Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Been Parking...
Well, not that kind of parking. Watch your thoughts :-)
Yesterday I took a day off from work to take my wife and kids to a theme park, Carowinds to be precise. Well, not all the kids, just some of them... but we did have a spare one... not that we had a spare kid, but we had an extra kid... well we didn't have another child, sort of borrowed one... ok, let me explain... no, there is too much, let me sum up...
We took the three oldest kids plus the oldest daughter's friend who was visiting from Texas (so that is 5 in all), leaving the youngest two behind. Don't worry folks, the youngest two went today with my wife. They had mom all to themselves. It actually worked out best this way logistically (if you can imagine having 6 kids at the park at the same time ranging in ages from 17 down to 5 you get the idea). So everyone got to go at least once, and 4 of them got to go twice. Ok, yes I know that 2 kids plus 1 mom is 3, but she took the middle child along to help which makes 4, unless you count the spare... this time a friend of the middle child, the second oldest daughter, which makes 5, but she only went once... 5 in all went today.
Are you with me so far?
Now the first thing to realize about any theme park is you pay through the nose to be robbed blind. Seriously. You pay all this money to go to the theme park and they charge lots of $$ for food and drinks. Ask me how much for a Coke... go ahead, ask... oh, I can't hear you, I will just tell you.
$3.85 for a single Coke!!! And that is the same price they have on the Coke vending machine.
By the way, all you Pepsi lovers out there, Carowinds is a Coke place, sorry... well not so sorry... I prefer Coke over Pepsi but I digress.
And if the prices of the drinks were not bad enough, it costs about $10 per person to eat there in any of the places. Remember there was 6 of us, that is $60 for 2 hamburgers, 1 slice of pizza, a chicken sandwich, 2 orders of chicken fingers, and 4 orders of fries with 5 drinks (yes I know there were 6 of us but the oldest daughter only drinks water which is free).
Highway robbery (literally, it sits right off I-77).
But we found the loopholes in the system. You see, every drink stand and food place will give you water for free. Not just water, but a large cup of ice water. And its free! Woot!
Also we found that they have a Chick-Fil-A stand there. If you are content with a chicken sandwich or chicken nuggets and their waffle fries, then you must eat there. Why? Because the prices are the same as outside the park! Kudos, kudos, and more kudos to Truett Cathy and his ethical establishment! They do not rip you off in the park.
No one got sun burned and we all had a good time. As we were leaving the park, a huge thunderstorm came up. Seriously dangerous lightning. Not to be trifled with. Then the horizontal rain started. I was so glad to be in our van by that time.
Most favorite rides? Carolina Goldrusher, Carolina Cyclone, Vortex, and Dodge 'Em bumper cars (seriously I love those!)
Least favorite rides? Hurler (bone jarring wooden coaster - need I say more), Richochet (could give you whiplash!)
Best part of the day? Just being a dad with my kids and a husband to my wife all day long.
For thrill rides, overpriced food, and gasoline, there's MasterCard.
For building family memories: priceless.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Monday, June 18, 2007
Growing Up On Another Planet
Viewing Earth in 2007, particularly the United States, leaves me astonished. You see, I grew up on another planet and I find it difficult to understand how things here on this planet got into such a state. It seems to me that most things defy logic and serve no real purpose other than to keep politicians (the civil masters) and the civil servants employed and busy. In this post I would like to point out some of the inconsistencies between our two planets.
When I was growing up on my planet, we had bicycles as the youth do here. I used to ride my bike everywhere you could imagine. I rode it on the road, the alley, dirt trails, and anywhere else I wanted to go. There were no "bike paths" that offered protected havens for cyclists. We just rode where we could. And what may astonish those born on this planet is that we had no helmet laws for riding bicycles. All of my childhood friends rode bikes and none wore helmets. We received our share of scratches, bruises, stitches, and other injuries, but we all survived. It might amaze people of this planet that one does not immediately die if they ride a bike without a helmet.
Another fascinating similarity that is different is childhood discipline. On my planet in my childhood years, there was corporal punishment waiting for those that would not follow the rules or insisted on being miscreants. We received spankings, whippings, and some times just a good thrashing and believe it or not, those things did not turn us into violent criminals. Actually, quite the contrary! It was that adamant requirement from our parents for proper behavior that prevented us from being violent criminals! But what I see on this planet is that misbehavior is encouraged by the lack of action on the part of parents. Instead of children being required to be accountable and responsible for their actions, the parents reward their behavior by finding excuses for it. And when there is a dispute between a child and a teacher, this planet requires that the student always prevails. I find that chilling and remarkable. I think the option of a little corporal punishment administered by school officials definitely gets a kid's attention. Well, it did on our planet where the parents cared about the kids' futures.
One thing that dumbfounds me about this planet is that its denizens appear to all believe that no one is responsible for themselves. I can only conclude this because if you stumble on a sidewalk, you assert that it is the fault of the one who happens to have the sidewalk on or near their property and if you eat or drink something too hot and get burned, its the person's fault who gave it to you. Are people from this planet incapable of common sense and thinking for themselves? It appears so. When I am handed a hot drink or hot food, I test it first to see how hot it is. Amazing isn't it? On our planet we were taught to think for ourselves.
And speaking of teaching, why is it that schools on this planet are afraid to give bad grades or (heaven forbid) fail a student? Are children of this planet so sensitive and so fragile that a bad grade will destroy their self-esteem and ruin their futures? Amazingly, when children received bad grades on our planet, they were clued in to the fact that maybe there was something they were missing. And the teachers would proactively try to help those students or get them some help. But alas, on this planet, you dumb down the tests so that "no child is left behind" and in reality, "no child excels" either because all are held back to the least common denominator: the poor students.
But I think the most amazing thing about living on this planet versus growing up on my planet is the "in your face" inconsistency regarding how to treat children. On the one hand, you coddle children even up to they turn 18. This is done by saying that "they are too young to be responsible for themselves" and "we need to protect the helpless children". But then on the other hand, you try to elevate children as young as 4 years old into young adult status by saying things like "don't sell kids short, they can contribute and make a difference" and "children deserve the same respect as adult members of the family regardless of their age". This is blatant and irresponsible inconsistency. How can they be both naive innocents that are not responsible for their own actions and yet their opinions and suggestions should carry the same weight as adults? Either you require them to be responsible at younger ages or you quit requiring adults to be responsible. None of this makes sense. On our planet, children were children and grew into maturity and responsibility, the decisions for how this should be done were firmly the responsibility of the parents, not lawmakers.
And finally, something that seldom if ever was exhibited on my planet as a child was the "pornification" of children. Now I am not referring to child pornography. I am specifically referring to parents allowing their children to dress like sluts, porn stars, and gang members. This seems to be mostly a female child phenomenon. Why do any of you think its cute for your 8 year old daughter to be buying bras and g-strings? Why would any of you think it cute if your 10 year old looks like she stepped off the police lineup with a bunch of hookers? How many of you really want your 14 year old daughter to be wearing a skirt so short, it barely goes below her crotch? Since when did you decide that a boy can wear his pants half way down his legs and let his boxer-short clad rear end show? Why is it OK to let your kids watch trash on TV where they see adults dress like prostitutes and gang members and then encourage that by buying them the same kind of clothing? Do you really have no regard for your kids? I don't get it. I really don't get it.
This planet is a large source of amusement, astonishment, shock, and sometimes even pleasure. But this planet is not the one I grew up on. And the most amazing thing of all is it seems like the more you tinker with the system, the worse it gets. When will the majority of you wake up and realize you are not fixing things, you are in reality the ones who broke them? Sometimes I wish I could get back to my home planet, this one is broken.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Happy Father's Day
This is for my father who is recovering from open heart surgery and lung complications.
Happy Father's Day dad!
Hurry up and get well. Mom is driving us crazy :-)
(p.s. That's a joke mom, no really, it is)
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Monday, May 21, 2007
Me transmitte sursum, Caledoni!
The last few weeks have been amazingly stressful. I am ready to leave the planet on the next warp-capable space ship. Or simply welcome the end of time when skies roll back and Jesus gathers His sheep. Either will do.
My father is in the hospital recovering from quadruple heart bypass surgery. Additionally, they replaced a heart valve, fixed another valve, corrected arrhythmia, did a flush and fill, changed the spark plugs and oil, and tuned the carburetor. And after all this, there is still an overhaul of the air breather to come.
Ok, well, maybe they did not do all that last part. But they DID do the heart stuff. And the fact remains that he is still in ICU a week after the surgery. He has had trouble with lungs and oxygen intake and even had a close call with congestive heart failure at least once (that I know of). Yes, it has really been a stressful week.
