Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness

Now, I like to gripe. I like to gripe that I have been slighted in some fashion. Whether by former generations, by large corporations, by illegal immigrants, by welfare recipients, by God, or by fate. All and all though, my life is not that bad. As the beach bum sage sings, "I'm living in the sunshine, staying content most of the time."

I could dwell on my tragedies (and trust me, we have had a few in the last few years), but what is the point? As the reply to one of my favorite sayings, "I can't complain", with the response of "Nobody would listen anyway". Nobody said you were promised everything your heart desires. At least you are living in America. They did promise you as a citizen, Life, Liberty, and the PURSUIT of Happiness. Not Happiness itself. You must seek it out.

How you do that, the path is as individual as each person. As my good friend always tells me, you need to find contentment. My reply is, "you always tell me that, but how do I go about it?" His response is "you need to figure it out. What is contentment for me, is going to be different than for you."

I find that sage advice.

As I end this philosophical post, a line from a song line comes to mind, "Some of it's magic, some of it's tragic, but I had good life all the way..." So true, and I will continue to do so, with some contentment thrown in for good measure.

Shamus the Bee Keeper - Part 3 - Final

The final installment of Shamus the Bee Keeper. Read it, and love it. Let me know what you think. I am considering submitting this to FS&F or Weird Tales.

I had kept thinking about Randy and his plan all through dinner. Call it a premonition, call it a vision, call it intuition, call it whatever. I just knew something was about to go wrong. I headed down the path that night towards Shamus’ shack with a feeling dread ever growing in my stomach. It was like I had just eaten a bowl of honey bees and they were stinging me from the inside. When I was close, I could just make out someone at the end of the path crouching in the palmettos. It had to be Randy, and as I tried to get closer to stop him, I saw somebody walking from behind the shack trying to sing with a great slur in their voice, “But come ye back when summer's in the meadow… Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow… 'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow…Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.” I froze on the path at the singing; it had to be Shamus, coming down the opposite path behind his shack from the beach. As he stumbled up to the stoop, wildly swinging the crate of jars, he nearly fell. Several of the jars are flung from the crate and one smashed with a crash of breaking glass. “Ah, damn it…” Shamus clumsily puts the jars down and staggers to the shack groping for the key. Somehow he gets back to the beehive with the money pot inside and unlocks the door. He drops the envelope into the pot and after several tries finally gets the door closed, but not locked. He ignores the dropped jars and heads straight into the shack and goes to sleep on the cot. After a moment or two, I see Randy start to head to the beehive and open the door on it. I stood motionless, as I hear the board on the front stoop of the shack creak. I see Shamus’s silhouette move from the outline of the doorway and disappear into the darkness surrounding the shack. I want to shout, but cannot. I can only watch in complete frozen fear. I hear a roar of laughter from Shamus and an off guard, cut short yelp from Randy. In the dim light, I see the figure of Shamus move across the white background of beehive next to the one containing the money jar. At that point, I ran. It was a coward thing to do, but I ran down the path, ignoring the palmettos as they cut my arms and face in the darkness. I did not stop until I reached home, too scared to go in, just sitting outside the house breathing hard and sweating. Finally, I went into bed after my breathing and sweating had abated. Momma gave me a strange look, but said nothing as I went off to my bed. That night, I kept having dreams about Shamus and what he did to Randy. In the end, I never saw what he did to Randy, but I heard his laugh over and over again.

The next morning, my mother found me curled up outside, asleep in the hammock that hung between the two coconut trees outside our front porch. Not taking care to lie diagonal, I had cramps in my legs so bad I could almost not walk. She asked me what I was doing out there and why I had not stayed in for the night. Being ashamed for running away, I told her I woke up to a bad dream and went to walk it off. Not wanting to disturb anyone, I decided to sleep in the hammock until everyone else awoke. She told me next time to lie diagonal and that I should go wash for breakfast. After breakfast she said, “You need head out and get me that honey like I asked for.” At that moment, my heart sank into my shoes, and it must have showed. Momma was looking at me and I could not hold back the tears or the words. I spilled everything I knew, and everything I thought I knew about Randy and his dealings with old Shamus. To add insult to injury, Momma had me tell the story again to Poppa. He left out to fetch the constable to check up on Randy to see if he was alright.

