Archive for 1997

Philadelphia Breadcrumbs


16 Oct

philadelphia-sisters

"Philadelphia Sisters" by Gabriel Thy

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Originally published on October 16, 1997

Steve, search AltaVista with the keyword SCENEWASH. Man a monopoly, but it shouldn't last forever. I don't recall ever signing SWORG with AltaVista or any search engines for that matter, since I had no active content there, but oooowwwweeee, what a presence!

How are you "set" for a fall classic in the City of Brotherly Glove in the last weekend AFTER Halloween with two or more proles from the City of Neverending Elections? Depends on how things shape up around here with bookcases and client bases, but we might be settled enough by then to take a slow drive to the north country. Some ten dollars in tolls is enough to make this a rare visit, as I'm sure you're aware, but of course as a native son of Philadelphia you are bound by cleverness to find a way around the tolls given enough time to wander the backroads. I haven't discussed this with the Bug, but surely we'll jump at the chance to eat in a unfamiliar restaurant where all the snappy waitresses fire off salty checkerboarded accents and the center of attention melts in the center of town, not in our hands.

Meanwhile I'm still frying in the pan as I hit pocket after pocket of web cramp and creativity null in my struggle to reinstate my SCENEWASH infrastructure, formerly of iMote (where that picture of us on the Perquacky Deck resides somewhere in the Literary Chip stack, oh yes, the Misguided Tour of the Literary Chip, don't ask me again, use your bookmarks silly, if'n you can't find your way back through the breadcrumbs of your mind).

GT

Postscript: The Misguided Tour never really got off the ground, tethered as it was to hard work in a busy, infrastructure laying era where failed cooperation was hardly a minor bump or soft shoulder in the road but was a major pothole which grounded smart aleck motorcycle kings faster than the DC Department of Public Works on a sudden 20" snow day. Building this monstrosity of self-indulegence, whether it has any passing artistic value or not, has taken time, but in the end I can attest to its worth to me is immeasurable. Others have moved on with their lives, but here sits I, Gabriel, doing what I said I wanted to do, for better, for worse, these are the days of my lives...dated 10/25/13.

Insults, Snapshots, Etymology Of Current Scenewash Architecture


16 Oct

lily-artwatcher

Lily Artwatcher

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Originally published on October 16, 1997

The following letter was composed in response to a query from an old friend Steve Taylor, then in Philadelphia.

"Glad to see you are starting to populate the Scenewash. Is that name from one of your print works or did you create it for the online medium? You know I'm always a sucker for an etymological tale..."

No, sir. That gem was the product of a fresh brainstorm ripping across this fertile valley now my home while I was working on a Lily Artwatcher subsection dealing with local ontological events, hyperpersonalized and literally screaming fotographic intrigue a few months before I cleavaged iMote to separate the so-called storefront from the creative victories I feel as a writer and a conduit for whatever comes next. I'd created a banner page, and not much else. As I recall a snapshot of Sue is highlighted in a collage with moderate success. However I liked the multiple entendres of the Scenewash project so much (epistemologically, general and local cleansing of the scene) that it grew whiskers, a gut of grand proportions and into the ripening domain you are only beginning to fathom.

It will also remain a subsection, as originally intended, within the SWORG/LILY section, but you'll just have to wait until it's fleshed online sometime next year undoubtedly to know any more about that than I do right now. It's presently only a gleam in the sacrificial iMotedotcom and a few building blocks of infrastructure waiting attention. Since I have Cafespirit, and a bevy of other themes mapped out in LILY, I quite have forgotten what I intended with the original Scenewash quarter.

The industrious ones are border rats in a life and death frenzy to land a job. The lazy are generally stupid and vacant of morals and always eager to capitulate to the swirl and swill to maintain that laziness. In this way they match the filthy rich jet setters the revolutionaries supposedly want to overthrow. Power to the Bourgeoise!
Yesterday was somewhat of a creative breakthrough. You will like what you see. The work is still offline as I need to clean up some peripheral files before uploading, but I hope to have a lot more mapped in for your personal viewing by the end of this weekend. My computer is currently tied up with a 10MB download of a new site creation beta from Macromedia called Dreamweaver.

At my modem speed projected download time is over an hour and a half. I've crashed in the past trying to download and send mail at the same time, so this note will have to wait until the software is on disk, but man, a while back I downloaded MIE v3.1 in an uninterupted streaming session only for it to be corrupted from the very first click. Lost all that time. These huge downloads are not fun, or apparently very reliable.

Well, it took almost to the minute two hours to download. It expanded cleanly, but I'll wait until later to install and nose around. Of course I'll let you know what I think about it. How is Net Objects Fusion treating you? Or haven't you been studying it, like a good webmaster should in the best of worlds . . .

Bracken says, "Power to the Lazy Worker!" Can you believe he really thinks the world will improve if we all became lazy on the job? Next time he goes under the knife of a surgeon (knee work last year), he should slip the nurse one of his pamphlets, and have the medical staff, "go lazy on him." Then he should move to Mexico.

