Reunions

I'm going to make use of my poetic license (acquired along with my first Master's Degree--in Poetry, SF State, 1983) and give you a collection of thoughts. See what the combination evokes for you.

A phone call

It came a week and a half ago. We have caller ID, so I could read his name on the display. It seemed improbable to me that a cousin I barely knew and hadn't spoken to in 40 years would be calling out of the blue, but who else could it be? I decided to pick up.

A deep voice asked if I was me. And, if I was who I used to be. I asked, "Are you my cousin?" He agreed that he was. We proceeded to talk for the next 10 minutes about ourselves. He had called my brother earlier that day, and that's how he'd gotten my married name and phone number. He said it had been a long time since he had spoken to us, and he didn't want it to go on any longer.

The funny thing is that, when we were kids, we barely knew each other. I have probably seen him less than five times in my life. His mother was my dad's sister, and my dad didn't try to see his family often. It's hard to make any sense of those old complex feelings now, but it's also not easy to feel strong pulls of family bond at this late date. In their place, I feel a simple openness.

A tent at Maker Faire

I noticed, while walking past, an open-air tent where leaders were teaching eager people how to solder. Adults, kids, men, women, boys, girls, all bent themselves over small objects of metal they were joining together with a metal alloy. This was a very popular activity. There were only a few empty seats.

Joans

On Monday, I will be getting together with another Joan, a Joan from my past. When I was in college (before I got my poetic license), I had a roommate named Joan. We Joans had a third roommate, a woman named Shari. Shari now lives 2 blocks down the street from me, here in Berkeley.

The other Joan had been "lost" to us, living all this time, it seems, in Vancouver, Washington. Shari and I just "found" her--or, rather, she found us--thanks to Facebook.

Shari is making a big brunch for us, offering for my opinion, this list of tasty options:

• Fruit Salad
• Lox, bagels, cream cheese, cucumber
• Blintzes
• White Fish Salad (maybe)
• Frittata
• OJ
• Coffee/Tea/Milk

I'll note that blintzes are Shari's specialty, and that I'd been hoping she would make them! I've been imagining our old threesome, which featured funny, articulate, and deep discussions that carried us hither and yon to the tune of old Simon and Garfunkle, Jethro Tull, and Randy Newman albums. Admittedly, we won't be, as we once were, magic-enabled, but still, I figured we have something like 33 years of catching up to do. We could just hit the high points, and it would get pretty high all by itself.

However, in the last few days, as we've been getting closer and Shari has made attempts to nail down dates and times, it's become clear that our long lost Joan has decided to bring her husband and her sister to this brunch, which suggests she has a very different idea about this brunch get-together than I had had. Ah well, time, as they say, has gone by.

Concluding couplet

I can't resist leaving you with this:

We like putting things together
Do we like putting things together?

Our visit to the Maker Faire

This weekend we went to the Maker Faire. The event is 1 part county fair, 2 parts inventors' workshop. It is sponsored by Make Magazine. A clue to understanding the mission of Make Magazine ("technology on your time") is one of the projects on its current home page: "Hack a hoodie to turn off TVs with the tug of a zipper."

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am a big fan and adherent of the DIY approach. I've written about making catnip cigars, holiday wreaths, gift bags, cheese, and rag placemats. But, I cannot hold a candle--or rather--a miniature LED flashlight to the technological wonders that abound at the Maker Faire.

For example, last year Iris and I saw a dress woven from ordinary fibers blended with electronic fibers. The woman working on the design aimed to create a garment that would enable a visually impaired person to detect information about the immediate environment, such as proximity to objects. This year, her comrade in threads was showing a wired shirt that lights up in reaction to the wearer's body temperature and activity. It's made for dancing, in other words.

Our companions for this year's visit were our 12-year-old friends Ben, Hannah, and Jessie. The visit was our birthday present to them...the kind of gift that is at least as much fun for the givers as we hope it was for the receivers.

I'm going to give you a small tour of the Faire, so if you are looking at this post via the email feed and you don't get the images, you may want to follow the link to the web version to see what you're missing.