The constable, my Poppa, and Randy’s poppa all made their way to Shamus’ shack later that day. I was not there, but this I heard from my Poppa as he relayed the incident to me years later once he felt I could handle the truth. Upon entering the clearing near Shamus’ shack, they noticed that the shack looked empty. All of Shamus’ belongings were gone, and the boat was gone. Around back the big false honey hive was open and the earthen pot was over turned, empty. Those things did not stick in my mind. What Poppa told me next, will live forever in my memory. There were no bees. It was as if Shamus took them with him. As they began to look around, they noticed no hives had any bees coming or going. In a rage, Randy’s Poppa kicked one of the hives over. As it fell, it cracked opened. The constable must have noticed something, for he told Mr. Jones to wait away from it. After peering down at the broken hive, he called my father over and told Mr. Jones to stay where he was. Poppa went over and saw something that will haunt him forever. Partially embedded in the bees wax combs was a familiar shape. It was the shape of human hand. Randy’s father, crazy with grief comes running over and starts to tear apart the hive. Inside is Randy, half embedded in the wax. The bees were sealing him in. That was not all. It also appeared that his blood was mixing with the honey sealed in the combs. After that, the constable rounded up my father and Randy’s and got them out of there. Rumor has it; there was a body in each of the hives, and the oldest being a youth that disappeared 20 years ago. Each body perfectly preserved in bee’s wax, but devoid of any blood, as if the wax and honey pulled it from the corpses.

I turned 86 last week. All that happened over 70 years ago. The little island of Sanibel has changed a lot. They don’t have beehives or farms there anymore. There is even a bridge over to the island I hear. My family and I left not long after Randy’s murder and moved to California. Sometimes, in a nightmare, I still hear that laugh. But to this day, I will not eat anything made with honey.

Dancing Down at Fort Myers' Zombie Zoo

"Dancing Down at the Zombie Zoo..." Come one, come all, to Zombicon 2007! Bring your dead heads, hands, and everything else. In honor of George Romero's 25th anniversary (next year), they have tried to start a "micro trend" of honoring the zombie. When I first heard about this, my first thought was "this is going to be 10 people, 8 goth kids, and 2 old farts curious". But... I had to see. So we ventured downtown to the Patio de Leon to check it out on Saturday night (10/20/2007).

Well, my assessment was definitely not dead on. There must have been a few hundred people. Zombies, the curious, the goths, the TINKs, the Boomers, the Halloweeny dressed up kiddies. It was a good time for all. Between the face painting, the zombies walking around, and the fire dancers, it was a morbid good time! Space 39's artists were definitely of the macabre, but I still cannot get into the deep fried stuffed animals with the syringes (the Dark Art exhibit was actually done quite well, I especially liked the tribute to Dali).




BTW, 99x's Jen The Rock Bitch, you are welcome for the diet bud, and Patio 33, thanks for the view.

Shamus the Bee Keeper - Part 2

I had not seen much of Randy in the next few weeks, due to the vegetables that had come in. I was too busy harvesting with the rest of the family. When I did finally see him, he had brand new cowboy hat, and a new machete. He promptly let me look over them, expecting me to be envious, since he was one that liked to show off. After turning over the machete in my hands, I asked him where he got the money for them. He got this queer grin, and said he had come into some money recently and left it at that. I had a good notion of how he came into some money, but said nothing, knowing I did not want involved. Randy preened a bit more, and then said he had to get going to Wulfert. He had gotten a job tying up the tourist ferries as they came in. Needing to get back to my harvesting, I let him go, but not without a bit of trepidation. I knew how much the ferry tie job paid, and it was not enough for Randy to buy those things, even if he saved every penny he earned. Randy was not the type to save anyway. But then it was getting close to spring, and the whole family was busy. We had much to do with the harvesting of vegetables, and the grapefruit were ready as well. So I had to help prepare those for shipment out of Wulfert. In the meantime, I had no time to think about Randy and his new toys.