I understand siesta lazy is a way of life for millions down there (just another white man myth not worth its heat I suppose). The industrious ones are border rats in a life and death frenzy to land a job. The lazy are generally stupid and vacant of morals and always eager to capitulate to the swirl and swill to maintain that laziness. In this way they match the filthy rich jet setters the revolutionaries supposedly want to overthrow. Power to the Bourgeoise!

It All Adds Up, In the Heart Tony Left In San Francisco


16 Oct

picture

Seething the night fantastic...

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Most excellent letter, Steve. Every note sounded to perfection, like a toot from Miles, not that I'm an expert in that school of riff. But I do think you are hooking into that mysterious circuit where the line meets its maker that puts both the author and the reader into the same zone. Thank you for noticing my lead. Am disturbing the peace, going down the up staircases and up the down staircases today. Want to put a day sleeper back into that rear middle floor corner where hangnail dust and flakes of tooth decay mostly reside now. One ficus tree has major bug infestation spreading a jelly substance up its leaves with a thimbleful smudging that far north window. The other one had the beginnings of that same rot on some newer sprigs nearer the trunk but I think by pruning them I might just have evicted those damned bugs. As far as my life goes I don't claim to be any great motivator. Well, maybe I do, I must, if I put my grievances on display so often, knowing full well what nastiness they reveal about me. But I am merely following up on what feels most natural to my birth certificate at any given moment, kicking with all I've got to recover the life I feel born to, entitled to, suited for, and inclined to push and pull for, but can't quite keep my own internal and eternal demons at bay long enough to set the table properly. But the psychological weight is still present. Just like yourself, Sue, Tim, and nearly every other grain of sand from here to eternity. I'm no hypocrite. I'm no saint. But I do exert my own strong personality when that's the only strategy that can reconcile the dull, tedious beat of no direction, no relief that passes for the day in and day out around here.

eRighteously in pursuit of a conscientious point of view, I was in persistent boil last night. Mostly over Shipwreck Tim, Yet Another Steve Taylor, and Busy Sue Hedrick in that order, debrewing & eschewing the screwy baseball game Sue had channeled onto both middlefloor TVs to greet my sour but rising delight by the time I returned from Hechinger's with bags of dirt and manure, a few more seeds, and a bulb to stick in a socket, easily recognizing a kissup she'd already denied, once, twice, three times a cock crow earlier that morning. I ranted. I puffed. I rolled over.

When I finally cave to that stroke or that brain seizure and am in a twinkling of a cobra’s eye made a green around the gills outright vegetable, the false friends crew will soon enough scatter after the scorn and the laughter has faded to yet another dull memory. They always do.
I got what I deserved. Every choice lends itself to the pride of the past and the fret of the future. Dodging the impure calculus of the rogue ego, I can feel blessed with ample knowledge and vision today despite an occasional swipe in knocking back a few oratories and cleaning off a dozen dirty windows just to SET things straight again. Stale agitation is a rule of thumb like skeletons in the closet and cobwebs and black cats in a Halloween House, as we both push back with both feet through the thin synthetic veil of liquid skulls, broken quills, and pocket nullifications of the hack writer and his lovely dullard, condemned to digest the latest bull edicts leftover from a forgotten question and a plate of do nothing fats clogging the Dollhouse system. Sure. Opened a few doors. Closed others. But you know how working from an even keel that when the broken rudder fails, Landry, whether in the best of times or the worst of times, your own experience with Jack has shown you a good sea captain is required to know the limits of his own ship.

Meaning I would then see these pesky guests on a need to know basis. And tell them to bug off when I’m just not in the mood for somebody else’s boy noise. Sue and I no longer one mind. Eghads! What would become of life? Sue would say we’ve never been of one mind, and I say that’s exactly how I solve the equation. Let’s face it, Nimrod’s spoken. I’ve already solved for X, and now when I must solve for Y, I don’t like answer unless it’s an imaginary number. A number that spells relief when the colony of two and three gathered over and over again spell relief, not the same awkward similarity, familiarity, bucket of pedestrian drivel. That stings even me, as originator of that thought. Maybe a bit harsh. Nah, it’s the bare naked truth. Here I am in my forties and going nowhere faster than those ghetto bullets I just mentioned.
So dearies, in bringing it all back home what I'm trying so diligently to say is I'm relocating my beastly snort to the middle floor with or without spousal consent in order to embrace my own loneliness, a routine I find comforting, and not at all demeaning to whatever manhood is supposed to be. Hope to get a day bed or something sane put back in that rather homely rear corner. Without benefit of a loft setting, I want to expand my person to all the Dollhouse, work it, maximize it, by making it suitable for the right number and right combination of people and work habits, you know, the imaginary band, the literary chips gang, the occasional groveling guest, the all night facetime with digital tools a roaring against the grains of ineptitude (certainly a complex carb I don't need), then just a quiet crawl into the unquestioning sack without waking anyone of importance. Layabout guests, or crash pad dummies would have no such privileges of privacy which as a strategy might make them less willing to embrace the nearby sofa or my snoring, et cetera, but I do smell a flaw in my plans that I'll refrain from airing just now. Still have this afternoon to finish the middlefloor rear window cleaning chore. Will shake up the mystery books as we know them, but I'll come out feeling swell, not better in ages. Secrets akimbo. May divorce Sue just for the hell of it, a statement not much different than the wedding blues, most likely will not, since I told her I'd never leave her, even if I had to stand and deliver the Gettysburg address in her general direction every time she came near me with that pathetic grip on nothing, which is precisely the force of habit (to get her to actually hear if not listen, identify, and intelligently construe the words I use, and not the ones she imagines or spins) that she doesn't like, but let me tell you guys one thing, it is easier for me to do soooooomething, then get loud about feeling nearly alone in my solo quest, than it is to convince others they should also pursue their own best interests in communicating well, and standing by that communication all in the name of inventing an original life.

