How is it I can forget every great idea I have in the shower before I put on clothes?
Thursday, October 23, 2014
Why is it that toothpaste, soap, dish soap, cooking oil, salt and spices, toilet paper and paper towels; all run out at the same time and it's always when you have the least money to spend?
Google has come to be synonymous with technology, technology means you have a bit of sense. So why does this writer not have the sense to write in a coherent manner?
The dirty secret of Google's self-driving cars
They've 700,000 miles, but mostly the same few thousand miles, over and over again -- because the cars only work if every single light, piece of street furniture, and other detail is mapped and verified by armies of human and computer analysts, and when anything changes, the mapping needs to be re-created.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
I went to public school all but two years of my forced education. The two years of private school were drastically different. The contrast of these two schools is what formed who I am today. My first private school experience was at age 8. I attended a small private school in rural North Carolina. Every one there from the instructors to the students were caring and giving. There was very little bullying and when there was it was halted immediately most by other students but occasionally by the instructors.
This school had a lot of alternative options for the students. This was 1980-1981 and I had my first chance to use a computer at this school. The instructor taught us how computers worked and also explained the internal parts and functions of a computer. These were also Apples, not your everyday IBM PC of that era. We were also given extensive time outside, often basic classes were outside on nice days. The headmaster had two dogs and they often ran the campus where we could socialize with them.
The next year was a new town, new school, new culture, bad experiences. Assuming all private schools were as good as the last, I was enrolled into a catholic all boys school in Tampa, Florida. Most instructors were nuns, although they dressed casually without the normal habit and garb. The instructors had no concerns for the students and attention was only given in the form of negative discipline. I would witness many students paddled to the point of child abuse even for that time.
I was the personal punching bag for kids 3-4 years older than myself. Once I was tied to a tether ball pole and kicked repeatedly for ten to twenty minutes simply because I hung out with the “other kids”. The “other kids” were of different colors and cultural makeups than the typical white catholic kids.
One of my friends was from India and he and I stayed pretty tight as a means of defense. He was hindu therefor he would not put his hand over his heart or raise the flag. This became a difficult situation for him since each student had to raise the flag during the school year. He was punished with a week of in school suspension, which meant he sat in the office during classes and completed his studies. When my turn came around I took a stand and refused. I had no religious or cultural basis for my refusal other than my friend stood up for himself so I was taking a stand with him. I received the same punishment as he, and learned that it also included slaps to the wrist with the metal end of a ruler on an hourly basis. With all that, I was born into the rebellious punk kid I am today.
The next year I entered public school in urban Tampa. Woodrow Wilson Junior High school would be my fate based on geography. This school had a drastic mix of poor and rich. I saw everything from kids dropped off in limos to kids walking in torn up shoes. My latter years at this school were the Miami Vice days. Again these things shaped my life as I was witnessing drug use, sexual activity, and the use of alcohol by minors. Often I would hear stories of how great the weekend party was, the keg, Saturday Night Live, so on. Each story made me thankful that my Mother offered me discipline and safety without force. I was free to ride my bike whenever and wherever, yet I was given gentle guidance to become a decent human being.
These were the developmental years that made me punk rock just before I found punk rock. I remember vividly being handed a Suicidal Tendencies tape along with a Minor Threat tape. These were played to exhaustion and I often hear them in my head with the slower worn out beat from an excessively played tape. Now I was alive and all the talk of keg parties, drug use and so on were just a reason for me to laugh and not be them. The lawyer, doctor, bankers kids had nothing on me and I was not going to be like them. For better or worse I am still not like them and I am growing further from them every second.
The bullies of this world have become out of touch with humanity, and all that we share on Earth. We must be caretakers, not exploiters. We must also appreciate all the hardships that have come in our lives for they along with the good are what make us who we are.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
This is something I have tried to write about for a very long time. It isn’t so much that it is difficult for me to talk about, but it is difficult for me to explain with total clarity for others to understand. Each relationship I have had has dug me deeper into a depressed state and deeper into a lack of communication and expression. This doesn’t just include intimate relationships although they are the predominant issues, but just people who were once friends, people that I found to be much too negative to be around, people who turned there backs and those who broke promises.
