Friday Firesmith – Who Do They Love?

One of my FB friends is also a Trump supporter. He just adopted a dog who wandered off the street and into his yard. His wife was thrilled at the idea of saving the dog’s life, and oh yeah, she too is a Trump person. Both are a little rabid about their support for the president they helped elect. I haven’t asked how they feel about it now, but I’m pretty sure they would rather keep what they have than switch. This is a mystery to me, totally, and completely, but take a moment and put politics aside. Do you think they have good hearts?

Regardless of where you stand on the issue of politics how do you feel about a couple who has a strong marriage, who love one another, and who saves a stray? Can you claim they are evil or ignorant or morally bereft?

Ask yourself this of those who oppose your way of thought; who do they love? Do they have kids, pets, someone with a ring on it, someone they’re thinking about putting a ring on, do they have a mom and a dad, do they have people they love and who love them back?

I’m serious. Who are these people you so vehemently oppose and who so vehemently oppose you?

I’m not big fan of Trump at all and everyone knows this, but the level of noise versus signal has reached a point where there is no discussing anything anymore without it breaking down into something that drunk third graders couldn’t pull off at a meth party where everyone was bobbing for shots of tequila in an eighteen-gallon tub of Dragon’s Milk beer. Is this the way to select out leaders? Is this the way to separate the wheat from the chaff?

How’s this working for us right now?

The next chance you get to do battle with someone, why not lay out some ground rules first; find three things about that person you think is worthy of respect. You think it’s hard to debate someone you respect? I think it would be easier, actually, and when you admire a man for saving a dog’s life, and his wife for being thrilled about it, then it’s harder to go low and easier to raise the bar for how you treat someone you’re speaking to about a subject that’s damn important.

Our country was cobbled together by men who owned slaves yet believed in freedom. It was sewn together by men who believed in equality but wouldn’t let women vote. It was put together to raise our species away from the yoke of oppression and tyranny of a king, yet white male landowners were the only people allowed to vote on this.

It’s a contradiction yet it still worked. It is still working, to a degree, and I much rather be in this country with this president than in most other places on earth ruled by most anyone else.

Until we find a way to talk to those we oppose in a manner that generates a true understanding and genuine respect I fear we’re going to become a house divided and nothing serves the rich more than the poor fighting among themselves for the scraps.
Take Care,
Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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Friday Firesmith – Education

One of the most troubling aspects of our current state of mental affairs is we are losing our ability to understand time. It takes the first sixteen to eighteen years to lay the educational foundation a child needs to be able to compete intellectually with students from other nations. This is not a question of religion, or belief, or culture, no, this is a matter of hard science, mathematics, literacy, and an understanding of biology that exists outside the realm of cultural convictions.

We’ve lost our grip on the future of our children in exchange for the temporary satisfaction of recent elections. Having lost the understanding of educating children we have forfeited the advanced education that those children might have achieved as young adults, and therefore any value we might have received as a nation from having well-educated professionals leading us into the future.

Damnably, our inability to imagine and secure the future will do very little but acerbate this critical issue with each cycle of every public school that churns out yet another former student who has never used critical thinking, logic, or peer review to make a decision but rather depends on how well liked an idea is before acting upon it.

The process of reversing this trend will take decades and it will require that we stop using our public schools as day care centers. It will require that parents sacrifice their time and energy to help educate their own children and it will require that those parents respect the potential future that each teacher holds in the classroom.

In just two years’ time, we will see a derogation of the public school system that will he unheralded and unheard of, and it will mark the true beginning of the end of our society’s commitment to educating children in America.

The sad thing about this is there are those who will say, “Good Riddance!” to a system that has been failing for years. Yet even a comparatively short gap in the effort to educate children will be, logically, worse than a system that is not fully functional. Those children, even if those children represented a small minority, who would survive and prosper under the current system would be forever lost or at the best have their education diminished.

The public education system in this country is failing and there is little doubt about that at all. Yet to turn it over to the states from the federal government is to invite Balkanization at the very best and outright segregation at the very worst. The ideal of the same education, or the very much the same, has to be preserved from the ghosts of “separate but equal”. But until we can remove the status of universal day care from the public schools, and fully insert the parents as willing partners in educating their own children we are well on our way to becoming a nation whose citizens will slowly become so ignorant and complacent that we will be looking up at the education systems of Albania and Kyrgyzstan.