So I sit here about 300 miles away with only sparse phone contact to keep me updated. Honestly speaking, I don't know that I would really want to hear all the scary details of each day. Sometimes its best to just hear the summaries. But I wish I could be there with my mother. But still, I have to work. I MUST keep my job to feed my family of seven. I am thankful my brother has been there and has been exceedingly helpful.
Still, these things bother me.
And how do you deal with these kinds of stress? Well, people have different ways of dealing with stress, but when I don't do something, my ADD brain kicks into overdrive and refuses to slow down. The result is near panic attacks with intense stress. These things are not really good on the body and so I have found a few ways to relieve stress.
You know I would like to say the first thing I do is pray. I would like to say that. But it seems I often forget to pray for stress release. But when I do, God is faithful. Sometimes He just calms me directly. Other times He points me to something else that calms me.
The next thing is to just sit with my wife and be with her. That calms me so much. We have been married nearly a year and a half now and truly if feels like we have known each other for much longer - in a good way. She knows me well. She pays attention and seems to know what to do to help me. Likewise, I do all I can to really know her and be there for her when she needs me. It truly is a God-given partnership. It is unlike anything either of us have experienced in the past in our former marriages.
The problem is that I am about 225 miles away from my wife most days because of my job. That makes being with her a logistical nightmare most week days.
And another thing I do is to listen to music. Not just any music, but music that is positive, upbeat, and does not bear anger, angst, or sorrow. Mostly I am speaking of Christian music in this category. Just today I was listening to some country music, some rock music, and some pop music. But none of those really helped. So that was when I cranked up the Newsboys. I could literally feel the stress and tension begin to evaporate as my mind turned closer toward God.
And finally, I use outright escapism. I play video games and get lost in their virtual worlds. Is this the best thing to do? Arguably no. But if nothing else brings about stress reduction, I see it as a reasonable alternative to doing nothing and a much superior alternative to medication.
And when I am not playing video games and running around with my virtual self, I am often found working on a fantasy novel. In my head I run off to a world of elves, dwarves, orcs, and other things that most people don't normally think about. In that world, problems are difficult but solvable. And the problems that cannot be solved are merely part of the ecosystem of the story environment.
But for now, as I write this, the Newsboys are playing in my Amarok music player through my headphones and I am quite calm and the stress is drastically reduced. But after work, I will be cruising around a virtual world destroying monsters and leveling up my virtual persona.
Yes, life is better with electronics. Or at least a pen and paper.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Waiting
Waiting is not something that is easy for most people to do, or at least do it well. Waiting implies some degree of patience and humans have never been considered the most patient of creatures. And when it comes to waiting, humans have a vast array of different ways of dealing with waiting.
I was forced to dwell on this topic this past week as I had to experience waiting firsthand. And not just any waiting, but the "real serious kind of waiting" that many people wished they never had to experience. I spent an entire day this week waiting in the open heart surgery waiting room while my own father underwent open heart surgery.
Sitting there with my mother, my brother, my aunt and uncle, a cousin, and various others throughout the day, each one of them displayed very different ways of dealing with waiting. Specifically, this was waiting with nervousness, and part of their response to waiting is infused with anxiety to various levels.
The first example to note was my mother. As it was her husband of 49 years in surgery, her anxiety meter was pegged and so her waiting was a weird mixture of nervousness, frustration, stress, sleep deprivation, and her own sustained attempt to hold to her faith that God would deliver her through this. She mostly sat in one place. She was distracted and listened intently anytime the staff called out a family name. Her waiting was deliberate yet obviously difficult to maintain patience.
The next example that struck me was my uncle (my mother's only living brother). He could not sit still and often he had to stand and walk. He did not pace, he just walked from area to area and back, then sit down for a while. He was also quiet and did not talk as much as the rest of us. He normally is not one to be very talkative, but in his waiting, it seemed to me that he talked less than what I remembered of him. His waiting was a suspenseful meandering kind of waiting.
Similar to my uncle was my brother. He also could not sit as long as the others and walked often. But he differed in that he combined his walking with some supposed task as to make it seem natural for him to walk around. I believe that he did not want our mother to know just how nervous he was, so he was using some attempt at subterfuge to mask his nervousness. His was a denied waiting to some extent.
Then there was my father's first cousin. She sat, mostly in one place, with almost a stoic reality. She was calm on the outside, but as she spoke, you could see the emotions swirling just behind the surface. She spoke a lot of old times. She recalled past events and situations that brought some humor and good feelings to all of us. Her waiting was one that maintained hope, both to convince herself and others I believe.
My aunt's version of waiting was quite similar to my own in that we talk to distract. It seemed to me that in her waiting, she talked to my mother at length to keep her distracted so that she did not dwell on the negatives. She also sought to reassure her own husband in the process. Her waiting was both helpful and hopeful.
And that leaves me. My waiting was a non-stop barrage of words as I sought to distract myself and others from the current seriousness of the situation. I sincerely wanted to exude confidence and hope for everyone else while at the same time keeping myself distracted from the negative possibilities. I have no idea if I achieved anything close to that. Being ADD myself (seriously), it was easy for me to distract myself. I may have just annoyed others.
In the end, we all waited there for most of that day. There were shared and private prayers. There were stories shared and recalled at length.
This was one of those experiences that a family goes through that stretches them in many different ways. And in the end, our family, at least the part represented there that day, were lifting each other up and showing that family is a powerful thing.
This is not said to slight those that could not be there. We knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that other members of family were praying for my father and my mother in this time. Yes family is a good and powerful thing. It is a shame that in 2007 family is not held as high in importance as it once was, even just a generation ago.
After we all exercised our waiting skills all day, we finally heard from the surgeon about my father. A quadruple bypass was completed, one heart valve replaced, another heart valve was fixed, and the heart rhythm was restored. The surgery was a success and as I write this, my father is in ICU recovering from his open heart surgery.
Today we visited him for short durations (as long as the staff would allow) and he was doing very well. He even had his wits about him and joked bit with us.
There is still more waiting to be done. The doctors also found a cancerous mass in his right lung and biopsied it. We are still waiting on the lab results to determine more about this mass. We also must wait for his body to heal and watch his strength and stamina return to him.
And what is my father doing right now in ICU? He is waiting of course.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
I was forced to dwell on this topic this past week as I had to experience waiting firsthand. And not just any waiting, but the "real serious kind of waiting" that many people wished they never had to experience. I spent an entire day this week waiting in the open heart surgery waiting room while my own father underwent open heart surgery.
Sitting there with my mother, my brother, my aunt and uncle, a cousin, and various others throughout the day, each one of them displayed very different ways of dealing with waiting. Specifically, this was waiting with nervousness, and part of their response to waiting is infused with anxiety to various levels.
The first example to note was my mother. As it was her husband of 49 years in surgery, her anxiety meter was pegged and so her waiting was a weird mixture of nervousness, frustration, stress, sleep deprivation, and her own sustained attempt to hold to her faith that God would deliver her through this. She mostly sat in one place. She was distracted and listened intently anytime the staff called out a family name. Her waiting was deliberate yet obviously difficult to maintain patience.
The next example that struck me was my uncle (my mother's only living brother). He could not sit still and often he had to stand and walk. He did not pace, he just walked from area to area and back, then sit down for a while. He was also quiet and did not talk as much as the rest of us. He normally is not one to be very talkative, but in his waiting, it seemed to me that he talked less than what I remembered of him. His waiting was a suspenseful meandering kind of waiting.
Similar to my uncle was my brother. He also could not sit as long as the others and walked often. But he differed in that he combined his walking with some supposed task as to make it seem natural for him to walk around. I believe that he did not want our mother to know just how nervous he was, so he was using some attempt at subterfuge to mask his nervousness. His was a denied waiting to some extent.
Then there was my father's first cousin. She sat, mostly in one place, with almost a stoic reality. She was calm on the outside, but as she spoke, you could see the emotions swirling just behind the surface. She spoke a lot of old times. She recalled past events and situations that brought some humor and good feelings to all of us. Her waiting was one that maintained hope, both to convince herself and others I believe.
My aunt's version of waiting was quite similar to my own in that we talk to distract. It seemed to me that in her waiting, she talked to my mother at length to keep her distracted so that she did not dwell on the negatives. She also sought to reassure her own husband in the process. Her waiting was both helpful and hopeful.
And that leaves me. My waiting was a non-stop barrage of words as I sought to distract myself and others from the current seriousness of the situation. I sincerely wanted to exude confidence and hope for everyone else while at the same time keeping myself distracted from the negative possibilities. I have no idea if I achieved anything close to that. Being ADD myself (seriously), it was easy for me to distract myself. I may have just annoyed others.
In the end, we all waited there for most of that day. There were shared and private prayers. There were stories shared and recalled at length.
This was one of those experiences that a family goes through that stretches them in many different ways. And in the end, our family, at least the part represented there that day, were lifting each other up and showing that family is a powerful thing.