Greener pastures? You betcha, maybe, absolutely not. Baby Sue's a keeper. She's a lovely generous loner just like me, and needs me more than the bottom of the wine glass she loves without friction. No upshot to leaving the only family I have left. But the advantages of shaking the tree of liberty, breaking off a twig or two, catching a pecan, a peach, a pelican or two is enough is disabuse me of those terrible thoughts. Rather, I'd work into oblivion. Stagger up the stairs. Tumble into bed. Nod off to sleep as my balls and chains drop to the floor. Hear the crosswinds and dead luck gunshots the hoodies deliver like pizza around the concrete jungle gems and sneaker slicks of Greater SE. No TV. Wouldn't that be nice to finally shut off that lying lost dog. Close enough to hear the back gate coerced, control its passion, its loss. Night watchman, part owner, 40 Dollars and twenty-two cents. All alone (dancing with words). Others have retired to germane quarters. Meaning I would then see these pesky guests on a need to know basis. And tell them to bug off when I'm just not in the mood for somebody else's boy noise. Sue and I no longer one mind. Eghads! What would become of life? Sue would say we've never been of one mind, and I say that's exactly how I solve the equation. Let's face it, Nimrod's spoken. I've already solved for X, and now when I must solve for Y, I don't like answer unless it's an imaginary number. A number that spells relief when the colony of two and three gathered over and over again spell relief, not the same awkward similarity, familiarity, bucket of pedestrian drivel. That stings even me, as originator of that thought. Maybe a bit harsh. Nah, it's the bare naked truth. Here I am in my forties and going nowhere faster than those ghetto bullets I just mentioned.

Life creeps like a three chord song into our souls. How do we handle this creeping sickness? We begin to crave active roles in which we can play the exemplar or the idiot. then tear through the awful script with a code that counterfeits the messy...
Despite the constant spilt milk mop up and flatline fatigue, Sue and I, forge ahead forever linked like Greyhound and Trailways buslines, realizing there is more of the same where that came from, but we keep up this shared struggle of brotherly and sisterly love for the Dollhouse's best interests. We should have tried to adopt a few years ago. I floated the ballon several times, but our finances have never really smiled in that direction, Sue was dead set against adoption, says she's too selfish. At least, she was honest about that much. But she's nothing but generous to me. Garbage in, garbage out. Looking for an angle, Steve? It's all right here. It's right here in me. I told Len Bracken that yesterday. Tom Tenderly the gleeful mooch knows I say it to mean it, Rounthwaite, Swartwout. Williams, they all knew it too. Am I great strikes? Not half the cup of coffee I started out to be, but I don't strike out when I keep my eye on the pitch a whole lot either.

My current unhappiness stems (uh, he said stims) from the slow pace at which I work. I stay busy all the time, but it never seems enough to do all that needs to be done. I love everything I am doing these days, even the gazing. My impatience with myself is exacerbated by the sandgnats of my generation buzzing all around my head and my toys, my time and my noise. But that's what in the end is called life. I just wish I had more privacy on the one hand, and a larger, more productive staff (or as they say in the rock and roll cruiser), the fab four or five, even six or seven motivated chaps righteous enough to launch this happening idea centered around the Dollhouse media center of course (well, the Stadium-Armory commercialization project would do wonders for these urges, but that's another archive my head keeps curling up in bed with better left to other paragraphs).

Bottom line, I'm ready for change. Watch the sailors sail. Tim without a job? Can't fathom his presence around here the same way he sees it. His intuitive lack of inspiration can also be painted as an intrinsic lack of discipline because nothing stands in the way of a Tim Shipman goodhour feasted with breaking soundbarriers and a loaf of goatsheadsoup with a chosen few gathered in His honor. I want to see Tim achieve whatever goals he wishes to set, but he ain't there yet as best I figger.

