Category: Repost

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A Repost from 2017 (Since We Were Recently Discussing Groovy Houses…)

Dream Houses

Having spent half my working life in the architectural profession, it should come to no surprise to anyone that I've designed my fair share of personal "dream houses." Dozens. What might be surprising to learn is that I've never actually been a home owner.

I guess it stems from the very real refusal to settle down when I was younger. I loved the ability to pack up and move every six months if the desire struck me, and as much as I would've loved to have actually designed and built a home of my own, it was just never in the cards.

I was living in San Francisco when I finally started to get that urge to settle, and while I wasn't making bad money, there was still no way I was ever going to be able to get a down payment together in the amount needed to buy a place. Moving out of The City wasn't an option; as my friend Kent was fond of saying, "Why would anyone want to live just outside the pearly gates?" I'd rather continue to rent in San Francisco itself than own in Pittsburg.

And that financial situation hasn't changed simply because we're now back in Arizona. But that doesn't mean a boy can't dream.

Some of my dreams rarely progressed beyond basic sketches:

This particular one was inspired by an advert for the American Plywood Council (or something similar) in one of my dad's architectural magazines when I was a wee young thing. The magazine is long gone but the image was forever imprinted into my memory.

This one—a small beach house—grew out of a triplex apartment development I had the pleasure of working on shortly after I moved to Tucson in 1980.

I can't tell you how many house plans I've actually designed for myself since the architectural bug first bit in middle school. As my skill level increased, if my ideas got beyond the basic sketch stage, they burned with such intensity that I had to at least start a set of construction documents—if only a handful of those projects actually ever came to fruition with a complete, ready-for-a-bidding set of drawings.

Some of my first truly personal (i.e. not copied from another designer, a local builder or a magazine) designs were a series of desert houses originally inspired by Obi Wan Kenobi's bungalow in Star Wars and the lower floor of the tri-level house my family lived in during my high school and college years.

Buried four feet into the ground with massive concrete walls to keep out the heat, this design motif resonated with me for years, eventually coming up with several variations…


At one point I even went so far with this theme as to design an entire apartment complex (small scale floor plans and exteriors only, I'm not that driven) on the then-vacant land on the southeast corner of Grant Road and Wilmot Avenue in Tucson—but I never really developed a good way of integrating multiple bedrooms into this particular ouvre—which obviously limited its appeal.

My move to San Francisco in 1986 inspired a new design aesthetic. I loved the Victorian row houses with their multicolored gingerbread trim, but I was equally impressed by the modern, contemporary variations on the theme that many local architects were utilizing.

This 3-story house was the vehicle by which I actually taught myself AutoCAD. I became so engrossed that I was literally moving objects in my dreams by calling out their cartesian coordinates!

In the mid 90s, I returned to my desert house design, armed with a new aesthetic gleaned from living in a 1920s-era Victorian for several years. The massively thick concrete walls remained, but the barrel vault roofs were gone and much more wood was incorporated along with an almost steampunk feel for the interior details.

I don't remember what prompted me to do it, but a couple years after I tired of that exercise and had started contemplating leaving San Francisco and returning to Tucson, I pulled out a plan for a small house I once dreamt of building in in the northeast part of the city, at some undetermined point along the Catalina Highway before it actually started up into the mountains. I'd completed a lot of work on this plan already before moving to San Francisco—back when I was still doing overlay drafting with ink on mylar, but since I was now comfortable working in the virtual realm of AutoCAD, I decided it was time to transpose it into bits and bytes.

As you can tell, I tend toward smaller houses. Even this multi-structure design isn't really that big. And this one's builder-ready. Not only did I do the usual floor plan and exterior elevations that I do with all my projects, this was one of those instances when I did it all: foundation, roof framing, electrical, mechanical, and interior elevations. It was designed for a lot that gently sloped away from the street with an unobstructed view of the Catalina and Rincon Mountains. Sadly, while the land in that area was mostly untouched when I first envisioned this house in 1985, it isn't any longer. My last visit to Tucson confirmed my fear that the area is now completely built-up and there are no more unobstructed views of anything except your next door neighbor.