This is not said to slight those that could not be there. We knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that other members of family were praying for my father and my mother in this time. Yes family is a good and powerful thing. It is a shame that in 2007 family is not held as high in importance as it once was, even just a generation ago.
After we all exercised our waiting skills all day, we finally heard from the surgeon about my father. A quadruple bypass was completed, one heart valve replaced, another heart valve was fixed, and the heart rhythm was restored. The surgery was a success and as I write this, my father is in ICU recovering from his open heart surgery.
Today we visited him for short durations (as long as the staff would allow) and he was doing very well. He even had his wits about him and joked bit with us.
There is still more waiting to be done. The doctors also found a cancerous mass in his right lung and biopsied it. We are still waiting on the lab results to determine more about this mass. We also must wait for his body to heal and watch his strength and stamina return to him.
And what is my father doing right now in ICU? He is waiting of course.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Friday, April 27, 2007
Underdogs and Hackers
The other day I was recalling the wild and woolly days of the computing industry before there was Internet, before there was Windows, before there were anti-virus scanners, and before there was such wide-spread adoption of computing technology. In those days, "normal" people did not have computers. And as college students, we had access to the computing frontier. We knew how to ride the range and avoid the sheriff so to speak.
It is because of those days and the "experimentation" that people like me engaged in that we have such concern for computer security now. But back then, there were entire computing systems that were accessed with a username only, no password. We cruised through the mainframes from our serial terminals and dial up modems and explored the vast reaches of the university networks. We wrote software to access things we should not, do things the system was not capable of, and invented the computing industry along the way.
Yes, we were hackers.
But we actually wanted that title and accepted it with pride. You see, in the early days, the "establishment" created computing systems for really boring reasons, like business. We used the spare computing power of those systems as a playground for learning and honing our skills. If you were labeled a "hacker" it meant you had respect from your peers for your skills. It was a good thing. The vast majority of the "hackers" in those days did little mischief, mostly they were just seeking the thrill of making something exceed its original specification.
The term hacker was commandeered by the media to be used as a negative label for criminals. But in its inception, it was not a negative term. Arguably, now it is.
Mastering a mainframe time-sharing system was no small trick. There were many nuances of the command line environment. And we created new environments from the primitives offered until we had our own little villages. I would not dare call them castles as nothing was that permanent. We were constantly changing and evolving our environments. The goal was not to create an environment to use, the goal was to learn about creating environments and to expand continually. It was the journey and not the destination that was the reward.
Over the years I have watched the computing industry flex, grow, change, and even cycle. Once upon a time everything was centralized at a mainframe and all access was from connected "dumb" terminals. They were called dumb because they could only display text and accept text from a keyboard. Then things changed with the advent of personal computers when IBM, Apple, and a smattering of others came on the scene. And over time, things evolved to being de-centralized and distributed across a number of smaller computers, like personal computers.
But as the business requirements grew, and so did this little thing called the Internet, there was movement to bring business processing back into centrally managed server farms with remote access from personal computers. The personal computers ran applications that communicated with the central servers and since they were no longer doing all the heavy lifting, companies started introducing "thin clients" that were less expensive personal computers, and somewhat limited in features. Thus the personal computer essentially became "dumb" terminals once more, but now you could play Solitaire and Winmine.
Then someone noticed all that computing power going to waste and the migration toward distributed computing began again. I honestly don't know where it has most recently arrived. Are we distributed, centralized, or just some mish-mash? I think that since it is so confusing we are probably at some mish-mash state.
And now, the computing industry faces the biggest threat to date. A threat that exceeds all worries of virus attacks, trojans, worms, security attacks, or even spam. This threat is nothing less than the market dominance of one company, Microsoft. It does not matter which company is dominant, when there is only one primary player, you have a monopoly, and that has never been a good thing. There is no such thing as a benevolent monopoly.
And everywhere you look, every product, software tool, or gadget is compatible with Microsoft Windows, and many if not most are only compliant with Windows. And since that is what most people use, it makes perfect sense. No one would sell MP3 players that only connected to obscure computers running obscure operating systems. That would be bad business. So the problem kind of self-propagates. As products tend toward supporting only the MS Windows platform, there is little desire to use any other platform by users. Well, at least the majority of users.
Which brings me finally to the point of this post. You see, all those devices that are "Windows only", well that makes people like me think "why?" Or more precisely "what prevents it being used on something else?" And so we look to find ways to connect those devices to other platforms, most notably the Linux operating system. And so the hackers take gadgets and devices apart, they tinker, and they write software or possibly even warm up the soldering iron. And usually they get the system to do something it was never intended to do. They get the Windows only gadgets to do things like connect and communicate with Linux.
All of this makes Linux an underdog in a Windows world.
I use Linux in my job and on my laptop. Its not that I don't think Windows XP is a good operating system (well its nominal and Vista is too new to be known well) and its not that I think Microsoft is evil (even though they are a convicted monopoly that still has not lived up to their court sentences), its just that its a return to those wild and woolly days long ago. There is more to explore and learn about operating systems, networks, software technology, and technical "stuff" in Linux than you could ever discover in Windows.
Microsoft Windows packages a set of tools that do a set of tasks that most people find useful. It also provides a platform for software companies to write application software. But I find it amusing that when confronted with a task that varies from the set of supported features that most just give up and say "it doesn't do that". And they are probably right. Windows embodies a "point solution" approach. What that means is that Windows application software is written to do a specific job. And thus when the jobs are not what is expected, you have to find another point solution for that job.
But in the Linux world, software is typically written as a set of building blocks that can be recombined and reconfigured and connected in different ways to accomplish tasks that were never anticipated. And this brings out the hacker in me. Not an evil hacker, the original good hacker that seeks to make a system do things it was never intended. Its a return to the wild and woolly days in a way. Except this time around, the frontier is much larger. But the number of explorers ( i.e. hackers) is larger also.
I have spent the last 24 years in the computing industry starting in college in 1983. And over that time I have seen amazing advancement and evolution of computing technology and software. I have learned more and forgotten more than I ever anticipated. It seems that the more I learn, the less I know. Its just that as I learn more, I become more aware of all that I do not know. So I continue to learn and hack and play with computers.
After all, its only software :-)
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
It is because of those days and the "experimentation" that people like me engaged in that we have such concern for computer security now. But back then, there were entire computing systems that were accessed with a username only, no password. We cruised through the mainframes from our serial terminals and dial up modems and explored the vast reaches of the university networks. We wrote software to access things we should not, do things the system was not capable of, and invented the computing industry along the way.
Yes, we were hackers.
But we actually wanted that title and accepted it with pride. You see, in the early days, the "establishment" created computing systems for really boring reasons, like business. We used the spare computing power of those systems as a playground for learning and honing our skills. If you were labeled a "hacker" it meant you had respect from your peers for your skills. It was a good thing. The vast majority of the "hackers" in those days did little mischief, mostly they were just seeking the thrill of making something exceed its original specification.
The term hacker was commandeered by the media to be used as a negative label for criminals. But in its inception, it was not a negative term. Arguably, now it is.
Mastering a mainframe time-sharing system was no small trick. There were many nuances of the command line environment. And we created new environments from the primitives offered until we had our own little villages. I would not dare call them castles as nothing was that permanent. We were constantly changing and evolving our environments. The goal was not to create an environment to use, the goal was to learn about creating environments and to expand continually. It was the journey and not the destination that was the reward.
Over the years I have watched the computing industry flex, grow, change, and even cycle. Once upon a time everything was centralized at a mainframe and all access was from connected "dumb" terminals. They were called dumb because they could only display text and accept text from a keyboard. Then things changed with the advent of personal computers when IBM, Apple, and a smattering of others came on the scene. And over time, things evolved to being de-centralized and distributed across a number of smaller computers, like personal computers.
But as the business requirements grew, and so did this little thing called the Internet, there was movement to bring business processing back into centrally managed server farms with remote access from personal computers. The personal computers ran applications that communicated with the central servers and since they were no longer doing all the heavy lifting, companies started introducing "thin clients" that were less expensive personal computers, and somewhat limited in features. Thus the personal computer essentially became "dumb" terminals once more, but now you could play Solitaire and Winmine.
Then someone noticed all that computing power going to waste and the migration toward distributed computing began again. I honestly don't know where it has most recently arrived. Are we distributed, centralized, or just some mish-mash? I think that since it is so confusing we are probably at some mish-mash state.
And now, the computing industry faces the biggest threat to date. A threat that exceeds all worries of virus attacks, trojans, worms, security attacks, or even spam. This threat is nothing less than the market dominance of one company, Microsoft. It does not matter which company is dominant, when there is only one primary player, you have a monopoly, and that has never been a good thing. There is no such thing as a benevolent monopoly.
