YouTube - DEC - Glimpse of the Future, 1994

This slideshow provides images of some of the web pages that were available in 1994. My first experience with the web was in the autumn of 1993 when someone posted information to our internal collaboration forum (Notes) about a browser (Mosaic) and server. As soon as my jaw returned from the floor, I began following links as quickly as I could find them.

YouTube - DEC - Glimpse of the Future, 1994

Let's hear it for mediocrity

We watched the Boston Pops Fourth of July hooptedoodle on TV. Liberty Mutual was one of the sponsors. Their tag line was, "Yes, there's an insurance company that's as responsible as you are."

Now, why would I ever want to do business with a company that is as responsible as I am? Ever! That's like saying I want to take singing lessons from someone who sings as well as I do. If a company can't do it better than I can (and how hard would that be?), then we'd both better just keep walking.

Commuting

I had to come into town for a medical appointment and so left the camp around 6:00. In years past, I would often leave the house at six and take my place among the sedans and SUVs for the march eastward to the high-tech centers along Routes I-495 and 128. This commute, however, put me in the middle of a caravan of pickup trucks, box trucks, and utility vans. Different people going to different places, the high-tech commuters barely aware that the other wave of commuters exists, the other wave that builds their houses, fixes their plumbing, exterminates their insects.

Aw, geez. What's he done

Aw, geez. What's he done now? Again with the Blackberry? Call it assistive technology or goofy, it's been the best way to track appts 'n tasks.

In spite of the gray beard, I'm Generation Y.

What generation are you part of, really? Take this test. » Brazen Careerist by Penelope Trunk

"And, remember, you'll save money."

The old Spag's buildings on Rt. 9 in Shrewsbury will likely be torn down and the property developed for residential and retail use.

In 2002, six years after Anthony "Spag" Borgatti's death, Building 19 bought the Spag's business. Jerry Ellis, owner of Building 19, said, “It just didn’t work; not everything does." Because the business was neither Spag's nor a true Building 19, both groups of customers stayed away in droves.

Spag's was, in marketing parlance, a destination. In the 80s, my father went on a canoing trip in northern Maine. When the guide saw the Massachusetts license plate, he asked my father, "You shop at Spag's?" The guide and his family would drive the 300 or so miles to Spag's a few times a year and load up their cars with camping gear, laundry supplies, and Cheetos.

It was nearly impossible to buy only the thing you came for. I'd go to Spag's to get Wolf's Head motor oil for my three-cylinder, two-stroke, mix-oil-with-the-gas Saab and return with the oil, writing pads, sneakers, a couple pounds of coffee, and a catnip mouse.

My favorite suspenders, the red paisley ones, cost me five bucks at Spag's.

While waiting for the papers

Our newspaper carriers are having a tough time. Here it is, whatever time it is, and the papers still aren't here. Weekdays, we get two papers and on the weekend, three. If I don't get to the papers first thing in the morning, the papers wind up on my reading stack, a pile of newspapers, magazines, and books. The bottom layer of my reading stack has turned to coal.

Friend Patti brought my attention to a charming time-sink called Twitter. In brief, Twitter is a cross between blogging and instant messaging. It asks the basic question, "What are you doing?" The widget on the left side of this page shows what I'm doing now. You can also send and receive text-message updates via your cell phone. I can already hear the cries of "Can't we ever get away from the Internet?" Um, no. Even the Amish have a web site.

There is no sky in Ann Coulter's world

Ann Coulter vs. Elizabeth Edwards: Sparks fly after Coulter remark on terrorist assassination of John Edwards - On Politics - USATODAY.com: "On Monday, on ABC's Good Morning America, Coulter said: 'I've learned my lesson. If I'm gonna say anything about John Edwards in the future, I'll just wish he had been killed in a terrorist assassination plot.'"

Radio silence

In a protest against increased music royalty fees, a number of Internet radio broadcasts are observing a National Day of Silence by turning off their feeds today. A partial list of the participants is available at Kurt Hanson's Radio and Internet Newsletter site.

Radio, more than TV, newspapers, or other media, is about sounds from far away, often in the night. While listening to WKBW (Buffalo, New York) after dark in the wintertime in the 50s, I'd learn about lake-effect snow in towns such as Lackawanna, Cheektowaga, and North Tonawanda. For a while, I was more familiar with these names than with the names of Boston suburbs.

