There was a strange period of time in my life where I got a used Apple laptop from an uncle, and I used it constantly. I shaped my mindset around this computer and used it to apply to college. Since then I have started using a PC and I have trouble remembering the kind of person I was, when, for a few years, I used a Mac almost exclusively. Steve Jobs is dead, so I doubt I will ever be able to access that person again.
Funny how that works, isn't it?
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Thoughts on Buckminster Fuller
I am essentially a lazy person. I do not mean that I abhor school assignments or performing my duties and my places of employment. The contrary, I relish in these tasks, often taking time to ensure that they are completed to the very best of my ability, and taking pride in their end form. My laziness is focused more on what I seem incapable of achieving; a truly comprehensive mind set. This is a problem that I have identified with my entire generation, not just me, and I believe that it is a problem that has increased over the past two or three generations.
What got me thinking about this issue was a little book by Buckminster Fuller entitled "Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth". It is a slight and narrow tome with thin pages working against large font to produce something that can be read, ultimately, in a day or two. My father gave it to me, which is normally a very bad indicator of literary merit. My father loves older books, especially older books which have not fallen in the limelight of artistic celebration or scholarly study over the years. He loves older books that have been forgotten, their authors long dead, their ideas strange and esoteric. A biography of Wernher von Braun, a second-hand account of the Lewis and Clark adventures, a guide to the geology of Northern New England, and books like this from futurist, poet, and part-time engineer Buckminster Fuller. In the early 20th century, Fuller was an influential character in the American post-industrial movement. This I say, not because it is said in the book or on his jacket, but because it is what I think. You see, Buckminster was most active in the years after World War II, in a time when American industry was flourishing, propelled in large part by a strongly growing population, post-war economic stimulus, and the boom in privatized manufacturing of new technology inspired by the desperate and chaotic advances made during the war. Throughout this period, Buckminster Fuller espoused a view of the world that was set firmly with its eyes facing forward, and in many instances too far forward for his colleagues and coworkers. Many of his ideas, the geodesic dome for instance, were ridiculed at the time. It was only years later that this groundbreaking geometric design would be found as a naturally induced isotope of carbon atoms strung together. I think my father, who has always been socially awkward and distrustful of organized religion, organized politics, and organized education, finds some sort of common ground with this man, and is hungry for a similar time of posthumos vindication.
The main essence of Fuller's argument in this book, spelled out in many long, run-on, unnecessarily verbose sentences is this: man has strayed away from his essential "comprehensive" roots, in favor of extreme specialization. The original essence of man which has inspired most great accomplishments (Fuller argues), is the ability to think about and maintain a wide variety of different skill sets. His oft-used example is that of the ancient sailor. These original mariners were tasked with learning how to predict weather, navigate, maintain a ship, collect food and water etc. And because the proliferation of large sailing ships sparked the first explosion of human growth (both geographically and culturally), there certainly must be some connection between these men who maintained "comprehensive skill sets and understandings", and the very basic essence of human advancement.
Of course there are those who would argue that correlation does not indicate causation, but Fuller disregards these potential naysayers with the same stubborn and spectacular bull-headedness that I expect out of my father. He goes on to argue that over time, our flawed educational process has instilled in our people the idea that increased specialization is a good thing. That instead of learning how to fix things, people have learned how to fix one specific type of thing, cars for instance, and instead of learning how to fix all cars, we now know how to only fix domestic or imported, etc. etc. Its a very convincing argument and Fuller sells it very well. I may be predisposed to agree with him because I have felt myself grate against this idea of specialization during my own college experience. I am not just an Anthropology major, I am an Anthropology major with an archaeology focus. And I do not have a general archaeology focus, but rather a zooarchaeological focus. And not just a general zooarchaeological focus, because my research has been restricted, for the most part, to a certain region and time period. So you see, when I graduate from here next Spring, I will know quite a lot about a few things and very little about most things.