And everywhere you look, every product, software tool, or gadget is compatible with Microsoft Windows, and many if not most are only compliant with Windows. And since that is what most people use, it makes perfect sense. No one would sell MP3 players that only connected to obscure computers running obscure operating systems. That would be bad business. So the problem kind of self-propagates. As products tend toward supporting only the MS Windows platform, there is little desire to use any other platform by users. Well, at least the majority of users.
Which brings me finally to the point of this post. You see, all those devices that are "Windows only", well that makes people like me think "why?" Or more precisely "what prevents it being used on something else?" And so we look to find ways to connect those devices to other platforms, most notably the Linux operating system. And so the hackers take gadgets and devices apart, they tinker, and they write software or possibly even warm up the soldering iron. And usually they get the system to do something it was never intended to do. They get the Windows only gadgets to do things like connect and communicate with Linux.
All of this makes Linux an underdog in a Windows world.
I use Linux in my job and on my laptop. Its not that I don't think Windows XP is a good operating system (well its nominal and Vista is too new to be known well) and its not that I think Microsoft is evil (even though they are a convicted monopoly that still has not lived up to their court sentences), its just that its a return to those wild and woolly days long ago. There is more to explore and learn about operating systems, networks, software technology, and technical "stuff" in Linux than you could ever discover in Windows.
Microsoft Windows packages a set of tools that do a set of tasks that most people find useful. It also provides a platform for software companies to write application software. But I find it amusing that when confronted with a task that varies from the set of supported features that most just give up and say "it doesn't do that". And they are probably right. Windows embodies a "point solution" approach. What that means is that Windows application software is written to do a specific job. And thus when the jobs are not what is expected, you have to find another point solution for that job.
But in the Linux world, software is typically written as a set of building blocks that can be recombined and reconfigured and connected in different ways to accomplish tasks that were never anticipated. And this brings out the hacker in me. Not an evil hacker, the original good hacker that seeks to make a system do things it was never intended. Its a return to the wild and woolly days in a way. Except this time around, the frontier is much larger. But the number of explorers ( i.e. hackers) is larger also.
I have spent the last 24 years in the computing industry starting in college in 1983. And over that time I have seen amazing advancement and evolution of computing technology and software. I have learned more and forgotten more than I ever anticipated. It seems that the more I learn, the less I know. Its just that as I learn more, I become more aware of all that I do not know. So I continue to learn and hack and play with computers.
After all, its only software :-)
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Deep Thoughts From The Farm Well
As it happens while living, occasionally a deep thought is verbalized from any of the five kids, and sometimes the parents. Lately we have been talking about deep thoughts and some of the things that are said that are so descriptive, or at least indicative of our family. So for posterity's sake, I have decided to write just a few of these down.
Granted, there is nothing earth-shaking here. Just thoughts expressed in and around our home.
"That's so random."
I think this phrase is said by my eldest daughter nearly daily, and for good reason! There are so many random things said and done in our home. She, as a teenager, finds the things a 5 year old, or a 41 year old, doing and saying to be completely random. Well sometimes they are, other times, its just teen-itis.
"Dog loves you."
I often refer to our coon hound Millie simply as "dog". One day Millie came up and wanted attention from my son. He was petting her and I said "Dog loves you." Maybe its just me but I think there is a deep thought in there when you think about it.
"Small children on a trampoline are static in motion."
Think about it a moment, if you need to.
"I don't want a tornado to come around."
Said by our official family worrier, the 9 year old. Surely I am not the only one that sees the ironic humor in this. She finds something to worry about daily.
"Pimp my tree."
Said by me in regard to the high pollen count this spring. Think about it.
"Hound dogs smell!"
Its just the way it is. They can and do smell. I have a coon hound to prove it.
"That vacuum sucks!"
A winner of the most obvious award.
"If scissors could run, should they?"
Think about it. I ask this of people I meet and I either get odd looks or a confident and quick answer.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Granted, there is nothing earth-shaking here. Just thoughts expressed in and around our home.
"That's so random."
I think this phrase is said by my eldest daughter nearly daily, and for good reason! There are so many random things said and done in our home. She, as a teenager, finds the things a 5 year old, or a 41 year old, doing and saying to be completely random. Well sometimes they are, other times, its just teen-itis.
"Dog loves you."
I often refer to our coon hound Millie simply as "dog". One day Millie came up and wanted attention from my son. He was petting her and I said "Dog loves you." Maybe its just me but I think there is a deep thought in there when you think about it.
"Small children on a trampoline are static in motion."
Think about it a moment, if you need to.
"I don't want a tornado to come around."
Said by our official family worrier, the 9 year old. Surely I am not the only one that sees the ironic humor in this. She finds something to worry about daily.
"Pimp my tree."
Said by me in regard to the high pollen count this spring. Think about it.
"Hound dogs smell!"
Its just the way it is. They can and do smell. I have a coon hound to prove it.
"That vacuum sucks!"
A winner of the most obvious award.
"If scissors could run, should they?"
Think about it. I ask this of people I meet and I either get odd looks or a confident and quick answer.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Monday, March 19, 2007
Spring Training
The cool breeze blew against the heat on my back and head as I stood in the afternoon sun. The clear skies provided no resistance to the brilliance of golden sunshine in these waning days of winter. As Spring officially comes a mere few days away, the plants and animals have not waited for our interpretation of seasons, but have followed more accurately the marks of time passing in nature and have exploded in a plethora of sensations.
Flowers, shrubs, and trees are erupting in buds and their scented petals permeate all outside spaces. Even the grass seems to take on a richer color and texture and though the trees still have no leaves, there is scattered shade casting patterns over the ground lending its design to the dramatic scene. As the chill of winter abates and the browns and grays of winter are arrayed in magnificent greens of seemingly infinite shades and hues, everything I see is catapulted from the ordinary to the extraordinary.
Winter, in its subdued veil, lacks the vibrancy and the exuberance of Spring through its season of sleep. And now, the land is waking up. All around the signs of life are in abundant evidence, filling up the void of the cold that has preceded the past few months. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, and all manner of forest creatures are moving about and welcoming the return of Spring.
Looking around in the quiet of a country life, you feel comforted that all is as it should be. Life returns, and breathing deeply in the clean Spring air, you not only see life return to the land, you can actually feel it.
Standing there in this scene, I don an old leather ball glove, its feel is smooth and worn with the smell of the old leather tickling memories in my brain as I hold it to my head to shade my eyes a moment. Standing across from me, one of my little girls stands with glove on and ball in hand. It' is again softball season in our rural wonderland.
My 9 yo asked me Friday afternoon to throw with her this weekend. And I would not let such an opportunity pass. It seems that time is precious in my current stage of life. Working through the week away from the house and having only the weekends to achieve true quality time with the family, life has become an act of artful balance, and I don't always stay balanced. But I try.
And so on Sunday afternoon, amidst the beauty of the world around me, there was the unmistakable "thwack" of a softball connecting directly into a ball glove while an exuberant 5 yo bounced in near continuity on the trampoline. A little while passed and the rest of the family returned from drama team practice at church. And so I was now joined by my wife and my 11 yo daughter who put on gloves and we created a throwing pattern of all four of us.
After watching this a short while, my 15 yo daughter, who is not sports minded, asked to join in. Since she is completely new to throwing and catching, something she never had an interest in when younger, we included her in and I helped her refine her throwing and catching. It wasn't long until she was really doing quite well for a beginner.
My 17 yo son came outside once to cast some word of wisdom to us all and then disappeared back into the house, presumably into his teen cave that is remarkably similar to a bedroom. I think he may have been hoping a football or frisbee was part of the equipment. Seeing none, he didn't linger long.
But you know, the point of my being there was not to throw the ball, or to catch it. That was just something to do. It was an activity that was essentially stress free, fun to do, but kind of pointless in the grand scheme of things.
No, it was not for the sake of softball I was there. The reason why I was out there with my family doing this activity, was to be with my family, to share something of their life with them, to listen to them, talk with them, and love them all. I was there to be with them and let them know they are important to me and they are loved by me.
As I said, maintaining the artful balance is the goal, but it is not always something I do well. But I am trying, and I am learning. As a husband and a father, I understand my role is not only critical in the family, but it is something that I am required to do. God gave me this family and one does not have to search too hard in the Bible to find His instruction to the husbands and fathers.
And this weekend God gave me this beautiful weather, the time, and the understanding so that I was without excuse and without need of one. Standing there Sunday afternoon with a ball glove on was where I was supposed to be that afternoon. I was here for my own Spring training.