It was mid March when I finally saw Randy again. He was working down on the ferry docks. He greeted me with a simple nod as he tied up the boats, and waited for his tip from the wealthy Yankee helping his wife and 3 daughters off their private boat. I thought Randy seemed to be leering at the man’s daughters, and I guess the man did too, for he gave Randy a coin and hurried his women off the platform. Randy then came over to talk to me, “What brings you down here? I haven’t seen you in some time.” I noticed that Randy had some new boots that had a shine in which I could almost see myself. “I came down with the family; we are shipping some vegetables and grapefruits off to Punta Rassa for shipment to Cuba. How are things with you?” Randy motioned me to follow him off the platform, “I am going to go for some lunch now, being there are no more boats on the horizon, and the next ferry is not for a few hours. Come on, I have a story I want to tell you.” I followed Randy off the dock and to the shelly sand near the shore. I think Randy chose this spot because the waves coming up would make it hard to be heard. He then proceeded to tell me a story that I wish he never had.

Apparently Randy had taken the job down there on Wulfert’s docks not long after he and I went down to Shamus’ shack. One evening, right before the last ferry was leaving; old Shamus came paddling up on an old canoe to the dock, the floor of the canoe loaded with boxes of honey. Now Randy was under the impression that Shamus only came down to Wulfert but once or twice a year to order supplies he might need. Apparently Shamus came down once a week to send his honey off to a seller in Fort Myers and beyond. Shamus would load 2 crates of honey jars, and collect a large envelope from the ship clerk. Sometimes he should place orders for new jars and pick them up when they came in. The ship clerk always seemed a little nervous around Shamus, but Shamus just went about his business. “One thing I did notice,” Randy said, “was that Shamus always got a pint of Irish whiskey delivered with his envelope.” This went on for about two weeks, when Randy decided he wanted to check out just what old Shamus did with that Whiskey and just what might be in those envelopes. Knowing that he could get down the path to his shack faster than Shamus could paddle around the island, Randy took off for the shack after the last ferry left out and Shamus started to paddle home. Crouching in the palmettos off the path near the front of the shack, he saw Shamus come up the path that led to the beach from behind the shack and the beehive rows. “Now ole Shamus was sort of staggering, holding the crate of jars under one arm, and swigging the whiskey with the other hand. He gets to the shack, puts the jars on the stoop, and reaches inside the door. I didn’t make out at first what he grabs, but he then walks to the beehive, with that money pot in it and unlocks the lock. He opens the envelope and empties it in to the pot without a second look, and locks the lock again. Then he puts the key back inside the door and sits on the stool to finish the whiskey. I watch him for about half an hour or so, and then he gets into the cot, and falls asleep.” I knew what Randy was about to say, but I let him continue anyway. “I crept up all quiet to the shack door. It stood open and I could see Shamus in the back corner, snoring away. On a peg next to the door was the key to that false beehive out back. So I slipped it off and grabbed me a few coins out of the big ole money pot. You should have seen it. It was brimming to the top with coin and paper money.” Randy looked down at me with this slight grin on his face. I must have been looking at him in surprise, and disbelief, because he then got a disgusted look on his face and said, “Oh what do you know, I always knew you were afraid of everything. I told you he would not miss a little bit here and there. I have been back three times since, and he never was the wiser.” “Randy,” I began, “I would not do it again. He is going to catch you and I don’t trust him none.” Randy looked at me and laughed, “Well, I bet the old man is coming down today. I saw his crate of jars and whiskey come in this morning on the first ferry. That means he will be drunk again this evening. Come back just before sunset, he usually appears then after the last ferries have come in and left.” There was no way I was going to be there when Shamus paddled into the dock and told Randy my parents needed me back at the farm soon. “Suit yourself then, but I am not sharing.” He spat into the surf and went back the docks. I hurried out there back to my house, still thinking about Randy’s brashness.

It was just about sunset when I got home, and we were sitting down to supper. Momma told me that in the morning I was to go down to Shamus’ shack and get two jars of his seagrape honey. She wanted it for some more candies she was making for the Reverend’s new bride as a welcome to the island gift. It was like a black curse hanging on me with visiting Shamus, but I reluctantly agreed. I think she noticed and asked, “Is all well with you son? I know old Shamus is strange, but being strange is not necessarily bad. Remember, a Christian turns the other cheek and accepts all of Gods people.” Some how I doubted that God had much to do with Shamus’ honey gathering practices, but I kept that to myself. After supper I told momma and papa I was going out for some air, and that I would be back soon.

