Sometime between becoming an alcoholic and dying in Baltimore (themes that would lay the foundation for HBOs "The Wire"), Poe wrote a short-story about a man who travels to a grand old house to visit his friend. Strange events ensue, culminating with the main character fleeing the house as it cracks, crumbles, and falls into the earth behind him.
Today was my last day working for a company where I have spent the last 5 years. And as I walked away from my building of 4.25 years without my laptop, keycard, corporate credit card, lanyard, or Google voodoo doll (Voogle Doll) I was finally struck by the finality of it. I looked back, half expecting to see a great crack appear in the center as the sheer weight of the situation bore down on the building. All I saw was a glass door next a security panel that used to make sure that only my colleagues and I could enter, but whose purpose was now to make sure that I was kept out.
At this point, the wind must have kicked up, delivering a dose of pollen and other allergens to my sinuses because for the first time since announcing that I would be leaving the company I felt my eyes begin to moisten usually quickly.
I got myself under control and continued to walk to car and thought about what Monday would be like for everyone. Before I left, I had started hiding notes for people, but I quickly grew bored of this so only a few were left behind. But one note about me would appear in everyone's contact list. This company uses an internal messaging service that will show your colleagues if you are online, whether you are on a call or in a meeting, and if you are offline it shows how long you have been offline. However, if your id is no longer live (say your email account has been deactivated because you left the company) it will likely deliver the message "Presence Unknown".
This had been a benign phrase up until now, but one that began to haunt me as I continued to walk back to the car. It struck me as ethereal: "presence"; it's more than a location, it seems to include something of your personality and impact. And if a colleague was looking at their contact list and I happened to be on the screen they would be reminded that I am no longer down the hall, or offline for 30 minutes, maybe driving into the office or skipping over to buy myself a pasty, they would be told than my presence is now unknown. My presence exists outside the realm of what can be systematically known. "Gone and best forgotten", Lync will seem to say, "his presence is absent, the circle next to his name is grey. He has joined the null set of deactivated employees"
I patted my arm and thumped my chest to make sure that I still had a good idea of my own presence, and was reassured by a corporeal (though pathetically soft and pasty) resistance. I was glad that I had hugged and shook hands with many people before I left. I hoped that somehow something of my presence stayed with them. Like radioactive particles of friendship which ignore the surface and settle near the heart, so when they see Lync tell them that my presence is unknown they can assume a smug expression and know that they know better.
Also I'll be on Skype.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Saturday, May 17, 2014
What was to be the tangental ramblings of a perfectly good Mothers' Day post
In sharing his thoughts on 'duties', Cicero said
First, let me make very clear that I see a clear distinction between Civil Rights and Human Rights and I feel like these distinctions were clearly made in the last century so I get frustrated when I see them combined and confused in recent positions and editorials.
Civil rights are privileges and freedoms that a society agrees the individuals within it will be afforded within their boundaries. Virtually anything may be decreed a civil right by a society; it is up to them.
Human rights must be more intrinsic to the human condition and experience. They must be fundamental to our humanity and natural cycle of life, so that when we see them violated it strikes us as a clear aberration of the template of the human life.
So, it is hard for me to take you seriously, I'm looking at you United Nations, when you say something like, "the use of the internet is a fundamental Human Right". It makes me think that your views and priorities are hopelessly confused and outdated. It strikes me as maddening that you would put the denying of someone use of the internet in the same class of violation as torturing a person. Surely, along the way, we have missed some other rights, some other elements of the human life that more fundamental than that.
Don't get me wrong, the internet is great, no government of corporation should deny its use, it should clearly be a Civil right in every modern society and the United Nations should urge its members to enact laws securing such rights. But if we are talking about fundamental rights let us take a few steps back to what humans are more organically entitled.
When you are pulled from the womb (even if, like me, it is temporarily without breath and with a squished, purple head from too much forcep pressure from a stupid doctor) you come out with at least two things: your body and your will. The use of these two forces are, by definition, your birth right and these above all other things must be the focus of human rights protection. If babies start emerging Wi Fi enabled I am open to revisiting this issue.
If you having something else at this point in life, it is your mother. Technically you have a father somewhere as well and hopefully he is there holding your mother's hand beaming down at you, or failing that he is close by throwing up in a sink or wearing a Yale sweater and handing out cigars in the waiting room. But we can come back to him later. For now all you have is your body, your yet unfocused and undeveloped will, and your mother. Surely, if there is a human right after the first two we discussed then it would be a right to your mother.
So why are mothers not listed on the UN's list of substantive rights? Why would we turn our focus onto anything else until we had made sure that everyone had access to their Mother or having lost her a suitable substitute?