There is something exceedingly comforting and peaceful when you know where you are supposed to be and what you supposed to be doing. And when you are there doing it, there is abundant joy to be found.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Flowers, shrubs, and trees are erupting in buds and their scented petals permeate all outside spaces. Even the grass seems to take on a richer color and texture and though the trees still have no leaves, there is scattered shade casting patterns over the ground lending its design to the dramatic scene. As the chill of winter abates and the browns and grays of winter are arrayed in magnificent greens of seemingly infinite shades and hues, everything I see is catapulted from the ordinary to the extraordinary.
Winter, in its subdued veil, lacks the vibrancy and the exuberance of Spring through its season of sleep. And now, the land is waking up. All around the signs of life are in abundant evidence, filling up the void of the cold that has preceded the past few months. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, and all manner of forest creatures are moving about and welcoming the return of Spring.
Looking around in the quiet of a country life, you feel comforted that all is as it should be. Life returns, and breathing deeply in the clean Spring air, you not only see life return to the land, you can actually feel it.
Standing there in this scene, I don an old leather ball glove, its feel is smooth and worn with the smell of the old leather tickling memories in my brain as I hold it to my head to shade my eyes a moment. Standing across from me, one of my little girls stands with glove on and ball in hand. It' is again softball season in our rural wonderland.
My 9 yo asked me Friday afternoon to throw with her this weekend. And I would not let such an opportunity pass. It seems that time is precious in my current stage of life. Working through the week away from the house and having only the weekends to achieve true quality time with the family, life has become an act of artful balance, and I don't always stay balanced. But I try.
And so on Sunday afternoon, amidst the beauty of the world around me, there was the unmistakable "thwack" of a softball connecting directly into a ball glove while an exuberant 5 yo bounced in near continuity on the trampoline. A little while passed and the rest of the family returned from drama team practice at church. And so I was now joined by my wife and my 11 yo daughter who put on gloves and we created a throwing pattern of all four of us.
After watching this a short while, my 15 yo daughter, who is not sports minded, asked to join in. Since she is completely new to throwing and catching, something she never had an interest in when younger, we included her in and I helped her refine her throwing and catching. It wasn't long until she was really doing quite well for a beginner.
My 17 yo son came outside once to cast some word of wisdom to us all and then disappeared back into the house, presumably into his teen cave that is remarkably similar to a bedroom. I think he may have been hoping a football or frisbee was part of the equipment. Seeing none, he didn't linger long.
But you know, the point of my being there was not to throw the ball, or to catch it. That was just something to do. It was an activity that was essentially stress free, fun to do, but kind of pointless in the grand scheme of things.
No, it was not for the sake of softball I was there. The reason why I was out there with my family doing this activity, was to be with my family, to share something of their life with them, to listen to them, talk with them, and love them all. I was there to be with them and let them know they are important to me and they are loved by me.
As I said, maintaining the artful balance is the goal, but it is not always something I do well. But I am trying, and I am learning. As a husband and a father, I understand my role is not only critical in the family, but it is something that I am required to do. God gave me this family and one does not have to search too hard in the Bible to find His instruction to the husbands and fathers.
And this weekend God gave me this beautiful weather, the time, and the understanding so that I was without excuse and without need of one. Standing there Sunday afternoon with a ball glove on was where I was supposed to be that afternoon. I was here for my own Spring training.
There is something exceedingly comforting and peaceful when you know where you are supposed to be and what you supposed to be doing. And when you are there doing it, there is abundant joy to be found.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Firing Range
I remember growing up in a rural setting well. From even before I ever went to school, I was taught by my father how to properly respect and handle firearms. I remember all my years of growing up with guns how my father would tell me how to properly hold a firearm, how to clean it, and how to always treat a gun as if it is loaded. I think he did rather well and I am thankful my father took such care with me in dealing respectfully with firearms.
For example, I remember back when I was but about 5 years old. My father brought out a shotgun to let me shoot it - the specific one does not come to mind at this time, after all I was only 5! So there I sat, in front of my father on the steel rails of the railroad tracks while he held the weight of the gun and I aimed and fired. And my target? Well it was the trash barrel out behind the company doctor's office of course :-)
So there we were shooting up the good doctor's trash barrel out behind his office, from the railroad tracks, aiming and shooting across a public road.
Ah yes... good times.... good times...
And other times we would go back into the hills and set up targets of various kinds - like glass bottles, boxes, jugs filled with water, nearly anything you could think of as a target. And we would stand beside the truck, sit in the bed of the truck, or just stand off to the side and practice our aim. We would shoot everything from small caliber handguns and rifles, to large caliber rifles, to shotguns of various gauges from 410 to 12.
For example there was this one time that my father was helping me improve my aim with a .22 caliber rifle (a small caliber if you don't know). I was just a boy, I think around 10 or so. So my father told me to "lean over the hood of the truck" to steady my aim. But when I tried, I was so short, I could not see well. "Dad, I can't see it too good." I would say. And after a few iterations of that my father said "Just shoot the target!". There may have been a few choice words there. Honestly, I don't remember :-)
So I gently squeezed the trigger and "KAPOW-FWUNK!" There was this horrible noise and my mother who was sitting in the cab of the truck at the time (she was a bit more nervous around guns I think), was looking wide-eyed with her mouth open. Apparently with the "KAPOW" there was a corresponding shaking of the vehicle with the "FWUNK".
And there I stood, staring in amazement at the fact that the old Ford pickups had a "slight" ridge in the center of the hood. This particular hood now had a really nice, deep, round dent in it.
"You shot my truck!" said my dad, equally amazed. And from inside the cab my mom cut any reprisal short when she said "I don't want to hear one word! He told you he couldn't see but you wouldn't listen."
So for the next few awkward moments I stood there with the sinking feeling that I may well not live out the night. My dad looked at mom, my mom looked at him. They both looked at me. Then we all looked at the hole. When we realized how bad things could have gone with a ricochet bullet as we all stood around there, we packed up our stuff and left for home.
Ah yes... good times... good times... :-)
Over the following years I got bigger guns and better aim. I also got a lot taller. I was a little runt at 10. I never shot another truck, well... at least not like that... I had purpose in shooting them later... and I always remember proper firearm safety because really, he did a fantastic job teaching me.
So in the past year, I started teaching my son and daughter firearm safety. My son has been shooting a few times before, but it wasn't until my father gave him a .22 Hornet that he now owns his own gun and really likes to shoot it. I wanted to start with him years ago, but living in modern suburbia people tend to complain when they hear gunshots from your backyard. No really they do. I couldn't believe it either.
And so now, living on the farm, I take my son and my daughters (I picked up a gaggle of small females when I got married), and we set up some targets just away from the house so we shoot into a hillside. We mostly use 2 liter soda bottles filled with water, but we also shoot trees, twigs, boxes, anything we can get our hands on.
And so the other day, there we sat, my son and I, on the back porch. I took an old computer monitor down into the woods, set in place as a target, handed my son a full box of shells, and I said "see what you can do with that thing, but you have to clean up the mess". He had a blast shooting holes in the monitor tube, then blowing off chunks of the housing. I brought out a 20 gauge and loaded a lead slug shell into it. The resulting hole into, through, and out the backside, blowing a cloud of plastic dust everywhere, was well worth it.
Ah yes... good times... good times... :-)
But I will never, not once, tell my son or daughters "just lean over the hood of the car to steady your aim." I think we already covered that lesson.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
For example, I remember back when I was but about 5 years old. My father brought out a shotgun to let me shoot it - the specific one does not come to mind at this time, after all I was only 5! So there I sat, in front of my father on the steel rails of the railroad tracks while he held the weight of the gun and I aimed and fired. And my target? Well it was the trash barrel out behind the company doctor's office of course :-)
So there we were shooting up the good doctor's trash barrel out behind his office, from the railroad tracks, aiming and shooting across a public road.
Ah yes... good times.... good times...
And other times we would go back into the hills and set up targets of various kinds - like glass bottles, boxes, jugs filled with water, nearly anything you could think of as a target. And we would stand beside the truck, sit in the bed of the truck, or just stand off to the side and practice our aim. We would shoot everything from small caliber handguns and rifles, to large caliber rifles, to shotguns of various gauges from 410 to 12.
For example there was this one time that my father was helping me improve my aim with a .22 caliber rifle (a small caliber if you don't know). I was just a boy, I think around 10 or so. So my father told me to "lean over the hood of the truck" to steady my aim. But when I tried, I was so short, I could not see well. "Dad, I can't see it too good." I would say. And after a few iterations of that my father said "Just shoot the target!". There may have been a few choice words there. Honestly, I don't remember :-)
So I gently squeezed the trigger and "KAPOW-FWUNK!" There was this horrible noise and my mother who was sitting in the cab of the truck at the time (she was a bit more nervous around guns I think), was looking wide-eyed with her mouth open. Apparently with the "KAPOW" there was a corresponding shaking of the vehicle with the "FWUNK".