I Helped Save Second Base

On Saturday morning, 10/20/2007 I helped the save the great American (and the world's!) second base. How did I do this you might ask? I did a 5K charity walk for Breast Cancer Awareness with my lovely bride. Now, Fort Myers is a small town in comparison to other cities, but these folks raised around $200K from what I heard (now I have not confirmed that number). I think the best part was the sheer number of women that turned out for the event. I mean, women really rally around this cause. You don't see men rallying around testicular cancer do you? Maybe that is why it amazed me the number of people there (men included). It was a fairly good time, even if exercise was involved.

In another part of the event that I thought was creative were the slogans on the t-shirts worn by the walkers. Some of the slogans included: "Precious Mammaries"; "I saved 2nd base"; "Save the tatas"; "I love boobs". However my wife wouldn't let me ask for any of the shirts. That leads to my great idea for making more money for the charity on the walks.

I think next year they should sell pink and white Mardi Gras beads to people along the walk route for say, $5. Then the walkers can earn those beads in true Mardi Gras fashion as they walk on by! I think next year their earning would be in the millions! My wife said I should present that to the committee for next year. Kidding aside, the walk was really nice. Especially going over the Edison bridge.



Now in the middle of the river is an island for sale. I think if everyone that reads this blog could send me 2 pennies, then tell everyone they know about the blog to send me 2 pennies, and then they tell everyone they know about the blog to send me 2 pennies, and so on, and so on, and so on, I could buy that island. I would then take that island and turn it into a sustainable resort business (there are docks already on it) with all profits going for Breast Cancer Awareness. What do you say guys and gals? Help a brother to help a sister out?



All and all, if you get a chance to help save second base, do so! I did it for the "boobies"....

Shamus the Beekeeper - Part 1

I have decided to post serials of my short stories, starting with Shamus the Beekeeper. It is a horror story for Halloween (I like to write creepy stories and scifi stories). I will post a part over the next few days.

Jeffrey

Shamus the beekeeper:

Old man Shamus was famous throughout the county for his tasty seagrape honey. Although it unusual, his honey had a slight reddish glow more akin to orange blossom honey than to the normal golden sheen that one expects from seagrape honey. They said color was from special techniques Shamus would perform on the seagrape flowers, though no one could really tell you just what those techniques were. Now, ole Shamus had learned his trade from the last of Sanibel’s Cuban immigrants, who in turned learned it from the Calusa Indians. The Calusa had made the triangle of islands Sanibel, Captiva and Pine Island their home thousands of years prior and the inlets and water ways still had their spirits about them. That being said, I set out with my best friend of the time, Randy Jones. Now, Randy Jones was not a really likeable fellow, but living on Sanibel Island in the 1930’s, there was a lack young men of 16 years, so we were friends more of necessity than of commonality. Randy was already tall for his age and filled out, more of a man than I appeared. I was short and still had some of that baby fat that aunts like to pinch on your cheek when they come for a visit.

That evening, Randy had come over, and as was his custom stayed until supper time. My mother and father being of Christian persuasion, invited him to stay and sup with us, as probably was Randy’s plan. After dinner, mother informed me that I was head to old Man Shamus’s shack on the north end of the island near Captiva and get two jars of his seagrape honey. We were heading into Christmas in two weeks and she wanted to make some honey filled hard candy for upcoming holidays. Knowing that I would not be home before dark and not looking forward to being alone, I asked Randy if he would care to walk with me. Randy not liking to do anything that did not bring him some type of windfall was reluctant, but conceded when I said I would give him some of my share of the honey candies. About an hour before dusk, Randy and I set out for the north end of the island.

The walk to Shamus’ shack was not a difficult one, but it was long. We lived mid-island near Wulfert, the family raising grapefruit, water melon, and vegetables. We took a hard hit in the hurricanes of 1921 and five years later in 1926. Captiva Island used to be on the whole, a key lime plantation, but those storms have made it harder and harder to make a living farming. More and more Yankees were invading our island for the warm weather and beaches. The few old timers didn’t like it all that much, but the younger folk didn’t seem to mind. We were getting less and less money from the farm, and I even considered going to the Kinzie brothers’ docks for a job ferrying tourist to and fro from Fort Myers and Punta Rassa. Randy and I made our way down the old path, being that the road was not yet extended that far into the island. The sun was just setting down when we reached Shamus’ shack. He was resting all quiet on a stool sitting on the wooden stoop of the shack when we came walking up.