So, for several reasons, today would not be a good day to purchase a Tivoli Networks radio, either a table-top or portable that plays Internet broadcasts using a Wi-Fi or Ethernet connection.

• The aforementioned day of silence.
  
• The radio isn't for sale yet.
• We have too many radios already. We average slightly more than one radio per room at home, at the camp, and in our cars, not counting the shows and podcasts that I download to my iPod.
  

Of course, all of our radios are tuned to the left end of the FM band, 91.9 and lower, where the public, college, and other non-commercial stations hang out. I'll spare you my usual rant about the dreadful state of commercial radio and just ask that, if you know of a good radio station anywhere, please let me know. By good, I mean stations that treat listeners with a bit of respect, that are locally-owned or listener-sponsored, and who could mix Mozart, John Coltrane, Jefferson Airplane, and a few performers I've not heard before. Give the keys for all parts of the music library to the DJs and listen to what happens.

Office pilfering starts at the top

Obvious. Paging Capt. Obvious.

A recent study reports that 20% of employees admit to stealing office supplies from their companies. The study further concludes that 25% of people who bring home $75K or more admit to bring home stuff, more than twice the rate of pilfering among the lower paid workers.

More than a dozen years ago, Scott Adams published a book that pretty well summed up workers' relationships to the supply cabinet - Build a Better Life by Stealing Office Supplies.

What color is the sky in Dick Cheney's world?

In response to a request from the National Archives (per an order signed by President Bush), Vice-President Dick Cheney refused to provide information because, according to the Federal Times, Cheney argued that “the Vice President’s Office is not an entity within the executive branch.” (Cheney is claiming that he is president of the Senate and, therefore, not a member of the executive branch.)

Article 2, Section 1 of the U.S. Constitution says: "The executive Power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America. He shall hold his Office during the Term of four Years, and, together with the Vice President, chosen for the same Term..."

Sic transit gloria transitus

The summer solstice arrived at 18:06 GMT today, 2:06PM EDT. In Oulu, where my mother's family came from, the sun will be up for 22 hours. Meteorological summer began on June 1^st, but the start of astrological summer is still special. (The English-language version of the Helsinki newspaper is taking its summer vacation now until the end of July.) The kids in town had their last day of school yesterday. Even for those of us who hear but a faint echo of "No more pencils..." can still look up summer as a big, empty canvas that we can paint with the mud on our feet.

Tomorrow's a marker day for me as well. Even though I stopped working in April, tomorrow is the official end of my employment at my former company. I miss some of the people and some of the work, but am certain that leaving was the right thing to do. And, looking to the horizon. I don't yet have a schedule or even a plan for returning to work. Getting there, in large part, depends on how we define what or where there is.

In the meantime, we have plenty to do, particularly in the cleanup in and around Huck's house. Each thing, at the house and at the camp, seems to have a story or pose an interesting question. Among the things that I meant to ask him:

Why is there a 2lb. coffee can on the wall the broom closet in the camp, held in place with three hefty screws? It's a handy place to put stuff, but screwing coffee cans t the wall certainly isn't going to put California Closets into Chapter 11.

What color is the sky in John Bolton's world?

Speaking about the U.S. obligation to assist refugees of the Iraq war, former U.N. ambassador John Bolton said:

"Our obligation was to give them new institutions and provide security. We have fulfilled that obligation. I don't think we have an obligation to compensate for the hardships of war.'' -- Operation Freedom From Iraqis - New York Times

J.R. shot Tony Soprano?

Along with this week's coverage of the final Sopranos episode and last week's unjailing/rejailing of Paris Hilton, many media outlets, notable Greater Boston, have had good discussions about the newsworthiness of these events and the general topic of the media's coverage of popular culture.

In 1980, I was editing the Saturday edition of a small, suburban newspaper. I had the first and second pages filled with local stories and a few wire service pieces. I had deliberately left out the UPI story about "Who Shot J.R.?" from the previous night's Dallas show. If anyone care about it, I reasoned, they would have watched the show or taped in on their Betamax.

The executive editor, who doubled as the sports editor, stopped by with the Friday night local sports articles, looked at the layout, and went bonkers. "You're leaving out the biggest story of the year," he shouted.