The desire to be a comprehensive human is, I believe, one of the most inherently positive character traits a person can have. I believe I have it. I also believe I am losing it. And this is why I say I am lazy. For me, one of the most "comprehensive" things I can do is learn about an issue, form an opinion about it, articulate my opinion with the written or spoken word, and present my idea to others for analysis and discussion. While my ability to articulate has improved as I have gotten older, the inclination to seek out these initial issues has decreased dramatically. Sure, I read the newspaper and watch TV but my eyes and ears only perk up when a story comes along that I already have personal experience with. I am a Democrat, so I surround myself with stories of awful Republicans because I am comfortable with this opinion-forming route. It is a well worn, and oft-traveled path for my mind, and so it is easier for me to stay in and grate a deeper ravine into my mind. And the same time, it will be harder to climb out later if I ever need to change my opinion about something. This sort of stability is a good thing if you are an older person who needs to make consistent and stable decisions (a public servant for example). I believe this process is a very bad thing if you are like me, a young person who is just now still forming opinions and trying to find out "what kind of person am I?". I dislike this idea very much, and because I can recognize it in myself, I dislike it even more. It is a tumor, but in many ways it is worse, because nobody can do anything about it except for myself.
And as I have said before, I am a lazy person.
What got me thinking about this issue was a little book by Buckminster Fuller entitled "Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth". It is a slight and narrow tome with thin pages working against large font to produce something that can be read, ultimately, in a day or two. My father gave it to me, which is normally a very bad indicator of literary merit. My father loves older books, especially older books which have not fallen in the limelight of artistic celebration or scholarly study over the years. He loves older books that have been forgotten, their authors long dead, their ideas strange and esoteric. A biography of Wernher von Braun, a second-hand account of the Lewis and Clark adventures, a guide to the geology of Northern New England, and books like this from futurist, poet, and part-time engineer Buckminster Fuller. In the early 20th century, Fuller was an influential character in the American post-industrial movement. This I say, not because it is said in the book or on his jacket, but because it is what I think. You see, Buckminster was most active in the years after World War II, in a time when American industry was flourishing, propelled in large part by a strongly growing population, post-war economic stimulus, and the boom in privatized manufacturing of new technology inspired by the desperate and chaotic advances made during the war. Throughout this period, Buckminster Fuller espoused a view of the world that was set firmly with its eyes facing forward, and in many instances too far forward for his colleagues and coworkers. Many of his ideas, the geodesic dome for instance, were ridiculed at the time. It was only years later that this groundbreaking geometric design would be found as a naturally induced isotope of carbon atoms strung together. I think my father, who has always been socially awkward and distrustful of organized religion, organized politics, and organized education, finds some sort of common ground with this man, and is hungry for a similar time of posthumos vindication.
The main essence of Fuller's argument in this book, spelled out in many long, run-on, unnecessarily verbose sentences is this: man has strayed away from his essential "comprehensive" roots, in favor of extreme specialization. The original essence of man which has inspired most great accomplishments (Fuller argues), is the ability to think about and maintain a wide variety of different skill sets. His oft-used example is that of the ancient sailor. These original mariners were tasked with learning how to predict weather, navigate, maintain a ship, collect food and water etc. And because the proliferation of large sailing ships sparked the first explosion of human growth (both geographically and culturally), there certainly must be some connection between these men who maintained "comprehensive skill sets and understandings", and the very basic essence of human advancement.
Of course there are those who would argue that correlation does not indicate causation, but Fuller disregards these potential naysayers with the same stubborn and spectacular bull-headedness that I expect out of my father. He goes on to argue that over time, our flawed educational process has instilled in our people the idea that increased specialization is a good thing. That instead of learning how to fix things, people have learned how to fix one specific type of thing, cars for instance, and instead of learning how to fix all cars, we now know how to only fix domestic or imported, etc. etc. Its a very convincing argument and Fuller sells it very well. I may be predisposed to agree with him because I have felt myself grate against this idea of specialization during my own college experience. I am not just an Anthropology major, I am an Anthropology major with an archaeology focus. And I do not have a general archaeology focus, but rather a zooarchaeological focus. And not just a general zooarchaeological focus, because my research has been restricted, for the most part, to a certain region and time period. So you see, when I graduate from here next Spring, I will know quite a lot about a few things and very little about most things.