Take Care,
Mike

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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Friday Firesmith – Divorce Papers

Today I went into a store and there behind the counter, facing away from me, was my ex-wife. What was my ex doing in Boston Georgia? What was I doing in Boston Georgia? That’s a long story, really, but I thought about simply backing up through the door I had just entered and walking away. But then again, it’s been fifteen years this year since the divorce was final and legal, and it was a few months longer since it was over, even if it was not final and legal. Odd, isn’t it? We’ve bought into the idea that the government can decide when something is final, even after it is over.

In the beginning, when there was the first conversation with a lawyer, he told me that whatever else happened, if that woman was killed by snake bite, lightning strike, or abducted by aliens, I was going to go to prison for it. He’d done this before and seen things go horribly wrong, and the husband in the middle of a divorce is presumed guilty until Jesus and six disciples can all sign an affidavit affirming innocence and they can all pass a drug screening. I decided not to drink until I was legally single again. It’s was fairly easy because I was broke.

What I cannot prove happens but I have seen happen more than once, is that the two lawyers get together and decide how long they can make it last. Mine lasted five months. My lawyer made money off the case even if I called to ask him what the hell was taking so long. Her lawyer got shafted because she didn’t have any money and didn’t get any from me. Long story there, really.

I never did anything that was mean or hateful and I let her live with me rent free until she found a place of her own. After it was all over with she did something I don’t talk about to this day, and she’s lucky not to have gone to jail for it, or have someone beat the hell out of her, or maybe even both. “It was supposed to be funny but it got out of hand”, she told me. Yeah. Right. But at the end of all things, it was her way of trying to reach me again, emotionally, like the last bit of beer in a bottle that is made of spit that’s made up of beer, and the two mixed together are something no one ever wants to own up to creating.

Today I decided to make peace with the past and speak to her. This was an odd feeling, not unlike the day I asked for the divorce, or told her it was going to be, and just as I started to speak the woman turned around and it wasn’t her at all. She looked at me oddly because I must have had a really strange expression on my face.

It’s been fifteen years and I can’t get that taste out of my mouth.

Take Care,
Mike

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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Friday Firesmith – The Sins of Lady Gaga

Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, who goes by the stage name, “Lady Gaga” isn’t body shy. She’s appeared in various stages of nudity on stage and off since she became famous after her debut album burned holes in the charts back in 2008. Gaga has been an outspoken advocate for gay rights, human rights, and more or less has used her fame to advance the cause of equality. Unlike some celebs, Gaga has managed to avoid falling over in public because she was too drunk to stand up and her love life seems nearly tame in comparison to some of those people who pretend to be singers.

Let me address the issue of this person’s voice before we go any further, please.

Even if you hate pop music, and I don’t, you have to admire the quality of this woman’s voice and the skill with which she displays her talent. You know what? That’s just about all that really needs to be said about a singer. Does she have it or does she not have it? Gaga has it and she knows how to use it. That ought to be the end of the story right there when it gets right down to it, right?

This woman slayed the halftime show at the Super Bowl. She was energetic, creative, very motivated, hit all her hits at high points, and apparently, there were some people out there who said that all of this was ruined because Lady Gaga had gotten “fat”.

It’s that belly bulge that freaked some viewers out and they thought it was a shame that at age thirty, Gaga was already beginning to spread out a bit.

So f%$#ing what?

Here is an artist who clearly has the physical ways and means to jump off a rooftop glide down to the stage, knock out a nonstop performance while dancing, all of this after hip surgery earlier in the year, and there are those who scream “FAT!” the second any woman less than one hundred pounds shows flesh not in the last stages of anorexia.

But here’s something to chew on, for those of you who chew the fat.

This is Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta, Joanne to her friends and family, without makeup. She posted a series of naked face photos to take down some of the walls women face each day when they have to live up to the expectations set by people whose heads are clearly somewhere other than up in reality.

I’m pretty much sick to death watching women trying to compete with photoshopped versions of human females in order to feel good about who they really are.