Guess I should toss this one up on the wires. I'm buzzing, rambling, not a single point to make. Dirty windows are calling. It all adds up, in the heart Tony left in San Francisco...
My own 24 hours a day, after weathering the Yellow Years of unrequited punk rock notoriety, are rather sacred to me, now, but I have given them freely much too frequently to events I chafe while performing, and isn't this the root of all evil, as both Tim and Len Bracken would have me believe. And too, you would have no intellectual recourse but to throw another log on that fire of poor response as well. You have been chafing and moaning for months now. Sue is the same way. Hey, it's most people's nature. Yet faulty reckoning folks every inch of the way have no choice but to HEAR and SEE me rebelling against nonsense while they cling to and celebrate their own while all I dare to do is EVERYTHING. I do not celebrate bullshit. When I finally cave to that stroke or that brain seizure and am in a twinkling of a cobra's eye made a green around the gills outright vegetable, the false friends will soon enough scatter after the scorn and the laughter has faded to yet another dull memory. They always do. I can make most of it happen already in a flash. Even as we all slurfishly wait for the big event to crush the emptiness and falsehoods of our lives.

Life creeps like a three chord song into our souls. How do we handle this creeping sickness? We begin to crave active roles in which we can play the exemplar or the idiot. then tear through the awful script with a code that counterfeits the messy, and can only transition AFTER (after the man with a thousand plans, sang Norko) the My will versus Thy will way of life can finally produce results of a particular maybe unique toil, especially now as we all begin to recognize ourselves as the double-edged sword that rips at amazing clockspeeds its up-to-the-minute reports into our handheld brains. And in that perfected time as always the scatterers will themselves be scattered.

Guess I should toss this one up on the wires. I'm buzzing, rambling, not a single point to make. Dirty windows are calling. It all adds up, in the all too common heart Tony left in San Francisco...

Or Long Parallax Mapping the Unknown Wink And Nod


12 Oct

loss

Loss is loss...

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Sister forwarded me this untidy question. Wrote back telling her not to worry. Hoax, isn't it, she asked. Sister and husband, hardcore fundamentalists, emphasis on hardcore and fundamentalists. Amazing Mark was worshipping inside RFK Stadium last weekend. Half million strong masculine Promise Keepers rally. Reportage, parallax crew, Channel 9. Didn't hear from Amazing Mark, not even cheap ring, although sister e-mailed that I might if he must. Reside a mere two and one-half blocks away, but floating decimal point crime zone is deterrent to uninitiated. Turns out church crew turned in. Bussed out immediately with zero time for extenuating family wink and nod, driving back to Atlanta overnight to arrive just in time for sunrise Sunday service. Anywaze, proxy hoaxes are enough to sweep this observer back into typewriter and rotary telephone age, given dynamics it took for trinity branch to go wired in first place. Hicks, neither Amazing Mark nor sister attached personal commentary to fast forward hoax interrogatory.

No hoax attached to entry level politeness. Can't recall from memory what mapping she wanted to clarify. Seems data points got lost in shuffle of years and data dump of March 21, 2003. Date will live lifestyle of infamy—for would be same observer's first and only attempt in hacking Terminal, yes, already infamous Bitterzone Terminal, made manifest at 318.63 feet above sea level...

When I realized what had happened, experienced quietly, a surreal moment. No red flags, no anger, no bitterness, no crisis, no panic. You've heard many times of an event so overwhelming, so complete, it knocks breath and anxiety right out of you, like exploding powder into the remaining spill. So was as if great weight lifted, put on shelf life, an established life of average to near genius, recycled, overcooked canned goods which saved a generation. Stunned was this observer this happened right before my own spoiled eyes. They have seen the glory. The coming of the sword. Had to rely on muscles not machines. Pick and shovel, steam shocks and accumulative error.

File recovery utility used to grab bundle of files packed into digital equivalent of file cabinet full of papers and folders dredged from river basin in black scoop of mud and water. This note, evidence of subterranean recovery. My bulging body of correspondence with Steve, Lynn, Richard, Jennifer, Tom, and other fine feathers suffered the most, although my 900 page novel untitled vanished, lost to progress.
Confident, prepared myself for successful hack, MacBible turned to page where one mere line of code seemed simple enough, even for terminal virgin. Need for ginning up guts to enter terminal also simple enough. For weeks voice recognition application squatted desktop fated for trash can. App just couldn't nail my accent. Was doing no harm, but taunting me, for it knew I was known to keep clutter-free desktop. MacBible, aware that rogue icons occasionally refused to go away quietly in early version of OS X software, provided solution in quantum burst of few words and kinetic characters.

Fired up terminal, navigated successfully to proper node, typing in string of code to dispose of rogue icon. Poof, watched little bugger disappear. Then reached with right hand across keyboard to grab tall glass of iced water kept on flat desk environment. Flash message, gone too quick to read. Next. Massive screen flutter. After second or two, screen activity ceases until quarter minute later message appears stating all user's personal data was erased.

No undo possible.

Sigh. Note date. Confirm Sue—chief engineer of die Librahausen—out of town. Impeccably. Always seems to be when I commit colossal zig when should have zagged. Don't think reach across keyboard wrong. But to this day, years later, don't know why ten years of data, emails, artwork, other personal files were zapped. Simply walked away. Massive weight of creative loss transmuted to an unbearable lightness of being not felt in better part of two decades. Would retrieve some restitution from webserver. File recovery utility used to grab bundle of files packed into digital equivalent of file cabinet full of papers and folders dredged from river basin in black scoop of mud and water...