And there I stood, staring in amazement at the fact that the old Ford pickups had a "slight" ridge in the center of the hood. This particular hood now had a really nice, deep, round dent in it.
"You shot my truck!" said my dad, equally amazed. And from inside the cab my mom cut any reprisal short when she said "I don't want to hear one word! He told you he couldn't see but you wouldn't listen."
So for the next few awkward moments I stood there with the sinking feeling that I may well not live out the night. My dad looked at mom, my mom looked at him. They both looked at me. Then we all looked at the hole. When we realized how bad things could have gone with a ricochet bullet as we all stood around there, we packed up our stuff and left for home.
Ah yes... good times... good times... :-)
Over the following years I got bigger guns and better aim. I also got a lot taller. I was a little runt at 10. I never shot another truck, well... at least not like that... I had purpose in shooting them later... and I always remember proper firearm safety because really, he did a fantastic job teaching me.
So in the past year, I started teaching my son and daughter firearm safety. My son has been shooting a few times before, but it wasn't until my father gave him a .22 Hornet that he now owns his own gun and really likes to shoot it. I wanted to start with him years ago, but living in modern suburbia people tend to complain when they hear gunshots from your backyard. No really they do. I couldn't believe it either.
And so now, living on the farm, I take my son and my daughters (I picked up a gaggle of small females when I got married), and we set up some targets just away from the house so we shoot into a hillside. We mostly use 2 liter soda bottles filled with water, but we also shoot trees, twigs, boxes, anything we can get our hands on.
And so the other day, there we sat, my son and I, on the back porch. I took an old computer monitor down into the woods, set in place as a target, handed my son a full box of shells, and I said "see what you can do with that thing, but you have to clean up the mess". He had a blast shooting holes in the monitor tube, then blowing off chunks of the housing. I brought out a 20 gauge and loaded a lead slug shell into it. The resulting hole into, through, and out the backside, blowing a cloud of plastic dust everywhere, was well worth it.
Ah yes... good times... good times... :-)
But I will never, not once, tell my son or daughters "just lean over the hood of the car to steady your aim." I think we already covered that lesson.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Under Cover
Not too long ago I purchased a used vehicle. I needed something more reliable than the aging Volvo I bought last year. Now while the Volvo was a good $1100 car, it was just that, a 1990 model car that cost a mere $1100. And now it has a long line of issues, not the least of which is I had to disable all heat and AC because the car's computer is totally whacked.
But you know what, with a mere 260,000 miles under its belt, it just needs some attention and that Volvo could give another 260,000 miles easily. But I think its time the Volvo went on to its hardest assignment yet: it has become the "teen car", and my teenage kids will drive it... or at least what's left of it... until there is nothing left of it. Yes, its on its last legs.
So what did I buy? Good question.
I really wanted to get some kind of pickup truck. I still wish I had my old pickup truck - a 1993 Chevy S10 pickup that had been through 3 significant accidents and was still going strong. However, I had to give up the pickup and my dog in the divorce in 2005. Dang I miss that truck and that dog.
So I looked around at used small pickups. Over priced and under-powered was the norm. I looked at some of the bigger ones. I am left with one question: how does a poor man afford a pickup in 2007? Everything is so expensive. Why is it I could get a used caddy cheaper than a used F-150?
Well, I guess there's something women like about a pickup man. And equally it seems there's something men like about a pickup woman.
So my wife and I were out looking at car lots, just casually mind you, when we saw it. The car. It was kind of unassuming, with its darker than dark tinted windows and blackwall tires with no hubcaps. A Chevy Impala sitting there all innocent and quiet.
"It is a former police car" said the salesman.
"Done!" Oh man, the cool factor kicked in and I bought that thing, complete with interceptor engine. Yeah, I was hooked simply by its former life.
And now, when I drive it on the Interstate, many people see me coming up behind them and they either simply slow down, or get out of the way. It DOES look like a police car, at least in the rear-view mirror.
All I need now are some fake antennas on the trunk and to hang my jacket by the rear seat window.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
But you know what, with a mere 260,000 miles under its belt, it just needs some attention and that Volvo could give another 260,000 miles easily. But I think its time the Volvo went on to its hardest assignment yet: it has become the "teen car", and my teenage kids will drive it... or at least what's left of it... until there is nothing left of it. Yes, its on its last legs.
So what did I buy? Good question.
I really wanted to get some kind of pickup truck. I still wish I had my old pickup truck - a 1993 Chevy S10 pickup that had been through 3 significant accidents and was still going strong. However, I had to give up the pickup and my dog in the divorce in 2005. Dang I miss that truck and that dog.
So I looked around at used small pickups. Over priced and under-powered was the norm. I looked at some of the bigger ones. I am left with one question: how does a poor man afford a pickup in 2007? Everything is so expensive. Why is it I could get a used caddy cheaper than a used F-150?
Well, I guess there's something women like about a pickup man. And equally it seems there's something men like about a pickup woman.
So my wife and I were out looking at car lots, just casually mind you, when we saw it. The car. It was kind of unassuming, with its darker than dark tinted windows and blackwall tires with no hubcaps. A Chevy Impala sitting there all innocent and quiet.
"It is a former police car" said the salesman.
"Done!" Oh man, the cool factor kicked in and I bought that thing, complete with interceptor engine. Yeah, I was hooked simply by its former life.And now, when I drive it on the Interstate, many people see me coming up behind them and they either simply slow down, or get out of the way. It DOES look like a police car, at least in the rear-view mirror.All I need now are some fake antennas on the trunk and to hang my jacket by the rear seat window.
Copyright 2007, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Wood Smoke
It is the time of year when the days grow cold and the nights even colder. The sun shines less and the dark of night stays longer. Each night it seems there are not enough covers or blankets on the bed. And in the morning, a walk outside startles you awake all the more. The air is crisp and dry. And everywhere you look, you see the trees, naked against the cold, with a carpet of fallen leaves all around. You see squirrels and birds picking through the remnants of summer's feast on the ground.
The air is crisp and dry. And as you breathe in the cold air, you smell that familiar smell of wood smoke. It is the time of year when the smell of wood smoke does not bring alarm, but evokes thoughts of warmth, of security, and of home. It is a smell that during the height of summer could generate fear and concern. But now, it is calm assurance that somewhere, someone is being warmed by burning wood.
All of our neighbors have a fire of some kind going. Some in fireplaces and some in wood stoves. We have a wood stove in a basement den and started using it about a week ago. The warmth of a fire in a cold house is something that just makes you feel good, all the way down to the bone.
I like starting the fire. Splitting some kindling, getting a small fire going at first, and then watching it until it is ready for bigger pieces of wood. And then as you build it up, you decide how much of a fire you want. So you add the wood in the right ways to get just enough warmth, a little warmer, hot, roaring, or "seventh level" as my son puts it, which is nearly painfully hot.
Our wood burning stove has solid doors that close. I wish it had a fire screen and we could leave the doors open while we sit in front of it. There is something peaceful and relaxing about watching the fire. I am not sure what it is, but we sat in front of the open doors last night and watched it for a while. I built it to be just enough warmth at the time. That way I felt comfortable with the doors open. A couple sparks dropped harmlessly onto the brick hearth, but in all, it was tame.
Usually, however, the doors remain closed during use. Each time we open the doors of the stove to check the fire or add wood, a plume of wood smoke comes out into the room. It then gets caught by the fan and drawn into the air conditioning system where we can smell it throughout the house. I like that. A little whiff of wood smoke is simply nice to have. Too much and we are probably in trouble.
So in this season of cold, if you are blessed with a fireplace or wood burning stove, you ought to get a fire going, watch the burning wood with someone you love, and smell the aroma of wood smoke.
Come to think of it, I have to go check the fire right now. It probably needs built up again. Of course, since I like doing that, its not really work. And I will get to smell the wood smoke.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
The air is crisp and dry. And as you breathe in the cold air, you smell that familiar smell of wood smoke. It is the time of year when the smell of wood smoke does not bring alarm, but evokes thoughts of warmth, of security, and of home. It is a smell that during the height of summer could generate fear and concern. But now, it is calm assurance that somewhere, someone is being warmed by burning wood.
All of our neighbors have a fire of some kind going. Some in fireplaces and some in wood stoves. We have a wood stove in a basement den and started using it about a week ago. The warmth of a fire in a cold house is something that just makes you feel good, all the way down to the bone.
I like starting the fire. Splitting some kindling, getting a small fire going at first, and then watching it until it is ready for bigger pieces of wood. And then as you build it up, you decide how much of a fire you want. So you add the wood in the right ways to get just enough warmth, a little warmer, hot, roaring, or "seventh level" as my son puts it, which is nearly painfully hot.