Playboy let this one slip by the editors (no navel). It’s what we’ve become’, a species who would rather worship an unobtainable ideal rather than a real woman’s body, with all the flaws, scars, and aging that comes with a human being going through life. A woman’s body ought to show how she’s lived not what a computer can do for it.

If you can’t love that then I suggest you and your right hand get engaged because that is where you are headed, Bro.

 

Take Care,

Mike

I think someone’s standards of body image may have gotten a little too high. Or unrealistic.

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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Friday Firesmith – Who should we ban?

For reasons that are lost on me, terrorism is blamed on Islam and certain countries and the way we counter this is to ban people who have that religion and are from those countries from coming to America. Following this logic, we ought to profile people who use guns to shoot other people within America and then ban the largest groups of them, or the deadliest groups, from staying in this country.

You have to see where this is heading and I won’t hit you over the head with it or belabor the point. But at the same time when it comes right down to people killing other people through intentional acts of violence, you can’t find a more dangerous animal on the face of the planet than the American Male. People other than females make up the overwhelming majority of people who kill other people with guns and they do so, seemingly, for little reason at all, or for convoluted reasons, or for reasons that escape the rest of us entirely.

Moreover, Christian males also make up the majority of males who go out and kill other people, even if it isn’t in the name of their religion, most of the shooters in America claim, and it is a dubious one, to be of the Christian faith. Now, this is odd, because most of the Christian males are very decent people and I know of not one of them who has killed anyone. Yet the stats show another story, and can we really afford to ignore the facts here? Dare we?

What’s even worse is a quick Google search for serial killers and those Americans who seem bent on killing as many humans as humanly possible reveal that white men are more often the owners of the fingers who pull the triggers. I’m a white man and I have never shot anyone, or even thought about shooting anyone, if Justina Beaver is excluded in the data, yet there I am, grouped with Charles Manson, Ted Bundy, the Columbine Killers, and Ronald McDonald, who used congestive heart failure as his weapon of choice.

So what are we to do about me? We could deport me to my ancestral lands, somewhere in Scotland, or Ireland, somewhere in one of those hard-drinking countries. I could wear an armband that had an image of a gun on it or something like that, so people would know I belong to a very dangerous group of human beings. I wonder if I’ll be put on a “No fly” list and not allowed to be on an airplane or a “No buy” list so I can’t buy guns.

I can still get a Big Mac legally. Ronald has the system gamed, I tell you.

Last week someone accused me of fear mongering, and I felt it was unjustified because I know what fear mongering looks like and what it feels like and what it does.  Banning people is nothing less than fear mongering and it might just be a little racist while it is at it, too.

Get those armbands ready. “Either way, patriot or treason, it’s going to be one long hard ride”.

Take Care,
Mike

 

That’s it from B&P Headquarters in St. Louis. What’s going on in your world?
 
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Friday Firesmith – Disaster Tourists

Last Sunday, January 22, 2017, a series of very strong storms ripped through South Georgia with heavy rains, strong winds, intense lightning, and at least three different killer tornadoes. The storm hit in the very early morning, people were still at home, and the storm made assessment and recovery a very real problem for the survivors, some of who were standing outside in the storm, having crawled out of the rubble of what was once their homes.
There, in the post dawn darkness with torrential rains still falling, lightning still cracking through the sky, and dead bodies lying in the streets and in the yards of those who were injured and maimed, rode the Disaster Tourists.

The Disaster Tourists were driving by slow, windows down, cell phone at the ready, taking photos and making videos of the carnage, and even before the first rescue vehicle arrived, there were FB posts showing dead people in the aftermath of the storm.

Later in the day, as the storms passed by and rescue operations were ramping up, the Disaster Tourists were clogging the road, like those people who go out and look at Christmas light in December, or if you’re from Wal-Mart, late September.

A friend of mine told me there were people at the church he went to, crowded together looking at the videos they had made. Take a moment with that one. Here are the people who, according to what they say they believe, ought to be the first to get out and help, but they’re too busy sharing each other’s Tweets to get out into the streets.