And that brings us to my latest bit of mental masturbation:

This is the house we're currently renting—with several changes. It's the first time I've created a dream house based on a remodel, and I'm liking how it's progressing. It started out as an innocent "what if" between Ben and I, but now it's developed a life of its own and has morphed into a full-scale architectural exercise. As I've written before, it's been an interesting excursion into the deep recesses of memory, pulling obscure AutoCAD commands from the dusty crevices of my head and continually surprising myself that I still know how to do this stuff. It's also become my go-to "happy place" when I'm laying in bed awake and trying to fall back asleep at 4 in the morning…

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A Repost from 2018

A Disturbing Realization

As most of my readers already know, I lived in San Francisco for approximately sixteen years, encompassing my late 20s through early 40s.

The other morning, while laying awake at 4 am, memories of San Francisco started bubbling up. I don't know if it was my age/hormone level at the time I lived there, or whether it is something about The City itself, but going over my memories of San Francisco I came to the disturbing realization that the vast majority of those memories—okay, pretty much all my memories of life in San Francisco—revolved around getting laid or trying to get laid…under the guise of looking for true love, of course.

Naturally, during my time there I worked. I made friends. I went to movies and plays. I took photos, made art, read books, acquired new skills, spent way too much money on way too much stuff, and explored the natural beauty of the Bay Area. But it seems all that was nothing more than background noise amid the unrelenting need to connect.

I would like to think that I fell into that lifestyle over the course of several years, but if I'm being totally honest, I have to admit it started almost the minute boots were on the ground.

While I did date and had several serial boyfriends, the smorgasbord of carnal delights and availability of potential sexual partners literally anywhere in the City is no doubt why so many refer to those 49 square miles as "Disneyland for Adults" and none of those relationships actually lasted. "Cruisin' the Streets" is more than just an old Boys Town Gang song. You could connect with someone on the subway, waiting for the bus, on your lunch hour downtown, walking home after work—and either go right to your/their place, make plans to meet up later, or duck into an empty stairwell for a quickie; literally anywhere. Buena Vista Park, North Baker Beach, "the whispering bushes" and the southern convenience station at the polo field at the western end of Golden Gate Park, the Hyatt Embarcadero, the 1808 Club, the Shaklee building, the 11th Floor of the Russ Building, The Playground, the Sir Francis Drake, Mike's Night Gallery, the Sheraton Palace…

You get the idea. There was a lot of action going on in The City. All. The. Time.

Inspired to start keeping a record of my life in San Francisco after seeing Prick Up Your Ears about a year after my arrival there, my journals read like an embarrassing, depressing erotic novel, full of saucy but ultimately empty encounters, littered with the names of men of whom I now have no conscious memory. (Oh, to have had cell phone cameras back then!)

I can't help but think that in the wake of 9/11 and the added security everywhere that followed, most of those locales have long since been locked down, but I know how industrious and creative horny men can be, and despite the authorities' best efforts, trysts will still happen somewhere.

Before I moved to San Francisco, when my friend Kent (who had arrived about six years earlier) once related how he stopped to have sex with some guy he met while on the way to a date with another, I was appalled. I could not understand how such a thing could happen, much less that anyone would actually partake. Note I said before I moved there…

While that particular scenario never happened to me, it was apparently not that uncommon, and I had plenty of other equally lascivious encounters during that decade and a half to make up for it. To this day I'm still amazed that I made it out alive, somehow remained STD/AIDS free, and didn't end up with a police record.

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I Think It's WAY Past Time To Repost This

"WHY"

AN ALLEGORY

I leaned from the low-hung crescent moon and grasping the west pointing horn of it, looked down.  Against the other horn reclined, motionless, a Shining One who turned to look at me.  Below me the hills and valleys were thick with humanity, and the moon swung low that I might see what they did.

"Who are they?" I asked the Shining One, for I was unafraid.  And the Shining One answered, "They are the Sons and Daughters of the Universe."

I looked again, and saw that they beat and trampled each other.  Sometimes they seemed not to know that the fellow creature they pushed from their path fell under their feet.  But sometimes they looked as they fell and kicked them brutally.