So, knowing the importance of the weekly paycheck, I found the executive editor's reasoning persuasive and made room for the J.R. story. I should note that I was making about $4.00/hour, close to what I could have made at the neighboring McDonald's. Every day, however, I had my name in the paper every day, spelled correctly and not in the police log. I even had a my picture above my occasional editorial column.

I'd probably make the same first decision again. Although I am a fan and a student of pop culture, these stories don't need to be everywhere all of the time. If I want the latest in sleazy intrigue, I don't turn to Jim Lehrer or our local weekly, The Landmark. Fox News Channel will certainly get me all that I need and can stand.

From backhoes to Bach

It was a day to stand watch with amazement as threads from long ago loop through each other and stretch on to the future. The day had three simple chores at my father's house - meet with the folks who'd be installing propane tanks, meet with the engineer who'd be designing the new septic system, and taking a carload of sauna wood from the basement to the camp. - followed by an evening of music at the annual piano recital.

And, here's how it went:

• The guy who'd be installing the propane tanks (with his grandson doing most of the heavy lifting) went to trade school with my father in the 30s. He still thought my father lived on Pine Street in Gardner, at my grandparents' home. I explained how this house came to be and how my grandparents moved next door in the early 60s.
  
• The guy with the backhoe would be digging the test holes for the septic system. I recognized the last name. He was a few years younger than me, but I knew his older brothers.
  
• I didn't know the engineer, but he had a Grateful Dead sticker on his truck. A woman from the engineering company had married into a large family who shared a camp at Queen Lake. We often see her husband paddling his kayak around the lake.
• The fellow who is refinishing the floors in the house is a long-time friend of Mike's and, in the antediluvian era, was a debating opponent of mine when we were in high school.

I watched as the backhoe operator dug three big holes in the front yard, where the septic system has been. It may be too wet there. (For readers who don't own property in Massachusetts, this work is required to meet Title V requirements. Title V specifies how water and sewer systems must be built to ensure clean water in neighboring wells and in other water sources. When you sell a house, not only must the system pass inspection, but you must guarantee that it will work for one year.) Plan B led to three big holes in the woods behind the house. As I watched the operator dig three more holes, I studied the pine trees that I used to climb as a kid. The trees are taller now and the lower branches have fallen away, so climbing would be tough. The trees are tall enough to block some of the sunlight in the winter, sunlight that my father used to keep his house warm.

Lots of people who can load and unload a truck full of wood after a day's work; some will even cut and split the wood as well. So, loading and unloading a Subaruful of wood shouldn't be front page news, but, for me, it was the mark of a good day. The wood that I brought to the camp will likely give us saunas for the rest of this year. The wood is split small and very dry, so we'll get good, hot saunas quickly.

The piano recital was held in the Town Hall, a classic New England building in the center of town. There were a couple dozen performers, hosted by their teacher. Tess and Krista delighted us with pieces from Scott Joplin while Mike lit up the hall with Mozart's Fantasia in D Minor.

A long time ago, I took a music appreciation course. The teacher, a woman, said that because men do better at math than women, they're more inclined to like Bach. Take that as you will. The only Bach piece played at the recital was by a young boy.

It's said that the mark of a truly cultured person is the ability to listen to the William Tell Overture without thinking of the Lone Ranger. So, as we listen to one of students play Dance of the Hours by Ponichelle, I heard the words to Allan Sherman's Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh.

Do we need a stopwatch or a calendar?

It keeps getting easier for small businesses to put ads on cable television. As a result, you can hear statements such as this, from an auto repair business in Worcester:

Guaranteed fast service, no matter how long it takes.

That turbulence in the water

Fish in Massachusetts are trembling. Sandra and I recently picked up our fishing licenses. They shall know us by our worms.

Or, we might use lures. Or, as the guy at the Phillipston chicken barbecue said, shiners.

The chicken barbecue on Saturday was a part of Phillipston's 50th country fair. We drove through frog-strangling downpours in Fitchburg on our way to the fair, arriving on the town common where not a drop of rain fell all day.

The flea market filled the gymnasium of the elementary school. There you could find Drydene machine lubricant, a rusty electric fence controller, and child car seats into which you could put a child you didn't like very much. There were several two-burner gas stovetops, scary contraptions capable of igniting a kitchen with just a crosswise glance. Still, there were plenty of fun and safe things as well. Most people found at least one thing worthy of purchase. One of the flea market coordinators had purchased and was wearing a beaded necklace that Sandra had contributed.