Eleven people died. Dozens of homes were either totally destroyed or seriously damaged. First Responders had a maze of debris and destruction to wind their way through in Adel Georgia where most of the fatalities occurred and there were people in the way, cell phones hanging out of their windows, making their FB locally famous for almost an entire day.

. The people who survive the event are stunned beyond reckoning at the sheer magnitude of the violence and horror of what they’ve gone through. Their homes have been smashed to pieces, their belongings missing or unrecognizable, their vehicles twisted and ruined, their pets killed, their ability to communicate muted, their neighbors ravaged by the same storm, and there, driving by, going around the wreckage to get a better shot, is someone who is excited as hell at the photos or the video they’re getting making public the misery of their fellow human beings.

I’ve been at ground zero of a tornado aftermath. I’ve worked with FEMA in Mississippi after Katrina. I’ve seen things that still leave me flinching at the sound of high winds. I’ve seen things that words can hardly describe. I spent eleven days in Mississippi and never took the first photo, and to this day I do not regret it. I spoke with far too many survivors who spoke with utter contempt of those people who thought it was so cool to drive by and take photos of the lives of people who lay in total ruin.

You people who do this ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

Take Care,
Mike

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
 
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Friday Firesmith – Nukes

You can believe North Korea has an operational ICBM with a nuclear warhead that it can deliver and is operable, or not believe it.

You can believe that Japan and the United States have enough spy capabilities to give enough warning if such a device were to be made ready to use or not believe it.

You can believe that the United States would act unilaterally and decisively against the preparation of such a weapon or not believe it.

However, if you believe for one moment that China is going to let anyone on their border launch a nuclear weapon, at anyone, anywhere, without their express consent and permission, that’s just plain gullible.

If Crazy Kim starts fueling an ICBM and the United States has a sub in the area (taking bets?) with a nuke on board, can you really hope that the President, any President of the United States, won’t, and hasn’t already planned to strike?

You can say that there are so many other ways to take out a nuke, but at the same time, this is a statement being made that any nuclear threat made against the United States or their Pacific Allies will be met in kind.

You really do not believe that a sitting American President is going to let anyone, especially a nut job with a history of murder, arm a nuke against this country and not retaliate as harshly as possible?

I think he or she would, and I think the next one most certainly would do so. Can you afford the luxury of believing anything else?

This worries me, and it ought to worry you, and if we agree in this, that we ought to be concerned, you can bet there are some people in China right now who are wondering what in the hell are they going to do when an American nuclear warhead is deployed and explodes thirty thousand feet above the Korean peninsula. If those concerned people are smart, and you can bet they are, then they’ve already decided what to do and when to do it, if any of this happens.

Do you seriously believe the Chinese reaction is going to be something you and I like?

Do you think the Russians are going to sit on the sidelines and hope for the best in this?

And what if the American president doesn’t strike quickly enough or hard enough and Los Angeles disappears? There, that’s the thought that will drive an American nuclear attack.

The Chinese, once an American nuclear weapon goes off within fallout distance of their homeland, what do you think they will do? What will Japan do when the radioactive cloud drifts west? What happens to Korea, North and South, after we strike?

What sort of world are we going to live in the day after we nuke North Korea?

What if the missile we fire at North Korea misses terribly?
“The indefinite combination of human fallibility and nuclear weapon will destroy nations.”

Robert McNamara Meets With Castro

Robert McNamara on the Cuban Missile Crisis

 

Take Care,
Mike

 

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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Friday Firesmith – The Economics of Tyger Linn

All the dogs I have ever shared space and my life with have all been trained not to steal from one another. Most have learned to catch treats on the fly and most realize when a dog misses a throw, or just plain fumbles the treat, whoever was supposed to get the treat still does. Dropped treats belong to the dog who dropped it and that way there’s no fuss. Whether you believe it or not, dogs know what belongs to who. They know who owns a certain space on the bed or a certain chair. They can be taught everything they need to know about keeping peace in a pack and there really has been few exceptions to this rule.

Enter Tyger Linn, The Striped One, Pibble Princess, Destroyer of Tree Rats, Bane of Cottonmouths, Hunter of Serpents, and Thief.