Shamus eyed me up and down and asked, “Your momma send you for some honey?” To which I replied, “Yessir, I need these 2 quart jars filled and have the money like you ask for”, holding out the jars and the coins momma had given me. Not even looking he snatched both as quick as the fabled skunk ape, the whole time watching Randy with a dubious look in his eyes. He then asked, “You’re Jones’s boy, aren’t ya?” Randy, not really caring for Shamus’ stare replied, “my pappy told me about you Mr. Shamus. Says you ain’t natural. You do things to the seagrapes that ain’t Godly to get the bees to produce that favorable honey.” To that Shamus pulls back his head and lets out a roar of a laugh. “So your pappy says, huh? Well, your pappy might be wiser than a young sass like you might know.” Then Shamus chuckles, and looks at both of us. “I don’t do nothing unnatural to the flowers. The bees and I have a special arrangement that makes the best honey in the county.” “Come on, but don’t get to close or you’ll get stung. I can’t have all my bees killed on the likes of you two.” Then Shamus starts to walk around the back of shack to the rows of painted white box beehives he has behind it.

Each hive is about four foot high and about two foot wide and deep with drawer looking compartments. Shamus does not even pull out the smoker, nor dons any screening clothing. He simply walks up to a hive, and pulls out the third drawer like compartment. There is a flurry of honey bees, pissed off about being disturbed that fly out. Randy and I run back to side of the shack and peer around the corner. Shamus just laughs, as he takes the drawer, and shaves off a top layer of wax with a large knife hot from the day’s sun. Then he tilts it to one corner as the honey comes flowing out into the first jar. Quickly it is filled, and Shamus replaces it with the second jar, which is filled just as quick. Shamus replaces the compartment, and closes the lids of the jars. Strange enough, none of the bees stung him as he disturbed their home and stole their food source. They just slowly returned to the hive entrance as if nothing had happened. Shamus comes walking toward us, but before he does, he opens up the bee hive closest to the shack. Unlike the others, it has a door that runs the length of the hive. It is empty of bees, honey, and combs, but has a large earthen pot in it. Shamus drops the 2 coins in it; they clank with the sounds of other coins. Lots of other coins. Shamus sees the two of us looking at him, puts his hand into the pot and pulls out a fist full of coins and bills. He smiles and says “yeah, the honey business has been good, especially when you have the best in the county”. He laughs and drops the money back into the jar and shuts the door, locking its latch with a small pad lock, and puts the key in his pocket. He then comes over to us, and hands me the two quart jars. “Nice doing business with you, if you ever need any more honey, you come back and see Shamus, hear? Now get away from my hives and my shack” Then he takes his perch on the old stool, like some obscene carrion bird waiting for one of us to die. I was little more than scared by the old man, and started to walk quickly back down the path. I had to pull Randy with me, because he was staring at the hive with the money in it, and old Shamus was staring at him with a slight malicious grin on his face. Finally Randy started down the path after my tugging woke him up from his staring spell.

About a half mile down the path, Randy asks me, “Did you see all the money in that jar? That old man doesn’t use it. Hell, he only goes into Wulfert but once a year to get some nails, maybe some planks and other dry goods.” I knew what Randy is thinking, and as I said, he is not a real likeable fellow. In fact, I would bet Randy is not all that honest. I say to him, “Leave it alone Randy. Shamus ain’t a person to fool with. He had his eye on you while you were staring at his money pot.” “What do you know; you are scared of your own shadow. I bet he wouldn’t notice a little bit missing here and there” But he did not say anything else about it as we walked back to my house. Once there, Randy said he better get home, and left. I went to bed that night thinking about Randy staring at that bee hive and how Shamus kept looking at him with the grin on his face.

Herding cats - learning to lead

You have heard the expression, "herding cats", I am sure. It means trying to maneuver independent creatures into the direction you want them to go (and if any pet is independent, it is a feline). Well, I recently moved into the tech lead position of very high end developers. Now, I have been in tech lead positions before, but never with the caliber of these folks.

A quote from the movie Blow, "My ambitions far outweigh my talents". Well, I feel that way around these folks. They are very good at what they do. In fact, they are more than developers, I would say they are thought leaders in their field. But I think they subscribe to the opposite, "Their talents far outweigh their ambitions". It is scary. Maybe I am the obtuse one, in the fact I want to lead instead of being led. I will say this, on this team, I am finding my skills are changing. Moving from technology to more management (well not management, but leadership, and they are not the same, trust me). I don't want to manage anyone. I would like to lead. They are different, and difficult if you have not been in the position prior (either through you own actions/inactions, or by stature in life). Some people are born leaders, others have it thrust upon them (yeah, that is not the quote, but it is my blog damn it).