This note, evidence of subterranean recovery.

My bulging body of correspondence with Steve, Lynn, Richard, Jennifer, Tom, and other fine feathers suffered the most, although my 900 page novel untitled vanished, lost to progress. Cared less about that monstrosity than intimate sentiment fellow writers offered...

GT

Once Upon A Jewish Girl


11 Oct

jewish-girl

Once Upon A Jewish Girl

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Date: Sat Oct 11, 1997 9:42:21 AM

Hey Laura, although I had no problem opening with the previous two graphics you sent me, this most recent one, SKELETONS.BMP would not parse for Adobe Photoshop 4.0. Do you have any other more cooperative save options available to you?

Today is Sue's birthday. Mine was two weeks ago. Our 12th wedding anniversary fell two weeks prior on the 13th, so this is truly our most favorite time of the year, and despite not being raised a Jew, I certainly give a nod to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, at least in passing. We are driving to southern Maryland to a bayside crabhouse with friends this afternoon. Tomorrow we are having a small backyard gathering to roast a few birds. If you and Gary are interested in metroing into DC, we live a mere block from the Stadium-Armory metro station in the pink house at 109 Eighteenth Street, SE. We'd love to see you guys.

Did you ever get that homejob you were aiming for? My web design/Internet consulting business is finally taking off. High hopes for a real income may finally be paying off the piper, and that piper is me. My own two sites have not grown much since we last chatted as I've been so busy with business concerns. We've moved the studio down to the basement and have taken on a tenant for the other upstairs bedroom, formerly known as the Computer Room. I've known Peter for a decade, so while he's no stranger, we are finally able to stand each other's company after years of feigned consternation at the mere reputation of the other. He is currently looking for a job after leaving American University after six years of work towards his BA in Literature. Meanwhile he's putting in time at the Mac trying to prove himself worthy of support staff status should the business truly take off.

So that's our story. I know this is short notice, but I do hope you guys can put aside any possible fears I've encountered in most suburbanites of the "city" and drop on by to see us. If not, we'll catch you down the road. Take it easy.

Peace, bones, and battlescars,

Gabriel

Stitches And Snatches, Grins From Nacogdoches


11 Oct

research

Research & Development

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Date: Sat, 17 May 1997 07:29:21

Hi Gabe! sorry for the delay, kinda hard to volley with someone who won't return the serve, huh.

I am "saving" scripture letter to read after I list mine. Enjoyed your last transmission, but events preclude my sitting at the computer without interruption. Am having to do three jobs as two of the parent's caregivers have been 'out' and I am starting school, and working away from my office. Will hope for time early next week. Hope all is well in Thy house!

George

Hey, back atcha George! Glad things are as you put them, stitches and snatches, grins from Nacogdoches, and silence not some ultimate dismissal my everpresent paranoia might have me believe. Thanks for the short note which certainly helped soothe the savage beast inside. Check in when you can, and I’ll do the same. Look forward to your list. Good health and good sonship!

GT

Date: Fri Oct 10, 1997 3:49:12 PM America/New_York

Well old pal,

As you’ve crossed my mind many times in the past few months, what was it, middle of May since you last found your way into my mailbox, I finally took the chance that you weren’t peeved at me for some ungodly reason so much as crowded in a life of things and persons you can see and touch, and simply fuzzied me out of the already blurred picture. I mean, the last I read you were starting a class, and then were to compile a TOP 10 scripture list, having refused to peek at mine until you had completed your own…

Oh well, the best laid plains…

Hope this ruthless old world is treating you and your family, particularly your elderly ones with grace and kindness. I hope to hear from you some day, but if I don’t, what we DID share certainly improved my lot in the spring of ’97.

Best regards,

Gabriel

Date: Sat, 11 Oct 1997 09:09:52

Another Galaxie heard from. Yes, your latter assumption is the most accurate...the details of life come so rapidly, and with such force, I am only able to work on details that are directly in my line of sight...however, I have not forgotten.

Picking just ten favorite scriptures proved to be beyond my current capabilities. It seems, I would pick some, and others would pop up having more influence and meaning than the last...and so my friend...ANYTHING I say will be a spurrious comment, an insignificant inanity, a compilation of what has only just recently passed under my nose.

Speaking of minutia, have you read about, or seen on TV the lastest discoveries regarding black holes? Steven Hawking et al are coming to some startling conclusions about the space time theories developed by Einstein…as mass goes infinite, time stops. The quantum singularity fits the biblical description of the pit, abyss, hell…from which there is no return, no light at all escapes.
Since last we "spoke," many adventures, and opportunities have come and gone. Summer was too fast this year, with only the bare minimum amount of goofing off. The adventures that I was able to pull off, will have to last me, because from here untill spring, it looks like serious adult type stuff.