The desire to be a comprehensive human is, I believe, one of the most inherently positive character traits a person can have. I believe I have it. I also believe I am losing it. And this is why I say I am lazy. For me, one of the most "comprehensive" things I can do is learn about an issue, form an opinion about it, articulate my opinion with the written or spoken word, and present my idea to others for analysis and discussion. While my ability to articulate has improved as I have gotten older, the inclination to seek out these initial issues has decreased dramatically. Sure, I read the newspaper and watch TV but my eyes and ears only perk up when a story comes along that I already have personal experience with. I am a Democrat, so I surround myself with stories of awful Republicans because I am comfortable with this opinion-forming route. It is a well worn, and oft-traveled path for my mind, and so it is easier for me to stay in and grate a deeper ravine into my mind. And the same time, it will be harder to climb out later if I ever need to change my opinion about something. This sort of stability is a good thing if you are an older person who needs to make consistent and stable decisions (a public servant for example). I believe this process is a very bad thing if you are like me, a young person who is just now still forming opinions and trying to find out "what kind of person am I?". I dislike this idea very much, and because I can recognize it in myself, I dislike it even more. It is a tumor, but in many ways it is worse, because nobody can do anything about it except for myself.
And as I have said before, I am a lazy person.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Increasing Taxes
Just a thought: Why do so many conservatives get bent out-of-shape over the idea of increasing taxes? It's fairly clear by this chart (http://www.taxfoundation.org/publications/show/151.html) that the current tax bracket set-up is a very recent innovation. I can understand if the voters of my generation cannot wrap their minds around tax rates of 50% (or even higher!) for the extremely wealthy. It's simple: they have not been exposed to this. But what is the excuse for the majority of conservative voters? Older people who are no doubt familiar with these historical precedents. Reducing the deficit does not happen magically, and it certainly will not occur through the simple hack-and-slash of government programs. It is my belief that people need to start realizing that we are a developed, democratic country and that in order to live in the type of society we have enjoyed for so long, we need to start paying for it somehow.
I think the bigger problem is that people take our way of life for granted. You hate paying taxes? Go live in the DRC and enjoy your tax-free existence.
I think the bigger problem is that people take our way of life for granted. You hate paying taxes? Go live in the DRC and enjoy your tax-free existence.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Summer Time
Today is June 1st. While Summer does not officially begin for several weeks, I feel compelled to address the turn of the season. I live in New England and am therefore blessed to encounter each season in new and exciting ways every year. The weather, the foilage, the smells, everything changes at least a dozen times a year and sometimes I can't even imagine what it was like to live just two months ago. Right now the humidity is overpowering, everything feels wet. In addition to all of the humidity, the temperature is rising. The past week has been brutal, a living sauna, hell on earth without a clear reason for damnation. I stepped into my car and literally watched sweat seep out of my skin. The nights are still cool, but this will only last so long. Before long, the Northern Summer Air will creep through the windows and sweat through the walls and there will be no safe haven from its oily and malignant arms. This has not happened yet, and I am still gloriously happy with the changes. I have not yet forgotten the old; the cold; the snow and the bitter ice and the constant salt stains on every surface. The summer is still my lover. I have not yet grown tired of her. She has not yet suffocated me. But I have played this game every year for years and years. Soon I will look desperately ahead for the icy, chilling embrace of winter.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Full Speed Ahead, Maniac Twins!
INTRODUCTION
The first time I met Jack Faust, I knew for sure that he was a pilot. There was no question – he was wearing all the right clothes for example. He was driving a beat-up pickup truck and clearly had not shaved for several weeks. I suppose it would be useful for me to point out that he was not a military pilot. He was, he used to be, all good pilots are, but he wasn't a military pilot by the time I met him. He was a contract test-pilot. He worked for a small company out of Little Rock, Hammer Aeroworks, Harris Aeroworks, I can't remember the exact name. I remember a lot of things about him though, I can picture him sitting here, right now, in the passenger seat of my 1997 Saab. He wasn't a very tall person, maybe 5' 7” or 5' 8”. He was naturally lean and had a deep-love for leather jackets. He washed his jeans once a month and when I first met him he was living paycheck to paycheck. He had just quit smoking, he informed me, as he flashed a wide, bright smile from across the tarmac. I was instantly aroused, but the wind from the mountains to the west was blowing sand at face level and I had to squint my eyes as I walked towards him. I could feel his eyes sizing me up and I began to regret my decision to forego my gym membership for the past six months. I was scrawny and awkward; there was no way around it. I was skinny and really tall and my arms stuck out from the sides of my body like branches on a tree. I hid this under a tailored suit and an expensive tie. In one hand I held a file-folder, a thin manila record of Jack's entire life. I held my other hand open and extended. “You wouldn't believe the kind of money I'm saving not buying a pack a day.” He laughed and patted me on the shoulder as he walked straight past me, my hand closing on empty air. I turned around and sputtered, “I think they'll need to see some identification, you know, because this is a military base.” Over the roaring wind and sand and desert grit I heard him reply that he knew the guards from weekend poker. The words were lost as he opened the door on the side of the base and dissappeared inside. I stood for a few seconds, feeling rather foolish, and then proceeded to follow him indoors.