Back to these folks. I have found that the use of Foursight to be helpful in assessing my team (my manager directed me to it, and although I have only an inkling of its uses, what I have seen is really helpful). As I understand it, the basic premise it to find people's preferences (which will generally be their strengths) and work them into the goal accordingly. It is based on the idea that people generally will have a preference in 4 areas, Clarification, Ideasation, Development, and Implementation. Mine tend to be Ideasation and Implementation. I have the least preference for Clarification and Development. This leads to one of my pain points in leading these folks. I tend to go from my head on my project plan. Some of my team (notably the ones that prefer Clarification and Development) want it designed out on paper and documented.

So, I have tried to get them to just work it out themselves as to how it would designed. Now why they are like this I don't know. They are all thought leaders, so I know they know independent thinking. So whether they have been brow beat by the trade to ask exactly what the customer wants, or they never knew how, I don't know (nor do I really care). I know now that I must clarify their tasks down to gnat's ass for them. So be it, as long as they get the damn project in on time.

I have done my best not to spoon feed the "detailers". It can be a fine balance. You have to account for their ego's and their laziness. People tend to work only to what you ask of them directly, very few go beyond. However, my take has been to formulate high level requirements from the user perspective, and come up with high level components for each developer's area from those requirements. I then take those to the developers and ask them to work through to come up with their line items, sizings, and dependencies. If I need to massage them into a project plan, it is easier doing the way above (however, you have to be using an iterative development process, and you have to have a degree of freedom from users... I work mostly on prototypes that are evolving as they are being developed... a very different model than most IT people get to work under).

All and all, I think I can apply the above thinking to any project where you work with a degree of intelligent and creative people that are passionate about their jobs. However, look for the mentioned pitfalls above.

Coffee Leftovers

Friday morning, and I like to get some of my "special" coffee chopped up and brewed. "Special" meaning something a little higher end than my normal Eight O'Clock coffee (America's number one selling whole bean coffee, hehe).

However, today in my pantry, I didn't really have enough of my "special coffees" to make a full pot. I could have done a flavored coffee (not really my speed, but the wife likes them). So I did the "mixing of the brews". Man, sometimes they come out good, and sometimes they come out like kaka.

Today's is a mix of Starbucks 25th Anniversary blend, Milestone Kona, and I topped it off with some regular Eight O'Clock. It is not bad actually. Now I know I could just buy the same kind of coffee over and over, so I don't "run out" or have to "mix the brews". However, what fun is there in not trying new stuff? During the week I have the same Eight O'clock, but Friday and the weekends are my coffee mix it up days!

I have to apologize for this boring ass post, but nothing has really happened in the last few days that I have had time to write about. I will however be posting about my experience, from work on herding cats... um high end developers.

Florida is the state of hope - a short poem

Florida is the state of hope.

You hope all summer that the hurricanes stay at bay.

You hope all winter the snow birds would go away.

It can make you feel like you are at the end of your rope.

Just don't let it sway,

You from having a great semi-tropical day.

Data in the modern world

Just because your name is on a list, doesn't mean they remember who you are. This is not a rant, nor a rave, but rather an observation of irony.

Not to get to much into a past experience on this post, I have to say I had a negative experience with purchasing a used car. This used Toyota Land Cruiser was nice and the price was right! Too right it turns out. The car was stolen. Mind you, I bought this car from a dealership too (not a relatively large dealer obviously). Well, bottom line was the police confiscated the auto, and the bank still wanted me to honor the note (which is a story for another blog entry). Well to make a long story short, I had to get lawyered up, and eventually they let me out of the note and I got some money for the aggravation (not much and the lawyers costs took care of most of it). All and all, I got lucky. I have talked to blokes in the UK where the laws are different. There, I would have been boned.

Anyway, today I get a credit card offer from that very same bank! I almost could not believe it. The even funnier part is that I had moved 4 years ago, out of state and they did not really have my address. That means perhaps some listing service aggregated my two known addresses and sold it to the bank.