My engineering/inventing business took a giant step forward in June, when the President of the company got fired from her day job as Operations Mgr. for a telecommunications company. She went to work full time for me, writing business plans, and setting up trade shows; hireing marketing staff, and design consultants; and generally preparing us to seek venture capitol, and the licensing/sale of new technologies. It is strenuous for me, because everyone feels they have right and duty to 'question' the inventor, pick apart the product, and reinvent the wheel. I've become glazed over, trying to thicken my skin, and supress the urge to just tell questioners "fuck you, if you can't see the future...rot in your own waste in the present!"

We both know how satisfying that is for a moment, but to truly "change" the world, we must bless it's myopia, and try to heal it. To influence, and encourage a way to think differently. We will not transcend the wheel without struggle and sacrifice.

My sacrifice, it seems, is to continue to play the game of patiently waiting for others to "get it." Wade through their arguments about why it won't work, wait through the innanities of financial chaos, and be ready, willing, and able to cheerfully present intellectual property, to anyone who may have the key to utilizing it. Since the only time I'm truly happy these days is in my R&D lab, proving theories, I am aiming at delegating all other aspects of the engineering to contractors, so I can build full time.

Two days ago, I said "screw the world"...turned off the phone, didn't answer the door...and "built" a better mouse trap, that I concieved (and patented) in 1988. It is a vacuum attachment. One baits it, plugs the vacuum into it, and when a sensor is activated by the pest, it automatically vacuums the little critter into a 'safetrap' or disposal bag (depending on how humane the user feels tword rodentia). It is automatically set to get the next one 3 seconds later.

Little stuff like that keeps my mind occupied untill I am able to establish consensus regarding more important issues that Innovative Engineering Inc. has the solutions for; such as, eleminating landfills, cleaning up toxic waste, and overcomming gravity, to name a few.

Oh well, on with the minutia of life.

Speaking of minutia, have you read about, or seen on TV the lastest discoveries regarding black holes? Steven Hawking et. al. are comming to some startling conclusions about the space time theories developed by Einstien...as mass goes infinite, time stops. The quantum singularity fits the biblical description of the pit, abyss, hell...from which there is no return, no light at all escapes.

Well, I hope you and yours are well and happy. Please don't think that I'm ignoring you, if I am not writing...just an overwhelmed thinker, trying to keep up...but am always interested in an exchange, even if time does not permit.

Blessings,

George

Odd & Ends Of The Hard Gee


10 Oct

throne03xsamplex

Originally published on October 10, 1997

Just in case you wanted to join in this offshoot from Engst's Tidbits, and one should perhaps also drop this to Berman, ha ha ho ho! And did I tell you? Garfinkel snuffed the IAG account, poof gone. I deleted the web server files earlier this week. His letter graciously thanked me for my efforts, but admitted that the site was a failure. Not that he gave it much a shot. Just another dreamer that a tiny fledgling website would instantly suck in a flood of specific visitors. Of course he ended with the obligatory carrot of future work, yuckety yuck...

From the—It's "Jiff" and I Don't Want to Hear Another Word—department, I find that while logic may dictate the "g" in GIF (Graphic Interchange Format) is pronounced hard, like gift or gefilte fish, that hasn't stopped dozens and dozens of readers from offering opinions, many of them hilarious.

However, several people wrote to say that they either worked with folks at CompuServe or read the original GIF specification, all of which specified a soft "g". None of us at NetBITS understand why we haven't seen the definitive word before, so here it is. Charlie Reading writes:

"I worked with the creator of GIF (Steve Wilhite) when I was still employed by CompuServe. Steve always pronounced it "jiff" and would correct those who pronounced it with a hard G. "Choosy developers choose GIF" (spinning off of a historically popular peanut butter commercial)."

Well I, for one, will stand by the hard "G" as in gipper. I prefer the all natural crunchy peanut butter, anyway. And I'm not about to be given pronunciation lessons from a Compuservant. Interesting bit of history, nonetheless. Over the years I've noticed that almost all graphic arts types pronounce it hard, while a certain percentage of computer types go soft...

Still In Search For That Illusive Dollar Bill


22 Sep

trucking-vslues

Trucking Values

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On Sep 22, 1997, Karen Spangler wrote:

Just an update on what I've been trying to accomplish for GSIS in getting new clients. I had dinner with an old friend of mine, Bill Anderson, who is President of Perling Truck Corporation and President of UAP of America (which is a subsidiary of Perling Truck Corp.) Attached is a copy of his business card. I spoke of your company and about my role in seeking out new business opportunities for GSIS. He said his companies do not have web sites at this time but expressed an interest in having web sites created toward the end of October.

Bill has a copy of the brochure and data sheet. I feel we need to get a follow-up lketter out to him right away mentioning my name.

Also, I had lunch with Jeff Cramer, Director of Marketing for Faster Copy in Vienna. (A copying company similar to Kinkos.) After telling him about your company and what my role is, he expressed an interest in having his company's current web site enhanced. I told him your company is equipped to >handle this and said I would send him a letter, along with a brochure and data sheet.