And I asked the Shining One, "Are they all the Sons and Daughters of the Universe?"

And the Shining One said, "All."

As I leaned and watched them, it grew clear to me that each was frantically seeking something, and that it was because they sought what they sought with such singleness of purpose that they were so inhuman to all who hindered them.

And I asked the Shining One, "What do they seek?"

And the Shining One answered, "Happiness."

"Are they all seeking Happiness?"

"All."

"Have any of them found it?"

"None of those have found it."

"Do they ever think they have found it?"

"Sometimes they think they have found it."

My eyes filled with tears, for at that moment I caught a glimpse of a woman with a babe against her breast, and I saw the babe torn from her and the woman cast into a deep pit by a man with his eyes fixed on a shining lump that he believed to be (or perchance to contain, I know not) Happiness.

And I turned to the Shining One, my eyes blinded.

"Will they ever find it?"

And He said, "They all will find it."

"All of them?"

"All of them."

"Those who are trampled?"

"Those who are trampled."

"Those who trample?

"Those who trample."

I looked again, for a long time at what they were doing on the hills and in the valleys, and again my eyes went blind with tears, and I sobbed out to the Shining One, "Is it God's will, or the work of the Devil, that men seek Happiness?"

"It is the Will of the Universe."

"But it looks so like the work of the Devil!"

The Shining One smiled inscrutably.

"It does look like the work of the Devil, doesn't it?"

When I had looked a little longer, I cried out, protesting:  "Why have they been put down there to seek Happiness and to cause each other such immeasurable misery?"

Again the Shining One smiled inscrutably and said, "They are learning."

"What are they learning?"

"They are learning Life.  And they are learning Love."

I said nothing.  One man in the herd below held me breathless, fascinated.  He walked proudly, and others ran and laid the bound, struggling bodies of living men before him that he might tread upon them and never touch foot to earth.  But suddenly a whirlwind seized him and tore his purple from him and set him down, naked among strangers.  And they fell upon him and maltreated him sorely.

I clapped my hands.

"Good!  Good!" I cried, exultantly.  "He got what he deserved."

Then I looked up and saw again the inscrutable smile of the Shining One.

And the Shining One spoke quietly. "They all get what they deserve."

"And no worse?"

"And no worse."

"And no better?"

"How can there be any better?  They each deserve what ever shall teach them the true way to Happiness."

I fell silent.

And still the people went on seeking, and trampling each other in their eagerness to find. And I perceived what I had not fully grasped before, that the Whirlwind caught them up from time to time and set them down elsewhere to continue the Search.

And I asked the Shining One, "Does the Whirlwind always set them down again on these hills and in these valleys?"

And the Shining One answered, "Not always on these hills or in these valleys."

"Where then?"

"Look above you."

And I looked up.  Above me stretched the Milky Way and gleamed the stars.

And I breathed, "Oh," and fell silent, awed by what was given to me to comprehend.

Below me they still trampled each other.

And I asked the Shining One, "But no matter where the Whirlwind sets them down, they go on seeking Happiness?"

"They go on seeking Happiness."

"And the Whirlwind makes no mistakes?"

"The Whirlwind makes no mistakes."

"It puts them sooner or later, where they will get what they deserve?"

"It puts them sooner or later, where they will get what they deserve."

Then the load crushing my hear lightened, and I found I could look at the brutal cruelties that went on below me with pity for the cruel.  And the longer I looked the stronger my compassion grew.

And I said to the Shining One:

"They act like men goaded."

"They are goaded."

"What goads them?"

"The name of the goad is Desire."

Then, when I had looked out a little longer, I cried out passionately: "Desire is an evil thing."

But the face of the Shining One grew stern and his voice rang out, dismaying me.

"Desire is not an evil thing."

I trembled and thought withdrew itself into the innermost chamber of my heart, until at last I said:  "It is Desire that nerves men to learn the lessons the Universe has set."

"It is Desire that nerves them."

"The lessons of Life and Love?"

"The lessons of Life and Love."