This is the "Raygun Gothic Rocket" on the Midway, visible from either entrance when you first arrive at the fair. Quite a climbing structure, don't you think?

This is a floor shot in the "Maker Shed," a warehouse filled with kits, books, demos, and, well, inspiration. Oh, and also, crowds.




Introducing Shovel Man, a DIY musician. He is appearing on the Human-Powered Stage, where the power for the amps is provided by members of the crowd pedaling bicycles. Ben took a turn.

A captivating metal and fire sculpture in the Fire Arts area. The kids were able to use a controller to cause "synapses" to fire.

One of my favorites: The Egg-Writer and the computer program running it. It's multi-purpose: it also writes on ping pong balls, light bulbs, why, think of all the things it might be good for!

What Faire would be without Robot Wars? At this point in the action, the crowd roared, "Death to the Barbie Car!"

The kids made soap, drove virtual cars, played a version of electronic pong, ate both good and bad food, and got tired enough that they hit the sack several hours earlier than the night before. In short, it was a Faire to remember.

Fast means slow

As I write this week's post, I am fasting. And I'd like to say for the record that this practice really needs a makeover. The new name: Slowing.

My argument is based on my experience that time seems to have slowed down considerably since I did not have breakfast this morning.

It's a long slog until I go to bed tonight. I know it's just one day, goddammit, but it's one loooooong day!

While I am on this topic, I recently read Eat Your Dreams, in the monthly magazine The Sun. The author, a man named Sparrow, writes about going to sleep hungry and dreaming (repeatedly) about food and eating. He makes this into a new form of dieting, by dream-eating and waking up fulfilled. Sparrow fasts on a weekly basis, and also twice a month, according to the lunar calendar. He says, "When I fast, I am more likely to eat in my subsequent dream."  No kidding.

Now, The Sun is, overall, a particularly worthy publication, ad free, and on point in its mission to "evoke the the splendor and heartache of being human." We can only hope that this particular message stays off the radar of developing girls and boys, vulnerable as they are to the siren call of anorexia.

Just so you know, I am not making a regular habit of this fasting/slowing business. I only do it when my doctor makes me! Here's why I'm doing it today.

Initials here please

Remember when BP was British Petroleum? The name change occured in 2000, and we were encouraged to think of the acronym as standing for "better people, better products, beyond petroleum."

It's just that pesky petroleum problems kept popping up. BP can't seem to get beyond petroleum!

• 2005...Texas Refinery Explosion, 15 deaths, over 170 injuries.
• 2006 to 2009...Prudhoe Bay toxic spills and leaks, several over this period due primarily to poor maintenance of pipes (often as a result of cost-cutting measures).
• 2010: Deepwater Horizon drilling rig explosion and oil spill, 11 people missing and presumed dead. 

Today, it looks like the top executives of BP are unsure as to whether the real problem is an uncontrolled oil spill or uncontrolled damage to BP's reputation.

The NY Times reported that BP CEO Tony Hayward asked his work buddies, "What the hell did we do to deserve this?" Stock prices have fallen by some 8%, which is a real bummer for Mr. Hayward. He has come up with a great strategy, though. He is blaming the company that owns and operates the oil rig, Transocean. BP is just a renter, it turns out. So, like typical renters who--oops!--broke the toilet or tried to flush a few too many foreign objects down the drain, BP is now blaming the landlord for the fact that there is one hell of a plumbing mess working its way toward Louisiana and Mississippi.

Let me just say that I do understand Mr. Hayward and BP's strategy. Who hasn't tried to deflect attention from one's darker side by a slight of hand, a little redirection of attention? So, if a simple name change and a cute new logo with a pretty flower could help bring a brighter day to the minds of investors and potential investors, then why not try it?

Accordingly, in an effort to erase any memories you may have of my past transgressions, you may all start referring to me simply as JS, which might bring to mind...
jello savvy, jolly sweetheart, joyful searching...  you get the picture!