To begin with, just to let you know, Pibble is actually two words said so quickly they became one; Pit Bull. Walk into a crowd and say, “Pibble” and the owners of Pit Bulls will know you are speaking to them. Okay, next is the word “striped” which is usually pronounced just as you would stay the road was striped with traffic paint, but in this case, it is pronounced “stri-ped”. All of my dogs have had nicknames and titles of some sort. Tyger Linn, because of who and what she is, has earned more than her share.

Every day when I get home from work each of the four dogs is given a carrot. First is Lilith Anne, Muttess of the Magnolias and Queen of all the Hickory Head Pack. Lilith sits and waits and she won’t jostle around like the others because that is undignified. Then Tyger Linn gets a carrot. The two other dogs belong to my sister but are in residence at Hickory Head. There is Marco Ladakh, the largest at 110 pounds, and his sister, Greyson Charlotte, who pushes over ninety pounds. They have to perform sit and wait before they get their treat, and this gives everyone the opportunity to finish eating at one time, to keep drama down to a minimum.

Now both Marco and Greyson chomp their treats. And because they both chomp and run, sometimes various pieces of carrot go flying. Tyger Linn learned that if she arrived on the scene early enough there might be a chance to steal one of the chomped parts that flew out of the sovereign territory of another dog. Eventually, a plot formed; Tyger would go into the bedroom, drop her carrot, and then return in the hopes of getting another piece.

I began to notice this behavior.

However, before I formed a plan to dissuade Tyger from thieving, I noticed that if I waited long enough before giving the Large Dogs their carrot, Lilith would sneak over and steal Tyger’s carrot while Tyger was waiting to steal a piece from one of the large dogs.

I decided to experiment with Tyger’s greed.

To Tyger, there were four possible outcomes in this business. First and best, she got her carrot and stole a piece of a carrot. Second, she would get her carrot and not get a piece of a carrot that she tried to steal. Third, she would lose her carrot and get a stolen piece. And fourth, she would not be able to steal and get her carrot stolen.

All of this depended entirely on timing and how well I threw carrots. If I tossed the carrots to the Cousin Canines, as they are known, too quickly, Tyger didn’t have time to go put her carrot down and steal pieces. If I waited just long enough, Tyger had the time and the opportunity. But if I waited until I saw Lilith move in for the steal, I could play with Tyger’s sense of reward versus risk in carrot stealing.

First, I tried letting her get away with it for two days in a row, then getting just her own carrot for a day, then getting robbed for the next two days. She still would take the risk the next time carrots were handed out.

Then I tried letting her get away with it on Monday, and then robbed on Tuesday, breaking even on Wednesday, and then getting robbed twice. She came back for more.

The third week I let her get robbed the first day, and then alternated between getting robbed and getting her carrot and a piece. At the end of the week she was in the red, but not dissuaded. I kept this up for three weeks. Tyger was losing three out of five days but she still believed she could, if she kept trying, beat the system, even when it was clear I was rigging it.

Finally, I let her get robbed every day for a week and now she refuses to play at all.

Human lottery players should be so savvy.

Take Care,

Mike

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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Friday Firesmith – Christmas

In two days the nation will begin to emerge again from its wrapping paper cocoon to discover, once again, that Christmas is a fraud. There will be a brief and orgasmic moment in time where a few children are granted their most fervent wishes, but that will be followed by the vague feeling that wanting and getting are two different things and the feeling of one is not at all connected to the feelings of the other.

When I worked at one of those fast loans with high rate places Christmas was when the company made the most money, and they made if off the people least able to afford it. Those people paid the highest interest rates, worked two jobs, and they never really got out from under the oppressive debt that was heaped upon them. Why? Why would people deliberately put their financial future at risk? Was it health or home? Was it family or friends? No, it was Christmas. There were people who had kids that were never going to get as much or have as much as other kids but dammit, we’re going to sink ourselves in debt to get the latest Barbie. And they did.

Single parents were far worse for they were in a bidding war for their kids’ souls. If they could just outspend their former spouses then for one more Christmas, at least, they could prove they loved their kids the most.

Christmas is the predatory capitalist’s dream world, replete with throw away decorations, huge inflatable lawn ornaments that won’t last two years, wrapping paper that will be shoved into the trash can fifteen minutes after being used, and leftovers that will be kept in the refrigerator until they are tossed out, too. People will be trampled to death at Wal-Mart and people will shoot at one another over parking spaces at malls.