Then I could no longer see that they were cruel.  I could only see that they were learning. I watched them with deep love and compassion, as one by one the whirlwind carried them out of sight.

 -Anonymous-

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Another Timely Blast From The Past

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose…

10 Questions to Help Determine if Your Religious Liberty Is Being Threatened

From a great little post over at Alternet:

This simple quiz will let you know if you're being oppressed.

1. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am not allowed to go to a religious service of my own choosing.
B) Others are allowed to go to religious services of their own choosing.

2. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am not allowed to marry the person I love legally, even though my religious community blesses my marriage.
B) Some states refuse to enforce my own particular religious beliefs on marriage on those two guys in line down at the courthouse.

3. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am being forced to use birth control.
B) I am unable to force others to not use birth control.

4. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am not allowed to pray privately.
B) I am not allowed to force others to pray the prayers of my faith publicly.

5. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) Being a member of my faith means that I can be bullied without legal recourse.
B) I am no longer allowed to use my faith to bully gay kids with impunity.

6. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am not allowed to purchase, read or possess religious books or material.
B) Others are allowed to have access books, movies and websites that I do not like.

7. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) My religious group is not allowed equal protection under the establishment clause.
B) My religious group is not allowed to use public funds, buildings and resources as we would like, for whatever purposes we might like.

8. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) Another religious group has been declared the official faith of my country.
B) My own religious group is not given status as the official faith of my country.

9. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) My religious community is not allowed to build a house of worship in my community.
B) A religious community I do not like wants to build a house of worship in my community.

10. My religious liberty is at risk because:

A) I am not allowed to teach my children the creation stories of our faith at home.
B) Public school science classes are teaching science.

Scoring key:

If you answered "A" to any question, then perhaps your religious liberty is indeed at stake. You and your faith group have every right to now advocate for equal protection under the law. But just remember this one little, constitutional, concept: this means you can fight for your equality—not your superiority.

If you answered "B" to any question, then not only is your religious liberty not at stake, but there is a strong chance that you are oppressing the religious liberties of others. This is the point where I would invite you to refer back to the tenets of your faith, especially the ones about your neighbors.

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A Repost

Looking over some old entries today from 2012 and ran across this one. While it doesn't apply quite as much to my present position as it did when I was basically the only technical support available at CNIC, it still resonates…

Signs of I.T. Burnout

  • You wake up in the morning and think of 50 different excuses to call in sick because you just can't face another day of it.
  • You no longer even feel the need to pretend to be cheerful and nice when talking to end users. You answer them with the fewest amount of words possible and possibly a grunt thrown in for good measure.
  • When you sit at your desk and stare through your monitor thinking of all the other things you would rather be doing, and one of them is having a urinary catheter put in.
  • You stop hearing what people are saying to you and just think about how much you would enjoy smashing them in the face with your keyboard—repeatedly—just so you can go back to staring through your monitor.
  • It feels funny when you smile.

I'm so there.

Having been on both sides of the Tech Support fence, I can pretty safely say that the state of technical support from most major vendors these days is so abysmal that an actual good support experience is almost shockingly noteworthy. I try to do my best, but there are days where I simply don't give a fuck. I've already been called out for having an attitude, but thankfully the number of "You ROCK!" nominations that keep coming in for me from my end users offsets any stray comment my boss receives.  And on the other side of the fence, businesses in general have begun to recognize that the grand support-offshoring experiment that started in the late 1990s has well and truly failed. But even before the trend really got underway, tech support was hardly a glamorous experience, either for the customer or the poor phone monkey stuffed into minuscule cube, earning a hair above minimum wage.

The story is the same for customer-facing and internal help desks alike: no one likes calling them, and no one likes working them. It's a common bit of conventional wisdom that the average time it takes for a newly hired tech support worker to go from bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to suicidal and burnt-out is about 18 months; the job can be notoriously hard on the psyche and the soul. It's the very definition of Sysiphean—no matter how many times you answer the customers' questions, there will always be more customers with the exact same questions.