It’s easy to put all the blame on others, but I equally take the blame and as time moves on I know my reactions are coming from past experiences that may not be the same reactions from other people.
Some of my first memories as a small child are from abuse. I remember the sexual abuse from my father vividly and no one can take these thoughts and memories away. I remember the physical abuse form my father and the emergency stitches given to me on a pool table in a doctors basement. It would have been too much embarrassment to take me to a hospital and have others see me like I was. The scar is still there, but not as evident as the memories I still see. Maybe the hospital was just too far and the doctor’s basement was the next best thing.
These things set me back from an early age, but I’m still here to remember these thoughts so that is better than the outcome others have had.
Small promises that were broken when I thought what people said meant something. Very petty promises yet promised all the same stick in my mind like grudges that could push mountains. I still feel them although I know it is nothing more than my own thoughts. I can’t expect circumstances to give way to other’s words.
Failed relationships and breakdowns in communication that I feel could have possibly been prevented and now I just see them as some sort of justice that I do not believe in. If I follow my lineage through time I will see that each patriarch rose to the top but died at the bottom. Should I try to give my best will and change this or accept it as karmic fate? I believe this only as far as I can use it for an excuse. I could get out of this depression and change myself, but maybe I am not meant to. Who knows. I certainly don’t know and I don’t understand what makes anyone else think they know.
The drawing that a physiologist made me draw after my parent’s divorce. Could those things be the root of why I feel things should be the way I wish they could be? The physiologist would say draw your family. I would draw my mom, my dad, and myself in front of my house. He would ask why I had two parents in the drawing. Well I have two parents. Regardless of divorce, I have two parents. Therefor when asked to draw my family I would do so. If today I were asked to draw the same thing it would take much longer to draw all the people I see as family, not to mention many of those family members are quite large.
Could it be the “don’t talk to strangers”, “just say no”, get your kids fingerprinted, child abduction, constant plane hijacking, reason for terror society that I grew up in?
The world has become a scary place and as thankful as I am for having what I have, knowing who I know, all the great experiences, and great things I have accomplished; I still see the reason to be fearful of others.
Maybe it was the first girlfriend who cheated on me several times, and turned the table accusing me of raping her just as she had done to past boyfriends. Maybe it was the first wife who cheated on me as well but told a judge she wanted a divorce due to me being atheist and her christian. Thats a strange accusation coming from someone with wiccan and krishna tattoos. Maybe none of this should even be brought up and I should see the thanks I have. I’ll agree with that, but I need to put it on paper so I can see the trail I have gone down and all that built this weariness.
I need to see my own light at the end of my own tunnel. If I see someone else’s light I only see false hope. I need it done by myself. Asking for help is a huge first step, but so difficult when so many turned their backs and you don’t know who to trust in asking. Sometimes I may see a great person in which to have a relationship with as my reason to get better, only to wear that person down with a distrust in understanding. How can I expect anyone to understand when no one has lived my life? Relativity only goes so far and maybe I need someone below my idea of relativity.
Some close friends say I have had a very hard live. I don’t see it as such and I don’t know why they would either. I know I’ve had tough times, but I know I have helped many others going through harder times. There is no hardest of times, because somewhere someone has never known love or compassion and is taking her or his last breathe. Some where there is the greatness of peace where food is plentiful and willingly shared. Love and shelter is given freely because we all know we must create together or there is no appreciation towards creating a better world.
The one who says we must no longer fight those who fight us, is talking to both sides, not just one. We must realize that in seeing differences, past experiences, and all that life has given us then we must respect one another equally and not indifferently. The indifference comes from our experiences that have jaded us. These experiences create hate over race, sex, culture, religion… so on. In order to turn or experiences into positives we must go out, find that same person who made us jaded and create a love for them that they can not deny. Don’t take that as literal as it may sound. Take it as a way to better our lives. Go out, help those whom you have never helped.
Now that the peace love and kumbaya has been spread, we must prepare our defenses. Even the greatest of monks is prepared to defend. Even buddah has a fury and rage. We must be ready and act only when needed. Our attitude to love leads to a lack of offensiveness, but it can be viewed as weakness to others. Never let the willingness to care for others leave you vulnerable. Take care of self, take care of others. Pretty simple if we can only wipe away the past of cultural and mental indifferences.