What I don’t understand about all of this is why Christians haven’t risen up to take back their holiday. The only explanation is that Christians see consumerism as an extension of their spirituality and they see conspicuous consumption as a sign God really blesses them.

Christmas has taken the very soul of Christianity and turned it into a cheap plastic, made in China, toss it away when its inconvenient, temporary and disposable form of false spirituality where money spent is the only One True God. You can see it in the eyes of those people selling their souls to buy the next big toy by signing up for loans that will force them to live like paupers while their children stare at the broken remains of planned obsolescent and wonder why they feel so hollow inside.

They will, of course, deduce that it is because they were not given enough.

Merry Christmas. Safe Travels. I hope you and your families are well and I hope you make it back home alive. But Christmas is a form of insanity that has got to stop.

Take Care,
Mike

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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Friday Firesmith – Phones & Party Lines

I’m one of the last people who remember “party line” telephone service. A Party Line was used way back when, in the early sixties, to get telephone service to some of the more rural customers who lived out in the sticks. That was during a time when not everyone had a telephone and not everyone wanted one either. Some people back then saw telephones in general, and party lines in particular, as intrusive.

If you were the Smith’s and the family across the dirt road were the Jones’ then the telephone company would run a single line out there and you both would be on the same line. You’d have a different number of course but the phone would ring no matter who was calling who. And best of all, if you picked up the phone at the right time, you could hear Jones talking to whoever called him. This was fun for a lot of people who liked to listen in on other people’s calls, but as far as being secure it was far from it.

Back in my hometown, and this was back in the seventies, you could dial the last four digits of a phone number and get who you were calling. This became a thing of the past fairly quickly because phone service was being unified by computer systems. And the devices themselves were changing, too. Where there was once a simple rotary dial, plastic skinned, metal heavy device, there began to be lighter, multi-colored, and hang on the wall phones. And they began to make longer and longer cords connecting the handset to the base. There was a tremendous leap of freedom when they started making handset cords that were over three feet long. Imagine that if you will, please. Once you were tied down to about three feet of where your phone was and it never moved.
Smaller and lighter phones followed and by the eighties I was using a small handset that was attached to the phone jack by a cord that was twenty-five feet long. I paced while I talked and I still do to this day. But the first cordless phones arrived and given the right settings, it was party line time again, before in places with a lot of mobile phones, there were some mixing of signals, and you could hear other people talking if you simply picked up the phone and listened.

I swore I would never own a cell phone. They were tiny flip phones, fancy things that held up to one hundred contacts, were all the rage but I wondered if they would last. But they were to change the way movies were made because finding a phone to call for help or report the alien invasion was no longer an epic journey. The lone woman stranded without help, doomed to be the next victim, was no longer plausible. The ringing phone that someone raced to answer was no longer a plot line that could be followed. Waiting by the phone was very suddenly a thing of the past.

Instant communication is now something an entire generation takes for granted. For all intents and purposes, landlines are dead, relics just as surely as the main battle tank the rotary phones once were. I held out and held my ground until 2006, when I was dating a woman who worked at Verizon, and once I got a cell phone, damn, I always had to have one.

An electrical transformer blew about 0450 this morning and all the lights are out. I called in the explosion on a cell phone and right now I’m writing this on a laptop. I can still call anyone I want, surf the internet, and the fact that the power is off doesn’t bother me and won’t until the batter starts to die in the laptop. I have another three hours or so. In the time of rotary phones they would work if the power went off, mobile phones didn’t work that way, but now we’re back to being mobile even if there is no electricity.

I’m not sure where the future of personal communication devices are headed, but I suspect the next really big change will occur when they eliminate the keypad entirely or perhaps have some sort of signal that beams the call directly into your head. I wonder if in the beginning of this sort of thing if we’ll hear other people’s calls, until they refine it, and suddenly, the party line will be reborn anew, and it will be exactly like it was back in the 1960’s.

Take Care,
Mike

 

Mike writes regularly at his site:  The Hickory Head Hermit.
 
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
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