Mid-day, a pianist was happily playing ragtime tunes on an electric piano in the foyer of the church, the music filling the common from speakers on the front steps.

Inside the old church, quilters from the town and around hung samples of their work from the balcony railings. The quilts, nearly all hand-stitched, were bold and charming. Each had a story that described how and why the quilt was made.

The church had wooden pews, stained dark, with doors for each section. At one time, families would have their own reserved pews.

But, this was a story about fishing. I haven't been fishing in a very long time, since I was a kid and didn't need a license. Back then, the Gardner News published a chart that showed which days in the coming week would be good for fishing. It was about as accurate as an astrological chart, but it was easier to believe. I don't remember why I didn't continue fishing. The last that I remember was working on a horned pout that had swallowed the hook; I was stung a couple of times and fishing stopped being fun.

So, we'll try again. We'll have a family fishing derby this weekend in honor of Father's Day. We will have prizes for the most, least, largest, smallest, cutest, and ugliest fish caught. If we catch something edible, we'll figure how to eat it.

The Massachusetts Wildlife agency publishes a booklet to help us understand the fishing regulations and to know, in case we've forgotten, what a small-mouth bass or northern pike looks like. At the back of the booklet, they publish sunrise and sunset times for the year. (The one we received gave the times for Worcester along with offsets for different places in the state. Boston is about three minutes earlier and Pittsfield is about five minutes later.) For the next week, we'll have the earliest sunrises, about 5:10AM, EDT. The latest sunset, 8:28PM, occurs in late June into early July.

This just in.

It takes a big, fancy British medical journal to tell us that antidepressants don't help cancer patients who don't have depression.

Sometimes I sit and think. Sometimes I just sit.

With a strong, cool breeze and the temperature in the mid-40s, we need a fire in the stove this morning.

The birds and squirrels will eat as much bird seed as I offer. Our five feeders can hold about 40 pounds of seed and that can be gone in a day. Last weekend, I picked up some of Dave's private blend that includes the sweet smell of cherry bits. The seed is just about gone. Dave's feed doesn't seem to attract new birds, but makes the regular visitors happier.

I was able to get to Dave's because it was time for my annual trek back to my alma mater. The school has quite a few brand-name graduates. This year's commencement speaker was Patrick Fitzgerald, '82, the special prosecutor who brought the case against Scooter Libby.My work was off to the side, in a quiet room near one of the school's several chapels. As a result, I wasn't able to go to any of the other campus events, missing the opportunity to hear other alums and faculty, including one of my thesis advisers. Nevertheless, I was where I needed to be.

Yesterday, I attended an orientation session for the Stress Reduction program at the UMass Medical School. Since its inception in 1979, more than 16,000 people have gone through the program, including my mother, Jan, and friend Dan. Bill Moyers reported on the program in his 1993 report, "Healing and the Mind," and in this interview in Psychology Today. In brief, with the practice of meditation and the principle of mindfulness, one can learn new ways of understanding stress and the thoughts that accompany it.

The course starts in two weeks. The leader told us that we should plan for 45 minutes to an hour of homework every day. She also said that, because of other participants' allergies, we should not use perfume, deodorants, or after-shave lotions. No deodorant in the summer? We'll see how good an idea this is.

Oh, and there were Republicans on TV last night, 10 white guys incapable of answering a yes/no question with a yes or no. By the way, Gov. Romney, it's unalienable, not inalienable.

Canada's got a pretty good approach to this form of air pollution. You can't start campaigning until an election is officially called, giving you somewhere between 36 and 55 days in a federal election.

One more thing to frost your mini-wheats: Sen. Lynne Cheney, R-Wyoming?
(fifth story)

As my history professor used to say, ...

Every act is a political act and has political consequences.

Believe me. I tried to watch the Democrats' debate last night. I really tried. Each candidate wa given 60 seconds to give us slightly fresh answers to the stale questions that we have heard on every news and talk show for months. This format drives the wrong kind of behavior, rewarding people who think in small, tactical aphorisms. Even good Dennis Kucinich answered a question about counter-terrorism with a worn-out quote from Benjamin Franklin about security and personal freedom. We needed, instead, his ideas about how we should deal with the bad guys in our midst. After about 15 minutes, I switched channels and watched Larry the Cable Guy until it was time to go to bed.