I am tempted to apply for the card, just to see if I get it, but I suspect they just take a cut and card is managed by some other entity (it was small local bank). Meaning, they wouldn't really know who I was. I still find it humorous. Can you spell irony?

ATT's mobile phone insurance polices and my w580i

Alright, this post is a rant and a rave. First the story. I had a Sony Ericsson w600i phone. Really liked the phone. Loved the features, the range, pretty much everything. It had some draw backs (as with anything), but the only one that really sticks in my mind is the phone's OS is... well... fragile. Especially when attaching/removing the connections to it (whether it be power, USB, hands free set). In changing "modes", sometimes it would not recover. During those times I would have to turn off the phone and "reboot" it. Well, one day during a disconnect from the recharging cable, it would not come out of "optimized charging" mode and I "rebooted". Alas, that was the wrong procedure. The phone (as my German friend puts it), went kaput. Mind you this happened TWICE! The first time was the 3 months into owning the phone and it was under warranty. Called up Cingular (before the merger), and they happily sent me a new phone complete with the box. Then it happened again last Saturday. Now for the rant part about ATT's mobile device insurance.

Well, I was obviously out of warranty on the phone (even this being the second one). Luckily, I had the insurance for $5 a month. So my wife called this time to get the phone replaced and finds out that the w600i has been discontinued. They will replace the phone (for a $50 deductible no less), but will be sending a comparable phone. What they send is the Samsung SYNC. I get the phone and notice there is no data cable or any accessories. So I call.

After the normal run around, I finally get a guy from the "insurance" company (and for the life of me I cannot remember the company's name). I tell him about the data cable, that I was fine with the replacement phone accept for that.

His only response was "I am not authorized to handle that at this level".

I asked "What does that mean?"

Again, "I am not authorized to handle that at this level".

So I venture, "So does that mean I need to speak to a supervisor? If so, bounce this up."

His supervisor gets on and says she cannot send me a data cable for the SYNC, but can offer me the Sony Ericsson w580i instead. I ask if it has data cable or compatible with my old ones. She does not know. So I ask to think about it. I do some research and find they are compatible, so I call back and ask them to send it to me.

Here is the kicker. The Samsung SYNC is a far inferior phone to the w580i and to the w600i. The insurance company was trying to get off as cheaply as they could. If not for my persistence and griping about having the same functionality as before (with the data cable included), I would have had to spend the insurance at $5/mo (at this point over $60), the $50 deductible, plus the cost of the data cable. Guess what, the new w580i had all the cables, all the accessories and is compatible with the old ones from the 600! Now for the rave part.

I love the PHONE! The w580i is like the 600, but a 1.75x better version of it. It has all the older features, but upgraded, plus several new ones. The streaming music, the streaming internet radio, the shuffle by shake on the MP3, the pedometer, the upgraded camera. I could go on and on and on. I love the new sleek design (a lot thinner than the w600i) and the fact I can increase the SIMM card (the old phone is static at 256 MB). The only draw back is there is not much memory on the phone itself for storing MP3's out of the box, you need a SIMM (and it does not come with one). Here is a link to the phone.

All and all, I should have expected the deal with ATT's insurance. However, I am balanced by how cool the phone is!

Casting for PodCasts

Just about every morning, at lunch, and sometimes in the evening, I take a bike ride or a walk. Now, I do this for the exercise (being overweight you have too, especially if you like to eat like I do, so you don't grow in an outward fashion). That said, being busy with work and personal hobbies, I have found I can take downloads of podcasts and audiobooks in my MP3 player and listen while exercising. Now, my wife says I should not do this, I should relax while exercising. This is how I relax was my response!

But on the serious side, I thought of this awhile back when getting my MBA. I hated driving to and from school. I felt it was a waste of my time when I could be studying, working, personal hobbies, etc. At the time there was not a bus service from my residence or at the times I needed. Attempts to get my text books in audio format were shakey at best. Most publishers would only offer the most popular books on audio (I tried asking about visually handicap patrons, but they said most texts could be provided in braille). That leads to another related experience.

While at college, there was an English professor that was blind. He would have all the students turn in their papers on disk in the WordPerfect format (text editor that is all but gone). His computer had a program that would read the "text" for him. This was several years ago, now there are several products that will do the same thing within Windows. That given, we could read text files on the fly using a device like this, so how hard would it be to read the text and have a "batch" process that records them to an audio file?