Repetitive tasks with no relief can be psychologically stressful. This leads to a feeling of resentment on the part of a lot of support staff, who can come to regard customers as unendingly, unerringly stupid; conversely, when confronted with a sighing, obviously annoyed Nick Burns-ish creature groaning at them, the immediate response of most customers is mistrust, reticence to comply with directions, and sometimes outright anger.

Non-IT users need to learn their computer/device better. I see too many people who still don't know the difference between Windows and Office. Granted computers etc. are getting easier to use, but end users need to at least try to learn some basic terminology besides "The Internet isn't working."

How to do this? First, make the technology easier. Apple does this the best. (And my experience with Apple Tech Support has been, without fail, exemplary.) Facebook is right behind them. Google has some good consumer offerings as well and is catching up rapidly while still keeping higher end functionality. I've personally had to deal with software that requires a process that has no documentation, takes 2 hours to install and required manual intervention by a person for most of that time. Only one question… WHY? If you can't answer that succinctly in a few words, or it sounds like "we don't have the resources to invest in that yet," you are doing it wrong. I'm talking to you, McKesson.

Second, pay tech support people more and give them some respect! Customer service is hard. Programmers can't do it and neither can engineers. They think they can, but it requires training just like any other position. We have to stop treating customer service like sweat shop labor. That's how we got the support outsourcing started because some bozo thought we could just put warm bodies on the phone to do what a computer could not. Tech Support staff are the E.R. physicians of the 21st century, yet they're still treated like janitors. Even after your system crashes and we're called upon to get it working again, we're never given the respect that little bit of saving-your-ass deserves; more often than not, we're blamed for the calamity. I'm all for putting the right person in the position, be they Indian or American, but pick people who have skills, respect them and pay them, and eventually you'll have good people wanting to go into these positions.

Finally, the best tech support has people who can think critically and logically. It's sad, but we are losing our ability to do that in the United States. Increase investment in public schools and increase time spent on logical problem solving in general. Customer service is about solving someone's problem, not just smiling and making the customer feel good about themselves. Yeah, I want the person to be friendly and personable, but if they can't take two seconds to think about my problem and make a decision… any decision, then the first two points aren't going to help at all.

After the 6,437,193rd time I've worked through your exact problem, I have an idea or two about what might be wrong. When I ask you to reboot, check a setting, or rename a backup file and restart the program, it's because these steps fix the problem most of the time. You may be honest, but approximately 56% of the callers will lie about trying a simple reboot, and the other 44% won't even have considered doing that before calling in the problem.

Speaking of lying, when I go to a PC and see a half dozen toolbars covering 25% of their browser and ask, "How did all this get installed?" the answer will be, "I don't know. It just showed up."

When I walk you three three procedures and have you check to see if the problem is fixed after each one, it's not that I'm an idiot (correlation does not imply causation). Rather, it's because your particular problem sometimes has multiple causes, and if your system is partially hosed, we can avoid some of the steps. When it's completely munged, though, we must go through the steps to fix the little problems before the big problem goes away.

I am the entire unofficial "Help Desk" for my company and to be perfectly honest, while I still try to provide good, friendly customer support to my users, I'm rapidly coming to loathe every aspect of my job. I've been at this company for a little over a year, but I've been doing Tech Support work as my sole source of income since 1997. For the ten years prior to that, it was secondary to my primary job function, so I'm certainly no stranger to the scene. My phone ringing has become like the calling of some satanic beast, here to rip out another chunk of my soul, so I finally reached the point where I turned the ringer off. I figure if it's a real problem, they'll (a) leave a message, (b) send me an email, or (c) come to my desk. What I learned early on is that with most problems, if you don't immediately run to hold the user's hand, 90% of the time they'll figure it out on their own or the problem will spontaneously go away on its own.

I'm looking for a way out of here, but I've been at this long enough to know that in this field the basic story line and personalities I have to deal with on a daily basis will stay the same no matter where I go; only the faces will change. The only saving grace to this job is that I get here a half hour before most everyone else, which means I get some time in the morning without having to see or hear from anyone and I beat the traffic going home in the afternoon. It's also insanely easy to get to from our new apartment, regardless of the weather.