Do you have a standard letter you send out? Do you want to send it or should I send it? Let me know your thoughts on this. —Karen

Hey Karen,

With all the office/new tenant shuffle of late monkeying all my time, I am finally just now focussing on your memorandum. As you will note I have sent a follow-up E-mail to Bill Anderson, and a query to Owen Chaffee. As for Jeff Cramer, I suppose I can draft a appropriate letter, but his situation brings me to several points I want to make, and since I am making points, I might as well articulate all the issues of the hour concerning our future, for the record:

1) First, we are absolutely estatic that you are serious concerning bonafide opportunities for your own financial growth as it relates to our own. Yes, we are delighted to have you aboard, as you fill an important niche we have had impossible difficulty in filling in years past. As the GSIS public relations contact, your professional and upbeat demeanor will serve to spark initial interest in our services, solidify a complex deal, as well as being available to encourage the client over the course of the contract. Once we have ironed out the still emerging wrinkles in our sales routine, Karen, you will no doubt be well worth the 20% plus bonuses you will earn.

There are many ways to approach the next step in creating a successful business. While we certainly want as much work as we can handle, we can not afford to move too fast either. On the other hand, the time is ripe for making our mark. But whatever path we take, I want to thank you again for contributing to our vision of a healthy company, fueled by friendship and the motto of professional approach, professional results. Your friendship means a lot to Sue, and it means a lot to me.
2) We need to get you wired at home. Once we have regained our financial footing after this most recent spending spree with a few additional clients, if you still cannot afford a computer, I see no other option but to buy you something on the company store ledger. That is to say, while you can quite conceivably sell a few clients in the beginning exploiting that wonderfully keen Karen Spence natural charm and beauty, ease of communication, thorough knowledge of our services, products and web arcania in general, plus having reliable access to any client or related sites, all press one into the position of having to work from the environment from which one is advocating. We will discuss this scenario at greater length perhaps over crabs this weekend.

3) And to that end, you'll need to be briefed on our operational procedures, which of course are still emerging with the addition of Peter Burris and yourself to the GSIS fold. This is all rather new, and no one is being fingered for pulling up slack, so don't worry about that, okay? In fact, the delicate timing of all this gearing up seems perfectly tuned to some unnamed cosmic consciousness. Bottomline is our office won't be completely brought from chaos to order until my wall of bookshelves is installed at the end of next week, plus a couple of days organizing them. After that task is completed, and I can find my odds & ends again, we'll be poised for success. I hope that you'll then be able to find appropriate time to stop by the office, get up to speed on the web lingo, and basically learn as you go everything you'll need to know to make a difference.

4) We no doubt need more brochures, a definitive bio for yourself to be included in the brochure and on the website. I added Peter to http://www.imote.com/istaff.html earlier this week. The worksheet, contract, or data sheet (as you referred to it) will probably be utilized as a general guideline from which a final bid and contract is tabulated, but I am hoping to become less involved with a la carte pricing and more confident in providing the client a huge array of services within a given price range. We will discuss this further in greater detail, because once you are up to snuff, I feel that you should be qualified to quote prices in your role as PR/sales rep. Any less responsibility would probably warrant a mere finder's fee of 10%, and while we will hammer out these details in the coming weeks, I wanted you to be aware of my perspective on your full role as I would like it to be, part-time as it is, nevertheless, because I see you as a very important piece in the Graphic Solutions Ink Systems big picture.

5) Of course once all of the above has been satisfied we will know what to do with Jeff Cramer and similar situations. You should have secured his businesscard, or at the very least, his website URL. But I'll do a Net search after I zip this off to you)., and will troubleshoot the situation today. Hopefully I'll find his site, and will jump at the chance with all sorts of ideas on how to improve it, and end by contacting Jeff by E-mail if he is listed at his site, or my snail mail if I come up empty. Thanks for these two contacts, but as I said, I hope we can grow together, so that you can take more responsibility leaving me to design and manage, Sue to keep the financial books and general Mac networking, and Peter, well, Peter will back me up until I find a niche for his own strong suits, which by the way don't seem to overlap many of mine.

Anywaze, Karen, we look forward to this weekend. Hope you find the tone of this note gentle and even-handed. Except for Pitch's E-mail contribution a few weeks ago, nothing's written in stone. There are many ways to approach the next step in creating a successful business. While we certainly want as much work as we can handle, we can not afford to move too fast either. On the other hand, the time is ripe for making our mark. But whatever path we take, I want to thank you again for contributing to our vision of a healthy company, fueled by friendship and the motto of professional approach, professional results. Your friendship means a lot to Sue, and it means a lot to me.

See ya Saturday still in search for that illusive dollar bill,

Gabriel Thy
Creative Director
Graphic Solutions Ink Systems
http://www.imote.com

Red-Eye Gravy For An Old Rump Roast As Chuck Berry Takes A Polite Bow


19 Sep

chuck-berry

Chuck Berry Takes A Bow

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Originally published on September 19, 1997

Thanks for all the little notes you've wafted down along the Greater Southeast Peripatetic Olfactory Canal lately. Read them devotedly, bookmarked accordingly, grinned when our own thoughts have been replicated in the "real" press, et cetera. Been busy finishing off the A&F site. Now I move into the promotion and maintenance phase. A six-month contract. This Always & Forever contract should prove to be a keeper. Sue's going out to Hector's farm today to load AOL on his Performa out there, and also to begin formulating his farm site by gathering up horse pics.