The last bit of this post leads to something I found a month or so ago. My public library has recently decided to subscribe certain electronic versions of books that patrons can download for a limited reading on their home PCs. My company, likewise, subscribes to books24x7 (and on a side note, I do not like the interface for books24x7). This leads me to believe that most publishers have their books/texts/articles in electronic format (makes sense, they have probably had it for years). If so, they could be "read" and recorded.

I also found some information that show some progress that ATT Labs did for Text To Speech (TTS). Along with some wikipedia entries here and here. My thought was to take a Java based TTS and incoporate it with the J2ME of a mobile device. To bad in my research, none of the TTS packages will not run on J2ME. For example, one from Sun and the FreeTT.
Now, you could record the books on the server and send the audio file to the device, but that is way more bandwidth, than if you sent a straight text file. You could also use it to read SMS text if you were converting right on the mobile device.

So, why aren't books being recorded this way? I know one draw back is the voice. That robot on proziac voice is not very pleasant to listen to, but newer versions of the voice software can be configured to more human like speech. Think about it. Audio on demand of books, articles, technical papers, novels, etc. I think it would be a great productivity boost so we can multi-task while commuting, exercising, etc. You could hook up your TTS-internet enabled mobile device to an FM transmitter, and have "my news channel" while you drive.

I probably let out one of my best ideas, but since I would like to see this developed for my own edification, here world, this one is a freebie!

The mornings are the best!

I have to say, the morning is the best. Breakfast. Hot Coffee. Eggs and turkey bacon. Mmmmm. The laptop out on the lanai, with a kraft of Java. Nice...

I have friends that are technology enthusiasts (whether by hobby or trade) that nix-a on the mornings. They stay up way too late to enjoy it is all. I just got to say it is my most productive for slinging code at work, or working up new ideas (I tend to like to write at night however).

Some of the best things about mornings:
1.) You get to start a brand new day!
2.) You have the full day ahead of you with endless possibilities.
3.) BREAKFAST (if you ever notice, it is the cheapest of all meals, both at home and out).
4.) COFFEE! Some good, make your hair grow, make your brain crawl out your ear and do laps Java, fresh brewed!
5.) The cool air for exercising!
6.) Watching the sun come up!
7.) Lastly, knowing it lasts until 11:59 AM.

Needless to say, I like the morning!

Rebuilt at the edge of old age - boomers to bionic

Is Florida a fluke, or is the rest of the country like this... Baby Boomer women being rebuilt between 45 to 65. I know in the midwest where I am from they were not like that. Here... they seem to all have the bionic boobies and booties, and the face lift. The only way you can tell is the hands. They tend to have the "veins" or "wrinkles" in them. Not only are they biologically rebuilt, they get new wardrobes.

As for the new wardrobes, they tend to wear the hoochy momma outfits, stuff they would never let their daughters wear when they were 16. Am I wrong? Look around sometime at an out door cabana bar. You get the "rich biker momma" that is the doctor's, lawyer's, biz owner's trophy wife on a $60-90K Hawg (b/c normal people cannot afford those bikes any more).

I will get on the soap box in a later blog, but this a prelude to how I think the Baby Boomers have ROBBED this country. The best line I have heard is this, "Why dislike the Baby Boomers? Four decades of lying around suckling off the fat from past and future generations, while having the nads to sanctimoniously condemn materialism and greed!"

Chasing the Dragon

I am not looking to find the end of corporate existence, but I have to say this. You ever heard the term "chasing the dragon"? It refers to drug use. It means that once you get high, you tend to look for the next high. However, you start to need more and more to get that same high (or more as you crave it). The song "Mr. Brownstone" has a line "A little used to do it, but a little got more and more".

Well technology is like that. You have to learn new stuff to stay on top. Not only that, you have to learn more and more to stay on top. It evolves while it changes and is additive. So the expanse of what you need to know to be "good" gets more and more. Is anyone else tired of "chasing the dragon"?

I think this is part of the root of my dissatisfaction with being a corporate technologist. It used to be what drew me. Now... it is almost a curse. Don't get me wrong, I love being on the cutting edge, but I find myself being drawn to family and friends, rather than sitting in a chair like a troll 16 hours a day. Something will give, but will it be me or the way I look at it?