A good number of the users at my company admit to being computer illiterate and they have no patience for the time it may take to troubleshoot a problem. They seem to have this idea that my job is simply a matter or pressing a button or tapping a key and everything in their world that breaks will be put back together in a heartbeat. But it's not like many real problems—problems that might require I invest a few brain cells in solving them—ever come up.

Most of my day is spent:

  • unlocking accounts (Turn OFF your CAPS LOCK KEY,  you MONKEYS!)
  • resetting passwords (You were out for a week and you've forgotten it? Is it really THAT hard to remember? You've been typing it EVERY day for the last three months!)
  • telling people what the URL is to our web mail system
  • walking them through the steps to get their email to their smartphone. (Most of these people shouldn't be allowed to have one)
  • Troubleshooting or requesting service for printers (I hate printers. Why are we still printing SO DAMN MUCH?!)
  • showing people how to reduce their mailbox size when they have gone over the limit (they never remember to empty the deleted items folder)
  • creating PST files in Outlook so they can horde every single personal cat-video, inspirational message, and Obama-is-a-communist-Kenyan-ursurper email they have received from the beginning of time

I guess you get the idea.

Terminology is also big problem with my users. They can't tell the difference between a desktop computer and a laptop that is attached to a docking station. They don't know the difference between a computer and a monitor (your mean the TV thing?) Before I created a spreadsheet with all the hard information I would ever need to get from my users, if I asked a user for his/her computer name, I can guarantee that I'd either their employee ID, log in name, email address, the computer service tag, the model of the computer or  "It's a Dell. Does that help?"

When I ask for their Windows password, 9 times of of 10 I'll get, "Is that the one I use first thing in the morning to log in?"

Seriously.

They refer to their web browser as "The Internet" and Windows as "The Windows." Try getting a user to tell the difference between Windows XP and Windows 7. It's like trying to teach a newborn how to drive a dump truck. Same goes for Office; there's no hope when it comes to that. Hell, most of my users can't even figure out how to create shortcuts on their desktop or task bar.

And they're terrified of trying anything on their own!

They don't know what it means when I ask them for a folder path or drive path to whatever calamity they have gotten themselves into. They only know it as the "R" drive or "P" driver or "I" drive.

The company I work for is in the medical insurance business and therefore rakes in vast amounts of cash. But no matter how much myself, or the two I.T. Directors I've now had the pleasure of working for have pleaded with the holders of the purse strings, it's only very recently that they started providing basic, strictly voluntary Excel training to the staff. Until that point, they just gave these people a computer and said go to work! So whenever someone new gets hired I can almost guarantee at least 3-4 calls a day from this person, just trying to help them navigate the scary magic box on their desk.

In conclusion, Tech Support is Hell. It has been my observation over these past fifteen years that a good majority of the people who work in the field are tortured souls, and very few of us actually like this job after the initial rush wears off. Users are, for the most part, incompetent, and I often wonder how companies manage to stay in business considering this staggering level of willful stupidity. It's 2012, for chrissake! Personal computers have been a part of corporate life for the last thirty years, and yet there are workers in their 20s who still view them as some sort of incomprehensible technology that landed from another planet. The bottom line is that American businesses need to put more focus on training their employees on how to use the thing they spend 99% of their work day in front of.

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The Island of Misfit Toys

Or, as I like to call it, "Tech of Yesteryear: Stuff I've Owned."

My first calculator, a Texas Instruments SR-10. Four functions plus square root, square and inverse!—$89 in 1974. I needed it for Chem/Physics.

My first 10-speed bike, a Schwinn Continental—$105 in 1972

My first (and only) typewriter, an Olympia Report Electric SKE—price and date forgotten (1974?). Sold in a fit of perceived poverty in 1990.

My first hi-fi turntable, a Philips GA-212—$200 in 1973. I had to have this particular one because it was touch control! Little did I know that when the bulbs under the touch controls burnt out, the controls stopped working altogether, necessitating a costly trip to a repair shop. It wasn't like you could just go online and order replacements.