Newsburst. Peter Burris is moving into the Dollhouse basement next weekend for a season or two, the Sunday following my 42th birthday. Yes, happy and all that. We'll be hosting a few in a quiet gathering after work on Friday. Blumstein celebrates his last day at Columbia Research on the same night. He hasn't responded to my E-mail inviting him and Allie over, but I reckon he might have other celebrationary options up his sleeve. We still haven't tossed the balls since that night of the pokerfaced airconditioning mishap a month ago.

We plan to throw a lot of cash and sweat at the basement as you've already been made aware. Timing is gonna be tight to get all the damned ducks in a row, but everybody involved is psyched to making it work. So Peter might be camping out for a few days or a week until we cut the ribbon. This has all been rather sudden. A year ago I would have never dreamed that PHB would welcome or even be welcomed into this house on any sort of long-term and, uh, familiar basis.

Time does tend to change our perspectives for better AND worse, n'est pas? Karen may have landed us a huge trucking company account, but it won't kick in until late October as the owner puts the finishing touches on a multimillion dollar startup company. It's not in the basket yet, but is almost a sure thing, as he's an ex-and-wouldbe-current beau. She's really excited about her new role as GSIS sales rep. So are we. And best of all, she's no mirror mashed maniac like the rest of us. She's a levelheaded bubbly sort, who just has too many potential contacts to not exploit. So we've all stepped up to the plate looking for that fat pitch down the middle.

By the way, Karen gave Pitch a major bitching over that condescending kissoff note he wrote me, from her own volition. She told Sue about it later. Pitch had CC'd the note to her. Apparently she read it the same way I did. Sue's often characterized Karen as not being too awfully smart. I haven't been around her that much, but she continues to impress me with her downhome country wisdom. She's nobody's fool. She loves Sue, and is always cratcheting Hector about undervaluing Sue. And her mother loves me, in Karen's words. Now isn't that just gravy for an old roast like me. We have suddenly found ourselves bright-eyed and bushy-butted, primed for the feast.

And just think, not too long ago . . .

GT

Today In History


19 Sep

emperors

If It Matters At All

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Originally published on September 19, 1997

Thanks for all the little notes you've wafted down this way lately. Read them, bookmarked accordingly, grinned when our own thoughts have been replicated in the "real" press, et cetera. Been busy finishing off the A&F site. Now I move into the promotion and maintenance phase. A six-month contract. I expect that the Always & Forever site will pay a few dividends. At least, there's yurnover, therefore uopdates, although I'm throwing in two hours of updates a month in the $55/month contract. Sue's going out to Hector's farm today to load AOL on his Performa out there, and also to begin formulating his farm site by gathering up horse pics.

News. Peter Burris is moving into the Dollhouse basement next weekend for a season or two, the Sunday following my 42th birthday. Yes, happy and all that. We'll be hosting a few a quiet gathering after work on Friday. Blumstein celebrates his last day at Columbia Research on the same night. He hasn't responded to my E-mail inviting him and Allie over, but I reckon he might have other celebrationary options up his sleeve. We still haven't talked since that night of the pokerfaced airconditioning mishap a month ago.

We plan to throw a lot of cash and sweat at the basement as you've already been made aware. Timing is gonna be tight to get all the damned ducks in a row, but everybody involved is psyched to making it work, and so Peter might be camping out for a few days or a week until we cut the ribbon. This has all been rather sudden. A year ago I would have never dreamed that PHB would welcome or be welcomed in this house on this sort of long-term familiar basis.

Time does tend to change our perspectives for better AND worse, n'est pas? Karen may have landed us a huge trucking company account, but it won't kick in until late October as the owner puts the finishing touches on a multimillion dollar startup company. It's not in the basket yet, but is almost a sure thing, as he's an ex-and-wouldbe-current beau. She's really excited about her new role as GSIS sales rep. So are we. And best of all, she's no mirror mashed maniac like the rest of us. She's a levelheaded bubbly sort, who just has too many potential contacts to not exploit. So we've all stepped up to the plate looking for that fat pitch down the middle.

By the way, Karen gave Pitch a major bitching over that condescending kissoff note he wrote me, from her own volition. She told Sue about it later. Pitch had CC'd the note to her. Apparently she read it the same way I did. Sue's often characterized Karen as not being too awfully smart. I haven't been around her that much, but she continues to impress me with her downhome country wisdom. She's nobody's fool. She loves Sue, and is always cratcheting Hector about undervaluing Sue. And her mother loves me, in Karen's words. Now isn't that just gravy for an old roast like me. We have suddenly found ourselves bright-eyed and bushy-butted, primed for history, the feast.

And just think, not too long ago . . .

GT

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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