Our wood burning stove has solid doors that close. I wish it had a fire screen and we could leave the doors open while we sit in front of it. There is something peaceful and relaxing about watching the fire. I am not sure what it is, but we sat in front of the open doors last night and watched it for a while. I built it to be just enough warmth at the time. That way I felt comfortable with the doors open. A couple sparks dropped harmlessly onto the brick hearth, but in all, it was tame.
Usually, however, the doors remain closed during use. Each time we open the doors of the stove to check the fire or add wood, a plume of wood smoke comes out into the room. It then gets caught by the fan and drawn into the air conditioning system where we can smell it throughout the house. I like that. A little whiff of wood smoke is simply nice to have. Too much and we are probably in trouble.
So in this season of cold, if you are blessed with a fireplace or wood burning stove, you ought to get a fire going, watch the burning wood with someone you love, and smell the aroma of wood smoke.
Come to think of it, I have to go check the fire right now. It probably needs built up again. Of course, since I like doing that, its not really work. And I will get to smell the wood smoke.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Monday, December 11, 2006
Grass in the Alley
A few weeks ago I traveled "home" to have Thanksgiving with my parents. This was the first time my two teenage children have ever been to see my parents for Thanksgiving. This year is the first Thanksgiving in our new family, a blended family, one created from the remains of two families.
It was about two years ago that my ex-wife told me she was leaving. At that time she told me that she was taking both children with her. Things however turned out differently than she had planned. Her actions and inactions caught up with her and both kids made it clear they were staying with me.
It was also over two years ago that in another family over 1000 miles away told his wife and his daughters that he was leaving. This left a mother and three little girls alone while he went on to move in with another woman.
So there we were, two broken families, two lonely hurting people, and a total of five hurting children, fearful of the future and angry at the past and present. But we were over 1000 miles apart and we did not even know of the existence, or plight, of each other.
But God, in His mercy, brought these two lonely hurting people together, using technology to span the gap of distance and cross the bounds of our local areas. And in a quickness of time and events that defy natural explanation, we married after only a few months since first meeting in that first email exchange.
So here we are, over a year later, a blended family of seven total. Amy loving wife gladly agreed that we could have Thanksgiving with my parents. And instead of spending my time thinking of past Thanksgivings and my years growing up in that house, I couldn't help but think of the Thanksgivings to come. I look forward to those years to come with my dear wife and this zany blended family.
I took a walk outside with my son and as I walked around the house one morning, he went back inside to see his grandmother and I walked out to the back alley that comes down behind the one row of houses there. I walked up the alley studying how time has changed it. Once it was well graveled and well traveled. Now it was showing the obvious signs of a lack of traffic. This back alley once had many cars, pickups, and bicycles moving on it each day. But time has changed this alley and this whole community.
What I most noticed about the alley was the grass growing on it. As I thought on this, I remembered many of the times as a kid I repaired that alley and kept the grass at bay. I used to be seen often with a wheelbarrow and shovel going up and down the alley, fixing holes and fighting problems. Often I would even correct situations before they became a problem, like keeping the stream cleared out that flowed behind the alley.
As I thought about this a while, I decided that I don't really mind the grass growing on that back alley. While I know that if nothing is done, the grass could eventually overtake the gravel and the alley would fall into disrepair. But that grass covers the past and creates opportunities for others to make new repairs of their own. And these repairs were indeed being done. The upper end of the alley had a good load of new gravel on it. The stream behind the alley had been cleared to prevent it from overflowing into the alley, a frequent problem I fought for years. And many mistakes of the past had been covered, repaired, or simply replaced.
The slow march of time continues on, unstoppable and unabated by any of our efforts. But over time, we are constantly building the road of life ahead of us. And when the grass appears behind us, it is merely covering the road we have come so that we don't try to go back. That grass covers the old road of our past.
In my own life, my road had fallen into disrepair and the grass was catching up to me. I did not have much good road ahead of me. That was when I started to work on my road again in earnest. That was when my grass covered road came to an intersection with another grass covered road, the one my dear wife was on. And together we are building a new road and work diligently to ensure the grass does not grow up around our feet, but stays firmly behind us, where it belongs.
So as the grass grows on all these old roads, it covers the old life each of us walked in a blanket of green. It covers the mistakes, the holes, the rough spots, and even the smooth parts. I really don't mind the grass growing on our old roads. That grass holds the past in place behind us and make the road backwards impassable.
Our job each day is to keep our road ahead maintained. We are to patch the holes, smooth over the rough spots, and sometimes just enjoy the ride, whether bumpy or smooth. So we let the grass grow in the past, but we keep the road of today and tomorrow clear.
I am blessed because I don't have to work on my road alone. I have my wife and this wonderful, chaotic, and loving family all working together. I know that one by one, they will each set off to build roads of their own. I pray that I have shown them enough so they know how to build and maintain their road. And eventually, like my parents, it will be just the two of us, my wife and I, with wheelbarrows and shovels, together, still building and maintaining our shared road.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
It was about two years ago that my ex-wife told me she was leaving. At that time she told me that she was taking both children with her. Things however turned out differently than she had planned. Her actions and inactions caught up with her and both kids made it clear they were staying with me.
It was also over two years ago that in another family over 1000 miles away told his wife and his daughters that he was leaving. This left a mother and three little girls alone while he went on to move in with another woman.
So there we were, two broken families, two lonely hurting people, and a total of five hurting children, fearful of the future and angry at the past and present. But we were over 1000 miles apart and we did not even know of the existence, or plight, of each other.
But God, in His mercy, brought these two lonely hurting people together, using technology to span the gap of distance and cross the bounds of our local areas. And in a quickness of time and events that defy natural explanation, we married after only a few months since first meeting in that first email exchange.
So here we are, over a year later, a blended family of seven total. Amy loving wife gladly agreed that we could have Thanksgiving with my parents. And instead of spending my time thinking of past Thanksgivings and my years growing up in that house, I couldn't help but think of the Thanksgivings to come. I look forward to those years to come with my dear wife and this zany blended family.
I took a walk outside with my son and as I walked around the house one morning, he went back inside to see his grandmother and I walked out to the back alley that comes down behind the one row of houses there. I walked up the alley studying how time has changed it. Once it was well graveled and well traveled. Now it was showing the obvious signs of a lack of traffic. This back alley once had many cars, pickups, and bicycles moving on it each day. But time has changed this alley and this whole community.
What I most noticed about the alley was the grass growing on it. As I thought on this, I remembered many of the times as a kid I repaired that alley and kept the grass at bay. I used to be seen often with a wheelbarrow and shovel going up and down the alley, fixing holes and fighting problems. Often I would even correct situations before they became a problem, like keeping the stream cleared out that flowed behind the alley.
As I thought about this a while, I decided that I don't really mind the grass growing on that back alley. While I know that if nothing is done, the grass could eventually overtake the gravel and the alley would fall into disrepair. But that grass covers the past and creates opportunities for others to make new repairs of their own. And these repairs were indeed being done. The upper end of the alley had a good load of new gravel on it. The stream behind the alley had been cleared to prevent it from overflowing into the alley, a frequent problem I fought for years. And many mistakes of the past had been covered, repaired, or simply replaced.
The slow march of time continues on, unstoppable and unabated by any of our efforts. But over time, we are constantly building the road of life ahead of us. And when the grass appears behind us, it is merely covering the road we have come so that we don't try to go back. That grass covers the old road of our past.
In my own life, my road had fallen into disrepair and the grass was catching up to me. I did not have much good road ahead of me. That was when I started to work on my road again in earnest. That was when my grass covered road came to an intersection with another grass covered road, the one my dear wife was on. And together we are building a new road and work diligently to ensure the grass does not grow up around our feet, but stays firmly behind us, where it belongs.
So as the grass grows on all these old roads, it covers the old life each of us walked in a blanket of green. It covers the mistakes, the holes, the rough spots, and even the smooth parts. I really don't mind the grass growing on our old roads. That grass holds the past in place behind us and make the road backwards impassable.
Our job each day is to keep our road ahead maintained. We are to patch the holes, smooth over the rough spots, and sometimes just enjoy the ride, whether bumpy or smooth. So we let the grass grow in the past, but we keep the road of today and tomorrow clear.
I am blessed because I don't have to work on my road alone. I have my wife and this wonderful, chaotic, and loving family all working together. I know that one by one, they will each set off to build roads of their own. I pray that I have shown them enough so they know how to build and maintain their road. And eventually, like my parents, it will be just the two of us, my wife and I, with wheelbarrows and shovels, together, still building and maintaining our shared road.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Friday, December 01, 2006
Is Boba Fett Scottish?
It has been quite a while since I last wrote an update to this blog. Probably because this has been a very unusual summer and every time I thought of something to write, I had about 30 things come to mind all at once. So I kept putting it off. But finally, I need to write something. This one is from an event a few weeks ago, but still very much in my mind.