I know there are myriad of social programs both governmental and non that seek to provide this for those who are unfortunate enough to not have their mothers in their life, but again, I point this out as an example of what I see as missing when something is discussed as a human right. I accept the idea of human rights, but for me it is an issue organic along the path I have presented above. If you have the right to something after your mother it is your father. If you have a right after that it is to your extended family. If you have a right after that it is to listen to Zeppelin as loud as you want with the only constraint being the structural integrity of your ear drums. I am open to the idea of natural law and social contract but to me the first of those would be with your family.
I am open to broader extensions of those laws and contracts with your broader human family but if you are attempting to discuss with me social issues you would need to understand that for better or worse to me the basic unit of a society is that family and I will interpret alternative views as ignoring tens of thousands of years of human and social evolution.
"For surely to be wise is the most desirable thing in all the world. It is quite impossible to imagine anything better, or more becoming for a human being, or more appropriate to his essential nature. That is why the people who try to reach this goal are called philosophers, because that is precisely what philosophy means, the love of wisdom. And wisdom, according to the definition offered by early philosophers, signifies the knowledge of all things, divine and human, and of the causes which lie behind them. If anyone is prepared to disparage so noble a study as that I cannot imagine anything he would find himself able to approve of!"Now that will play into the spirit of this post but mostly I quote it hoping that the majority of readers will have gotten bored and stopped halfway through, because I'm going to take a position in this piece (always a mistake) and I'm concerned that people may make inferences about this position that they find offensive. And I suppose all I can hope for is that they will hearken back to Cicero's words and interpret this in the best possible light as a philosopher reasoning through the complexities of human nature in the pursuit of wisdom. This started out as a light hearted piece for mothers day, but perhaps mothers are just too important for any reference to be without substance worthy of debate.
First, let me make very clear that I see a clear distinction between Civil Rights and Human Rights and I feel like these distinctions were clearly made in the last century so I get frustrated when I see them combined and confused in recent positions and editorials.
Civil rights are privileges and freedoms that a society agrees the individuals within it will be afforded within their boundaries. Virtually anything may be decreed a civil right by a society; it is up to them.
Human rights must be more intrinsic to the human condition and experience. They must be fundamental to our humanity and natural cycle of life, so that when we see them violated it strikes us as a clear aberration of the template of the human life.
So, it is hard for me to take you seriously, I'm looking at you United Nations, when you say something like, "the use of the internet is a fundamental Human Right". It makes me think that your views and priorities are hopelessly confused and outdated. It strikes me as maddening that you would put the denying of someone use of the internet in the same class of violation as torturing a person. Surely, along the way, we have missed some other rights, some other elements of the human life that more fundamental than that.
Don't get me wrong, the internet is great, no government of corporation should deny its use, it should clearly be a Civil right in every modern society and the United Nations should urge its members to enact laws securing such rights. But if we are talking about fundamental rights let us take a few steps back to what humans are more organically entitled.
When you are pulled from the womb (even if, like me, it is temporarily without breath and with a squished, purple head from too much forcep pressure from a stupid doctor) you come out with at least two things: your body and your will. The use of these two forces are, by definition, your birth right and these above all other things must be the focus of human rights protection. If babies start emerging Wi Fi enabled I am open to revisiting this issue.
If you having something else at this point in life, it is your mother. Technically you have a father somewhere as well and hopefully he is there holding your mother's hand beaming down at you, or failing that he is close by throwing up in a sink or wearing a Yale sweater and handing out cigars in the waiting room. But we can come back to him later. For now all you have is your body, your yet unfocused and undeveloped will, and your mother. Surely, if there is a human right after the first two we discussed then it would be a right to your mother.
So why are mothers not listed on the UN's list of substantive rights? Why would we turn our focus onto anything else until we had made sure that everyone had access to their Mother or having lost her a suitable substitute?
I know there are myriad of social programs both governmental and non that seek to provide this for those who are unfortunate enough to not have their mothers in their life, but again, I point this out as an example of what I see as missing when something is discussed as a human right. I accept the idea of human rights, but for me it is an issue organic along the path I have presented above. If you have the right to something after your mother it is your father. If you have a right after that it is to your extended family. If you have a right after that it is to listen to Zeppelin as loud as you want with the only constraint being the structural integrity of your ear drums. I am open to the idea of natural law and social contract but to me the first of those would be with your family.
I am open to broader extensions of those laws and contracts with your broader human family but if you are attempting to discuss with me social issues you would need to understand that for better or worse to me the basic unit of a society is that family and I will interpret alternative views as ignoring tens of thousands of years of human and social evolution.