My first awesome, truly high-tech hi-fi turntable, a Technics SL-1300Mk2—$500 in 1978.  I took out a personal loan for this one. Of course it died within months of being paid for and then sat in a repair facility for months because the particular integrated circuit that had failed was on indefinite backorder. (Such is the life of an early adopter.) I finally retrieved it from the shop and shipped it back to Panasonic for repair. It was returned, and UPS left it with the neighbors' unattended children, where they proceeded to destroy it. UPS and Panasonic wrote it off as "destroyed in shipment" and sent me refurbished unit. But it was never the same, so I sold it in 1980.

I replaced it in 2000 or thereabouts with a near-mint unit that came in the original packaging. The arm lift mechanism on this model was a notoriously bad design that self-destructed after about 5 years of use, so I had it professionally repaired by a friend back east (now, sadly deceased) and it's worked beautifully ever since.

My first digital watch, a Novus—price unknown (but it wasn't cheap) in 1976. It was a high school graduation present from my parents. Like all digital watches of the time, you had to hold down the button to make it illuminate and show you the time. It died sometime in the early 80s.

My first hi-fi amplifier, a Sony TA-5650—$550 in 1976.  I bought it for myself with money I received for my high school graduation.  Another piece of cutting edge tech that wasn't quite ready for prime time, the 5650 had the very annoying habit of self-destructing every six months or so, necessitating a visit to the repair shop to have some diodes replaced  (to the tune of $75 a trip—quite a bit of money for the time). After the second or third time it happened, I decided to replace it, but nothing came close to the sweet, sweet sound the V-FETs produced, so I kept getting it fixed.

The last time it died, sometime in 1986, I replaced it with a rock-solid Yamaha amp and kissed it goodbye, leaving it in the laundry room of the apartment complex I was living in at the time. I did that because I just couldn't bear to toss it in the dumpster.

My first computer, a Commodore VIC-20—$200 in 1981. It hooked up to a television, and since Dennis (my first partner) and I couldn't afford to buy the external cassette drive to save the programs we spent hours meticulously typing in BASIC, it was an ongoing lesson in frustration. But it did light a spark that eventually culminated in my current career.

My first hi-fi cassette deck, a Sony TCK-555—$370 in 1984. I waited a long, long time to finally get a good cassette deck for my system. Little did I know that in only two short years they would start marching toward the graveyard of history.  It was a good—not great—deck, but it served me for several years before being replaced.

My first new car, a 1984 Toyota Corolla SR-5—$11,000 in 1984. Damn, I loved this car. I sold Dorothy in 1989 after deciding that owning a car in San Francisco was more trouble that it was worth. It was also reaching the point that it was needing some expensive repairs and I had no way of paying for them, so I had to say goodbye. It's the one vehicle that still shows up regularly in my dreams, never having been sold, but merely put into storage all these years…

My first CD player, a Yamaha D-400—$360 in 1985. As I recall I blew my whole tax refund on this. I had wanted to get a Technics SL-P2 but it had been discontinued and I didn't like anything in the Technics lineup that replaced it. I should've done more shopping before jumping on this one, however.  It sounded fantastic, but it could only display the track number or the time, but not both. Seriously, Yamaha? I replaced it in 1990.

My first portable CD player, a Sony D100 Discman—$400 in 1987. This was Sony's second-generation portable, and I loved this bit of tech. The only reason I eventually got rid of it was the headphone jack kept coming unsoldered from the main circuit board (one day after the warranty expired, typical of Sony products). It was an easy-enough fix to do myself, but I finally just got tired of dealing with it.

My first 35mm camera, the Pentax ME Super. I got this from my second partner in exchange for some money he owed me. I adored this camera. I won't say my ratio of good photos to bad was excellent, but I remember it being decidedly better than all my subsequent years of digital. In my rush to go digital, I sold it to buy a new camera. WORST. DECISION. EVER.

My first digital camera, the Canon A10—$125 (steeply discounted) in 2003. It ate batteries which severely limited its usefulness, picture quality was so-so, and it was a pain in the ass to actually get the photos off of it. I was so relieved when I finally got the funds together to replace it.

