my cube farm neighbor pipes up, "Just how much pride do you people NEED, anyway?" My reply? "When you're living in a world that constantly devalues you, you need as much pride as you can get."
Now, this woman is actually quite loving. She is friendly, intelligent, a good solid liberal soul, and somebody I've worked around for months at this company and for even longer at another Biopharm up the road. She has a gay brother fer gawds sake. And yet.....she is so thoroughly a part of the majoritarian heterosexual world that it seems odd to her that I, and people like me, might actually need to seek out affirmation. Of course I had my own blinders on, too. The fact that I was actually somewhat startled by the question made me stop and think about some of my assumptions. Namely, that acceptance - for she truly is accepting of me - necessarily comes with understanding. It doesn't. That's not good or bad it just is.
But it bears remembering that making assumptions about what people do and don't understand can lead to stumbles. In this case it was something minor. But what other assumptions am I making that might cause REAL trouble another day?
Sometimes they're obvious, as when you're sitting in an airport idly listening to the chatter all around and vaguely aware that people nearby are speaking a language you don't understand. Oh, maybe you can get an inkling of what they're talking about by tone of voice or the fact that that little boy over there has just upended the carryon minutes before boarding and the woman you take to be Mom is just a little bit frayed around the edges by now. But basically you're aware that any systematic communication between you and Mom is out of the question. Simple matter really in this case and not one I think you'd worry about since from the get-go you knew you literally didn't speak each other's language.
Other times the gaps are hidden in plain sight. Stuck in the middle of what seems like normal social intercourse. You think you're actually on the same page when somebody makes a comment that absolutely crystallizes for you just how utterly uncomprehending at least one of you is.
Case in point:
I'm out at work. I don't jump up and down with a flashing sign on my neck but I do talk about my life outside of work without any more censorship than might be considered ordinary for a middle-aged man in early 21st century San Diego. As a result, my co-workers are all aware that they're working alongside (and apparently enjoying and respecting) a gay man. I sometimes wonder if they'd like to ask questions. They don't, but I wonder if they'd like to. Outside of the occasional "do you think he's gay - or just metrosexual?" I don't get asked much. But on the other hand I don't ask them a lot of questions about their lives either so I guess fair is fair.
Anyway, one day in April, the subject rolled around to vacation time and who was taking extra time off over the Memorial Day Weekend. (There was a little more urgency about it this particular year since we were expecting the FDA to visit just about that time and people were naturally concerned that even though they might have time off approved that it would be rescinded. Do ya make those nonrefundable plane reservations or not? You know the sort of thing.) So we're chirping away about who's going where and somebody says to me, "You're going to Chicago, aren't you?" I affirmed that that was indeed the current plan and the normal follow up question of "What are you going to do there?" came up. "Museums and the like", I say, "and it happens to be at the same time as Bear Pride but I probably won't have time for that."
Suddenly my cube farm neighbor pipes up, "Just how much pride do you people NEED, anyway?" My reply? "When you're living in a world that constantly devalues you, you need as much pride as you can get."
Now, this woman is actually quite loving. She is friendly, intelligent, a good solid liberal soul, and somebody I've worked around for months at this company and for even longer at another Biopharm up the road. She has a gay brother fer gawds sake. And yet.....she is so thoroughly a part of the majoritarian heterosexual world that it seems odd to her that I, and people like me, might actually need to seek out affirmation. Of course I had my own blinders on, too. The fact that I was actually somewhat startled by the question made me stop and think about some of my assumptions. Namely, that acceptance - for she truly is accepting of me - necessarily comes with understanding. It doesn't. That's not good or bad it just is.
But it bears remembering that making assumptions about what people do and don't understand can lead to stumbles. In this case it was something minor. But what other assumptions am I making that might cause REAL trouble another day?
Too Stoned To Strip
i'm enough of a coward that there are certain challenges i'm perfectly happy to have ducked - even if only by accident. Child-rearing comes to mind.
i'm also not going to lie to you and tell you that i didn't have a perfectly good time taking drugs when i was younger, because frankly i did have a perfectly good time. As far as i can tell it did me no particular harm, left me with some great memories, opened my eyes to many possibilities and provided me with hours and hours of wild tales to tell. All in all, not a bad deal. but not something i would particularly advocate now that i'm older and little more aware.
So, having admitted that i spent a time in thrall to one chemical or another and further having admitted that not only did i enjoy said experiences but that they seemed to be harmless - what in heaven's name would i ever say to a child of mine on the subject? Please ask me on a case by case basis? Give her a little list of approved and unapproved illicit substances? And at what age? No, i'm glad to be ducking the whole thing.
But you know....as crazy as we were back then there were still rules - even for freaks like us. There were some things that just weren't cool. At least in my circle anything involving speed or needles was not cool and that seemed to serve to keep us out of the worst sorts of trouble. You always hear that stuff like heroin is bad news, that it will lead to no good end, but you don't necessarily get a first hand story about what it can actually do.
i have one for you.