Monday, February 3, 2014
What was to be Barcelona: Day 2
I thought communicating with the locals would be easier than it has been. I feel like we don't share some of the basic vocabulary of nouns. And I definitely don't recognize the names of any of the food. Luckily, this is a city designed to service an international variety of tourists, so almost every place has pictures of the food and the pricing out front.
So getting the food is easy, but the question then becomes, do I want any of it? Every dish I have tried here has just seemed little off. It's hard to put my finger on what it is, the meat is somehow too salty and oily, the vegetables seem like they have spent too much time in vinegar. The bread is fine. Apparently we agree on the way bread should taste. I thought about staying here for the next few weeks as a weight-loss strategy, but I'm sure I would eventually find an acceptable way to overeat again.
Barcelona is a city waiting for Summer and unsure of what to do with itself in the mean time. It has magnificent beaches but not a ton of use for them in the current weather of 50-55. Each restaurant I have entered has been empty, so you would think that there would be some level of enthusiasm at my arrival, but everyone acts the way the locals do in the movies when a Nazi officer comes into the store or tavern of the occupied city, or when the bad guy walks into the bar in an old Western.
Everyone scatters to the back, and one person tentatively walks up and just stares at you. We stare at each other before I bungle through some greeting and then we kind of go back and forth in a mixture of Spanish/Catalan/English until I am sitting down. By now they have figured out that I am American, and despite the frosty reception, they clearly want me to feel at home, so the music changes. seriously, every time, each restaurant must have a cd it keeps and written on it must be, "Play in case of American" It has been the most eclectic mix of music with the one common thread being that the songs are in English. For example:
"The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers
"Imagine" by The Beatles
"Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton
Something by the Ramones
"Talk that Talk" Rihanna and Jay-Z
Probably not a great surprise to those who know me that I have found the interpersonal experiences awkward and difficult to navigate, but Barcelona in the Winter is great for wandering around by yourself.
I spent most of the day exploring Montjuic. Which, as near as I can tell is either translated Mount Judah, or Jew Mountain. This is a very broad hill that offers a gorgeous view of the city and harbor and has many museums, gardens, and a large stadium. The view might have changed my life a little bit.
So getting the food is easy, but the question then becomes, do I want any of it? Every dish I have tried here has just seemed little off. It's hard to put my finger on what it is, the meat is somehow too salty and oily, the vegetables seem like they have spent too much time in vinegar. The bread is fine. Apparently we agree on the way bread should taste. I thought about staying here for the next few weeks as a weight-loss strategy, but I'm sure I would eventually find an acceptable way to overeat again.
Barcelona is a city waiting for Summer and unsure of what to do with itself in the mean time. It has magnificent beaches but not a ton of use for them in the current weather of 50-55. Each restaurant I have entered has been empty, so you would think that there would be some level of enthusiasm at my arrival, but everyone acts the way the locals do in the movies when a Nazi officer comes into the store or tavern of the occupied city, or when the bad guy walks into the bar in an old Western.
Everyone scatters to the back, and one person tentatively walks up and just stares at you. We stare at each other before I bungle through some greeting and then we kind of go back and forth in a mixture of Spanish/Catalan/English until I am sitting down. By now they have figured out that I am American, and despite the frosty reception, they clearly want me to feel at home, so the music changes. seriously, every time, each restaurant must have a cd it keeps and written on it must be, "Play in case of American" It has been the most eclectic mix of music with the one common thread being that the songs are in English. For example:
"The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers
"Imagine" by The Beatles
"Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton
Something by the Ramones
"Talk that Talk" Rihanna and Jay-Z
Probably not a great surprise to those who know me that I have found the interpersonal experiences awkward and difficult to navigate, but Barcelona in the Winter is great for wandering around by yourself.
I spent most of the day exploring Montjuic. Which, as near as I can tell is either translated Mount Judah, or Jew Mountain. This is a very broad hill that offers a gorgeous view of the city and harbor and has many museums, gardens, and a large stadium. The view might have changed my life a little bit.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
What was to be Barcelona: Day 1
The first thing you notice about Barcelona is that sound only enters in from your right ear. This is such a remarkable feature that you cannot fathom why it was not mentioned in any of the travel literature. However, upon further review you realize this may be a issue localized around yourself due to descending 35,000 feet with a cold. This leads to the embarrassing scene in the airport restroom where you are observed pinching your nose while simultaneously attempting to blow out of it. I'm told this can be bad for your eardrum, but they said the same thing about rock music and pouring pop rocks in your canal; so, whatever.