This was the camera I replaced the A10 with, a Panasonic DMC-FZ7. This camera went everywhere with me (including a road trip to Yellowstone), and together we got some stunning shots.  After a couple years, however, I tired of the all purple fringing showing up around bright areas in the photos and after replacing it with a Sony, sold it on eBay.

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Escape

Clear 40 minutes from your calendar, plug in your headphones, put your feet up, close your eyes, and let your mind wander…

About 10 minutes into this,  I'm 20 again, skimming over endless dunes in my landspeeder.

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More Timely Than Ever

Reposted from 3 years ago:

This Isn't Going Away, North Carolina

There you sit this morning North Carolina, all smug and self-satisfied in your hate, no doubt believing in your little heart-of-hearts that it was God's will that you mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging assholes enshrined discrimination in your state law. But I've got news for you: you were on the wrong side of history when you outlawed interracial marriage, and you're on the wrong side of history AGAIN.

The more I think about this, the more livid I become. I'm not sure why, because other states have passed similar laws. Maybe it's because your state—whose motto should now be changed from "FIRST IN FLIGHT" to "FIRST IN HATE"—was a necessary tipping point to open eyes and get the masses' blood boiling.

And despite your unwavering belief that you're doing the Lord's work (who NEVER said a word about homosexuality, by the way) I have a feeling, that this is going to come back and bite you in your shriveled, black, hate-filled hearts. More than 50% of Americans polled are now in favor of marriage equality. Major corporations, sensing the tide of public opinion, are increasingly coming on board and providing the same benefits to same-sex partners as they do to the rest of their married employees.

Your vote was a slap in the face to that, and I sincerely hope that every GLBT person and their supporters (including businesses) leave your state and let it free-fall back into the middle ages. Have you not seen what happened in Georgia with their stance against so-called "illegal" (i.e. brown-skinned) migrant workers? Crops are rotting in the fields. North Carolina deserves no less.

I spotted this in the comments section at Joe.My.God. this morning, and I couldn't have said it better.

NORTH CAROLINA  
HATES  
FAGS

We get it…you hate us…you really, really hate us.

Which, of course, is what all these "protect marriage" amendments are about. You're not protecting anything, you're just preventing a small group of people that you hate from entering into your "exclusive" marriage club lest we sully it (GOD FORBID…we should swim in your pool…you'd have to drain it). Now, if y'all really had the courage of your convictions you'd make homosexuality itself in North Carolina a crime, punishable by death just like it says in the Bible (let's run that up the flag pole and see how it flies…I bet it would pass or come damn close). But, of course, you don't have that kind of courage because y'all are nothing but a bunch of bullies and cowards, as your state's racist history would attest.

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We Are The Aliens

Stop and think about that for a minute.  We are the aliens to any other planetary civilizations in our glittering night skies. Keeping that in mind, is our behavior toward our fellow human beings really something we'd like to be projecting outward to potential galactic neighbors?

Human beings are killing each other over skin color and god myths, and have been for most of our history. God myths! Is it any wonder we haven't heard from anyone out there? If we can't even accept each other's differences, how the hell would anyone who might be listening in and aware of our existence—no doubt beings far different than us—expect to be welcomed here with open arms? Is our brutality toward each other really the first impression we want to put forward?

Unfortunately it's too late to change that. As the old axiom goes, "You're never given a second chance to make a first impression," and our planet's first impression consisted of Nazi Propaganda…

I'm sure—based on statistical probability alone—that the universe is teeming with what we would immediately recognize as intelligent life. But based on the radio and television signals that have spread out from our planet to a radius of eighty light years or so, I'm not surprised in the least that we haven't heard a word back from anyone—much less had the proverbial flying saucer land on the White House lawn. I mean, would you want to make contact with a group of beings who have so little respect for their fellow creatures or their planet that it borders on insanity?

For all we know, there are galactic marker buoys surrounding our solar system warning potential visitors to avoid the third planet at all cost.

The older I get, the more convinced I am that human beings, despite all our science and technological innovations over the past five hundred years or so are aware of only a very, very small part of what is actually going on in this thing we label reality. Further, I also believe that at this stage in our evolution, if we were shown what truly lies behind the proverbial curtain, the our species would suffer a collective psychotic break…