During the year or so that i lived in Miami, a dear friend back home in San Diego went through the breakup of his marriage and he was really really REALLY not taking the breakup well.
In a search for replacement, or compensatory, female companionship, he somehow made the aquaintance of a certain young lady. She was in need of some rescuing and my friend, who would adopt every stray cat in southern California if he didn't have cooler heads in his life to tell him to put the kitten down and back slowly away, decided that rescuing her was just the ticket.
Now, one might perhaps attempt to rescue a heroin addict.
One might even perhaps attempt to rescue someone who was seriously mentally ill.
It is sheer folly for the untrained to attempt to rescue someone who presents both in one neat package, and yet that's what he set out to do.
To his good credit, he realized, even as befuddled as he was at the time, that to come home from work and find that said young lady, who by this time was encamped in his home, was watching "Natural Born Killers" several times a day was not at all a good sign. When she also requested that he buy her a handgun and made an off-hand remark that only death would separate them (or words to that effect), he knew the jig was up and managed to disentangle himself from her at the cost of new locks and a changed phone number.
Now, all of this is horrifying enough, but it's all in the past and he's survived with some lessons learned by the time i hear about it, so, although my eyes are bugged out all the way through the story, my brain still hasn't quite overloaded. No, not quite yet.
Somehow or other i asked about her employment history - apart from her jail time that is. (Did you know, by the way, that you can visit the San Diego Sheriff's website and actually find out who's in jail? It's a handy thing when you're being stalked by a crazy addict who's just been locked out of your home.) And this is where my brain finally shorted out for good on this one. i'm told that she was "a dancer". "What kind of "dancer"?, say i" "An exotic dancer," says he. "Ah," say i, "a stripper. And why did she stop stripping?" "Well," says he, "in her own words, 'eventually the drugs started to interfere with [her] career.'"
"Dude," say i, "are you actually saying she was too stoned to STRIP?"
i ask you, at precisely what age is a child's moral development sufficiently mature to understand a story like this? Damned if i know. i'm just glad i can duck the issue.
i'm also not going to lie to you and tell you that i didn't have a perfectly good time taking drugs when i was younger, because frankly i did have a perfectly good time. As far as i can tell it did me no particular harm, left me with some great memories, opened my eyes to many possibilities and provided me with hours and hours of wild tales to tell. All in all, not a bad deal. but not something i would particularly advocate now that i'm older and little more aware.
So, having admitted that i spent a time in thrall to one chemical or another and further having admitted that not only did i enjoy said experiences but that they seemed to be harmless - what in heaven's name would i ever say to a child of mine on the subject? Please ask me on a case by case basis? Give her a little list of approved and unapproved illicit substances? And at what age? No, i'm glad to be ducking the whole thing.
But you know....as crazy as we were back then there were still rules - even for freaks like us. There were some things that just weren't cool. At least in my circle anything involving speed or needles was not cool and that seemed to serve to keep us out of the worst sorts of trouble. You always hear that stuff like heroin is bad news, that it will lead to no good end, but you don't necessarily get a first hand story about what it can actually do.
i have one for you.
During the year or so that i lived in Miami, a dear friend back home in San Diego went through the breakup of his marriage and he was really really REALLY not taking the breakup well.
In a search for replacement, or compensatory, female companionship, he somehow made the aquaintance of a certain young lady. She was in need of some rescuing and my friend, who would adopt every stray cat in southern California if he didn't have cooler heads in his life to tell him to put the kitten down and back slowly away, decided that rescuing her was just the ticket.
Now, one might perhaps attempt to rescue a heroin addict.
One might even perhaps attempt to rescue someone who was seriously mentally ill.
It is sheer folly for the untrained to attempt to rescue someone who presents both in one neat package, and yet that's what he set out to do.
To his good credit, he realized, even as befuddled as he was at the time, that to come home from work and find that said young lady, who by this time was encamped in his home, was watching "Natural Born Killers" several times a day was not at all a good sign. When she also requested that he buy her a handgun and made an off-hand remark that only death would separate them (or words to that effect), he knew the jig was up and managed to disentangle himself from her at the cost of new locks and a changed phone number.
Now, all of this is horrifying enough, but it's all in the past and he's survived with some lessons learned by the time i hear about it, so, although my eyes are bugged out all the way through the story, my brain still hasn't quite overloaded. No, not quite yet.
Somehow or other i asked about her employment history - apart from her jail time that is. (Did you know, by the way, that you can visit the San Diego Sheriff's website and actually find out who's in jail? It's a handy thing when you're being stalked by a crazy addict who's just been locked out of your home.) And this is where my brain finally shorted out for good on this one. i'm told that she was "a dancer". "What kind of "dancer"?, say i" "An exotic dancer," says he. "Ah," say i, "a stripper. And why did she stop stripping?" "Well," says he, "in her own words, 'eventually the drugs started to interfere with [her] career.'"
"Dude," say i, "are you actually saying she was too stoned to STRIP?"
i ask you, at precisely what age is a child's moral development sufficiently mature to understand a story like this? Damned if i know. i'm just glad i can duck the issue.
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