With your hearing back up and running it's time to find a taxi. Despite a pretty good grasp of the Spanish language, you are not really clear how to pronounce the address to your hotel (Avenida Paral-Lel 76-80) so your driver assumes you are an idiot and doesn't talk to you for a lot of the ride.
About halfway between the city and the airport a large and magnificent cemetery comes into view on your left side. This is the locals' way of letting you know that death is a common and celebrated certainty here so you best step correct lest you wind up on that hill as well.
But the hill gives you the opportunity to try out some Spanish interrogatives on your driver who slowly decides that you are not the moron he originally took you for, and is now happy to discuss the local area and culture in the few minutes of the drive you have left.
At the hotel, your room is not ready yet so you trade them your luggage for a ticket and a local map and go out to experience the city which your stomach is looking forward to, but your left knee which has never really recovered from its last set of tennis is grumbling about.
You feel comfortable here as the average height is much closer to your own. You have read about the expert Barcelonian pick-pockets but most of the populous appears benign, either through age or accompaniment of children or the choice of unisex neon tights for jogging. This give you confidence to wander the streets until you find yourself in a quaint alley when a small shop opens to exhale a woman with two pit bulls and what is either a large lighter or a taser. So taking the defensive cue from the locals, you meander back to the more populated district.
What you observe as you go up and down the streets is that Barcelona is an economy based on Tapas and alcohol served in long narrow shops or tables and tents right outside.
There is a large statue of Columbus in the middle of a roundabout near the piers. I can only imagine that the message here is, "Look, if you're stuck in traffic just imagine how bad it would be to have been him. He didn't even know where he was most of the time." Not to be confused with Columbus Circle in New York, though I suspect the message is meant to be the same.
Near the ports there was some kind of televised cooking competition with over a hundred participants. Friends, family, and onlookers stood round, but I couldn't figure out what the prize was. It couldn't be your own restaurant as clearly everyone in the city already had to own their own given the volume of small establishments I'd already viewed. I determined this was just an elaborate distraction ploy for pick pockets and I moved on.
Eventually I made it back to my hotel, got into my room, a shower, and then a bed. In that order. Where I have been until now. Day 2 holds the promise of a gothic district and Gaudi architecture before work starts in the early evening, so I need to stock up on {insert goth/gotic pun here}.
With your hearing back up and running it's time to find a taxi. Despite a pretty good grasp of the Spanish language, you are not really clear how to pronounce the address to your hotel (Avenida Paral-Lel 76-80) so your driver assumes you are an idiot and doesn't talk to you for a lot of the ride.
About halfway between the city and the airport a large and magnificent cemetery comes into view on your left side. This is the locals' way of letting you know that death is a common and celebrated certainty here so you best step correct lest you wind up on that hill as well.
But the hill gives you the opportunity to try out some Spanish interrogatives on your driver who slowly decides that you are not the moron he originally took you for, and is now happy to discuss the local area and culture in the few minutes of the drive you have left.
At the hotel, your room is not ready yet so you trade them your luggage for a ticket and a local map and go out to experience the city which your stomach is looking forward to, but your left knee which has never really recovered from its last set of tennis is grumbling about.
You feel comfortable here as the average height is much closer to your own. You have read about the expert Barcelonian pick-pockets but most of the populous appears benign, either through age or accompaniment of children or the choice of unisex neon tights for jogging. This give you confidence to wander the streets until you find yourself in a quaint alley when a small shop opens to exhale a woman with two pit bulls and what is either a large lighter or a taser. So taking the defensive cue from the locals, you meander back to the more populated district.
What you observe as you go up and down the streets is that Barcelona is an economy based on Tapas and alcohol served in long narrow shops or tables and tents right outside.
There is a large statue of Columbus in the middle of a roundabout near the piers. I can only imagine that the message here is, "Look, if you're stuck in traffic just imagine how bad it would be to have been him. He didn't even know where he was most of the time." Not to be confused with Columbus Circle in New York, though I suspect the message is meant to be the same.
Near the ports there was some kind of televised cooking competition with over a hundred participants. Friends, family, and onlookers stood round, but I couldn't figure out what the prize was. It couldn't be your own restaurant as clearly everyone in the city already had to own their own given the volume of small establishments I'd already viewed. I determined this was just an elaborate distraction ploy for pick pockets and I moved on.
Eventually I made it back to my hotel, got into my room, a shower, and then a bed. In that order. Where I have been until now. Day 2 holds the promise of a gothic district and Gaudi architecture before work starts in the early evening, so I need to stock up on {insert goth/gotic pun here}.
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