I had no idea why Major Opule had instructed me to greet Jack on his way into the base. It was a job for a secretary and I was hardly that. As the coordinator of the loosely designated “Rocket Scientists”, I was primarily tasked with the oversight of major engineering projects. Besides, I had only been on the base for a month and it seemed like Jack felt as much at home here as he probably did at whatever nearby bar he spent his weekends. I hadn't argued though, I just didn't argue. I hated confrontation, I hated conflict. I was an engineer, a mechanic, a chemist. I was the guy that sat in the lab in front of a computer running simulations after everyone else had gone home. I was a genius and my tool of choice was a calculator. At the time, dealing with a dark and mysterious test-pilot seemed like the last thing I had been trained to do. My orders were specific, greet him at the front gate and escort him into the building. The file folder weighed heavy in my hand as I ran down the linoleum-lined hallway rushing to catch up with him. Much of the stress was psychological; I had spent several minutes studying his file and preparing a list of topics with which to engage in small talk. I had been on the verge of making notes. Now I was running after him as he took a left and headed straight for the command center, his ragged cross-trainers were silent on the floor and the air was quietly and methodically puncuated with loud claps from my polished loafers. “Mr. Faust? Pleasure to meet you, my name is Jim.” He punched a button next to the elevator. “Major Opule has had nothing but good things to say about you.” He starting whistling as he stared at the floor. “This program is black-listed, as I'm sure you know, but I would be happy to breif you on what were doing.” He rubbed his right hand against the stubble on his jaw, moved up and over his face until he was massaging his eye brows together, as if pondering a great philosophical mystery, he responded without looking at me. “Listen Jim, I am really hungover right now and I don't know if you are aware but Major Opule is a very large asshole that I don't particularly look forward to seeing every two or three years. Can you breif me later? Do you have somewhere to be, something to do? You look very important.” I coughed and shook some of the sand off of my suit.
“MIT?”
“Caltech, actually.” I responded.
“Beautiful LA. Do you miss the girls?”
“I'm actually gay.” I replied for the thousandth time in my life. He looked at me for the first time.
“That must be fun for you. Still, Los Angeles, California and now you're living in Shithole, Nevada. You must miss it.”
I didn't know how to repond., and winced as a said, “I like to travel.”
He laughed and punched the elevator button again with a knuckle. I decided to make a quick getaway, to escape with what little remained of my dignity. “I've got a project running I should get back to. If you need to see me, I'm in the main lab all day.” He nodded and smiled and continued to look at the elevator which opened as I stepped away. He dissappeared inside and the metal doors closed behind him and I was left alone in a linoleum-lined hallway surrounded by the whirring of hidden air conditioning systems.
At the time that I first met Jack Faust, the program had been running for a little over two years. There were three different kinds of people on base; Air Force, NASA, and private contractors. With the end of the shuttle program came the beginning of what the failing administration had coined “The New Space Race”. Hundreds of thousands of scientists across the country were recruited by the government, lured in by the lucrative promise of contracts and access to extremely desirable private-market inputs, things like priority-orders for foreign tech, military bandwidth, and a giant pair of scissors with which to cut through the red-tape surrounding air, ground, and ocean testing. The goal was simple; put a rocket deeper into space than ever before. Of course, the competition was different. No longer were government mandates passed down the ranks, creased and pressed with the fear of Soviet aggresion affirmed in every paragraph. Instead, the competition was domestic; privatized space, the captains of the aeronautics industries were stronger than ever. In the first year of the program, the year I was recruited fresh out of UCLA, the numbers were clear; for every rocket sent up by the U.S. Government, private companies were sending up twenty or thirty. And it had only gotten worse. These companies had money, energy, efficiency, and were attracting some of the brighest minds. They were run by internet business-owners on laptops and they had slogans and fundraisers, and for the first time in a very long time, people wanted to be astronauts again.
I knew I was on the failing end of the equation: I knew this even when I signed up. Maybe it was the reason why I had signed up; I had always been attracted to lost causes.
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