Some time ago I wrote of my first time going to a Renaissance Faire. It was strange, wonderful, and in general entertaining. Well, it had been over a year since I had been to one and my wife and I took the whole family over to Charlotte to the Carolina Renaissance Festival. This was the first time for my three step-daughters, but my own son and daughter were becoming old hands at it now.
Everyone decided to dress up a bit to get into the spirit of things. Well, everyone except me. My son wore the full length hooded cloak my wife made for him, my daughters all wore some kind of attire that reeked of antiquity, and even my wife wore a strange skirt and the blouse that she wouldn't typically wear (hey, its the Renaissance Festival, use your imagination). I wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, a tee shirt, and my "mosquito" shirt over that. I would try to describe the mosquito shirt, but you should really be drinking first to appreciate the description.
We all had a good time. We let the three older kids wander around a bit on their own while my wife and I kept the two younger ones busy. We saw some old favorites, the amazing candle carving guy, London Broil, and a few others. We also saw an act I had not seen before that was hilarious, the Tortuga Twins. We laughed at those three guys (yes 3, yes they call themselves the Tortuga Twins, no I do not know why) almost non-stop. They had to warn parents that as the day progressed, they got drunker and naughtier. We saw the first show of the day. The last must have been a trip.
Throughout the day we saw fools, knights, elves, sprites, pixies, knaves, and probably even a few highwaymen. We saw the regular assortment of corseted maids jiggling their bosoms as renaissance maids are known to do. We saw belly dancers (Jewels of the Caravan) and musicians. We saw gawkers and hawkers, lookers and hookers. We saw everything you can imagine seeing at a Renaissance Festival. And then we saw something I never expected to see at a Renaissance Festival.
I saw a storm trooper wearing a kilt.
Yes. A storm trooper wearing a kilt. I know its sounds like it, but I never touched the king's ale, I swear. It was a guy wearing a storm trooper helmet and upper armor, and a plaid kilt. For those of you with nothing better to do and are seriously AR, it was a green plaid with dark blue.
So I felt my day at the Renaissance Festival was complete. I saw the glimpses of the Renaissance and I saw glimpses of the Empire, all in the same day, all at the same place.
Geek heaven don't ya think?
Well, a couple of weeks later I chaperoned one of my daughter's class trips to the very same Renaissance Festival. I knew that nothing could outdo seeing Boba McFett, but I did see something different.
There it was. About 10 feet tall. An Ent.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Ents came marching one by one. Now if any of you do not know what an Ent is, well, its a walking tree and I don't know why you continued to read this far if you did not know as this entire thing is... well... geeky... in all aspects. And geeks know what Ents are.
Ah, Renaissance Festivals and Faires. Never is man privileged to see more jiggling cleavage and not have his wife drag him out of the place than at the Faire. Not that I was looking though. I just bring it up to make a point. Really.
Eating cooked meat off a stick or right off the bone. Speaking in pseudo-Old English with really bad accents. Spending too much money. And walking through mud.
Yeah. Simply awesome.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Some time ago I wrote of my first time going to a Renaissance Faire. It was strange, wonderful, and in general entertaining. Well, it had been over a year since I had been to one and my wife and I took the whole family over to Charlotte to the Carolina Renaissance Festival. This was the first time for my three step-daughters, but my own son and daughter were becoming old hands at it now.
Everyone decided to dress up a bit to get into the spirit of things. Well, everyone except me. My son wore the full length hooded cloak my wife made for him, my daughters all wore some kind of attire that reeked of antiquity, and even my wife wore a strange skirt and the blouse that she wouldn't typically wear (hey, its the Renaissance Festival, use your imagination). I wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, a tee shirt, and my "mosquito" shirt over that. I would try to describe the mosquito shirt, but you should really be drinking first to appreciate the description.
We all had a good time. We let the three older kids wander around a bit on their own while my wife and I kept the two younger ones busy. We saw some old favorites, the amazing candle carving guy, London Broil, and a few others. We also saw an act I had not seen before that was hilarious, the Tortuga Twins. We laughed at those three guys (yes 3, yes they call themselves the Tortuga Twins, no I do not know why) almost non-stop. They had to warn parents that as the day progressed, they got drunker and naughtier. We saw the first show of the day. The last must have been a trip.
Throughout the day we saw fools, knights, elves, sprites, pixies, knaves, and probably even a few highwaymen. We saw the regular assortment of corseted maids jiggling their bosoms as renaissance maids are known to do. We saw belly dancers (Jewels of the Caravan) and musicians. We saw gawkers and hawkers, lookers and hookers. We saw everything you can imagine seeing at a Renaissance Festival. And then we saw something I never expected to see at a Renaissance Festival.
I saw a storm trooper wearing a kilt.
Yes. A storm trooper wearing a kilt. I know its sounds like it, but I never touched the king's ale, I swear. It was a guy wearing a storm trooper helmet and upper armor, and a plaid kilt. For those of you with nothing better to do and are seriously AR, it was a green plaid with dark blue.
So I felt my day at the Renaissance Festival was complete. I saw the glimpses of the Renaissance and I saw glimpses of the Empire, all in the same day, all at the same place.
Geek heaven don't ya think?
Well, a couple of weeks later I chaperoned one of my daughter's class trips to the very same Renaissance Festival. I knew that nothing could outdo seeing Boba McFett, but I did see something different.
There it was. About 10 feet tall. An Ent.
Yes ladies and gentlemen, the Ents came marching one by one. Now if any of you do not know what an Ent is, well, its a walking tree and I don't know why you continued to read this far if you did not know as this entire thing is... well... geeky... in all aspects. And geeks know what Ents are.
Ah, Renaissance Festivals and Faires. Never is man privileged to see more jiggling cleavage and not have his wife drag him out of the place than at the Faire. Not that I was looking though. I just bring it up to make a point. Really.
Eating cooked meat off a stick or right off the bone. Speaking in pseudo-Old English with really bad accents. Spending too much money. And walking through mud.
Yeah. Simply awesome.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
Friday, August 25, 2006
School Starts!
At long last school starts today in our little neck of the woods. It has been an interesting summer being home every day with all these kids, all the mess, and all the activity. I must say it has been fun, full, and noisy. To some people I am sure the chaos, whining, groaning, driving, running, fetching, forgetting, spontaneous insanity, and hormonal meltdowns that accompany raising a house full of kids from teens to pre-k would be enough to make you want to cover your ears and run screaming into the forest to hide until fall. Well I only did that a couple of times.
They found me both times.
But now school is starting and all the kids are headed back to school. Even the little one starts preschool in a week or so, and she has already started her daily visits to her grandmother and grandfather. So this morning my wife is off to her school to teach (they started a couple of weeks ago), the little one is off to see grandma, and my three bus riders are on their way to school.
So here I sit in the quiet house ready to start the day, the noise and chaos are off to their daily destinations. Now I can work.
It's funny, but the first thing I want to do is turn on music to break the quiet and dispel the urge to return to bed and sleep an extra hour. I have been looking forward to this day for some weeks now.
So one may ask, do I now miss the noise of a full house?
Are you crazy? Give me a couple weeks and I am sure I will miss it a bit. But for now, I want to enjoy the quiet time.
This is not to be considered in any way, shape, or form that I do not love each of them, because I certainly do. But I really needed a break before I would break.
One day, all this will just be memory. All the kids will be gone and each summer day will be just my wife and I. And yet the chaotic echoes of raising these precious children will bounce around in our heads all of our days. We must do the best we can now because the time is short.
But for now, maybe I will sleep that extra hour.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
They found me both times.
But now school is starting and all the kids are headed back to school. Even the little one starts preschool in a week or so, and she has already started her daily visits to her grandmother and grandfather. So this morning my wife is off to her school to teach (they started a couple of weeks ago), the little one is off to see grandma, and my three bus riders are on their way to school.
So here I sit in the quiet house ready to start the day, the noise and chaos are off to their daily destinations. Now I can work.
It's funny, but the first thing I want to do is turn on music to break the quiet and dispel the urge to return to bed and sleep an extra hour. I have been looking forward to this day for some weeks now.
So one may ask, do I now miss the noise of a full house?
Are you crazy? Give me a couple weeks and I am sure I will miss it a bit. But for now, I want to enjoy the quiet time.
This is not to be considered in any way, shape, or form that I do not love each of them, because I certainly do. But I really needed a break before I would break.
One day, all this will just be memory. All the kids will be gone and each summer day will be just my wife and I. And yet the chaotic echoes of raising these precious children will bounce around in our heads all of our days. We must do the best we can now because the time is short.
But for now, maybe I will sleep that extra hour.
Copyright 2006, Kevin Farley (a.k.a. sixdrift, a.k.a. neuronstatic)
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