About the Host
I currently reside in the state of California, a state where the average middle-class worker makes $50K per year and the average middle-class house costs $305K. We overthrew the government, ousting Gray Davis, and injecting the Terminator. This robot fellow promised to "not be a politician." Apparently, his program has some bugs. However, he does smoke a big cigar, drive a Humvee, and smile a lot. He even rides a motorcycle without a license. I'm waiting for sparks to fly from his head as he short circuits on his own, empty promises.
I teach technology classes at a small college. For those of you who are technologically challenged, that means I spend a lot of time during my day talking about computers, specifically Windows, which is a non-functioning program from a huge corporation called Microsoft. Thankfully, Microsoft continues to crank out non-functioning programs, so my job is secure.
As for being born, that happened a long time ago. My parents did a good job raising my brother and me. My father provided a comfortable life and my mother provided the discipline, sometimes using a gallon of ice cream travelling at high speed. Both of them provided love and support. My brother believes our family was dysfunctional. After watching other families and seeing the results of the kid's lives from those families, I'd say my family was normal. Then again, there is that high-speed ice cream incident.
My brother lives in Flagstaff, Arizona, a city on old Route 66 that is populated by about 50,000 people, none of whom can drive very well. When he first moved there, it was populated by the Northern Arizona University football team, the employees of Alpine pizza, and a guy named Lou. It's grown and, according to my brother, not in a good way. There are simply too many people and not enough ducks. He is currently seeking to relocate himself and his wife to a new domicile in Oregon, having purchased a home on the outskirts of nothing. To him, the population will still be too high. Hopefully, there will be enough ducks to keep up with the demand.
Unlike me, my brother has been married for a long time-- and to the same person! They are perfect for each other, like bookends holding up classic Dickens novels on a solid oak bookcase. They are so united together, I'm sure a country and western song will be written of their marriage. I often wonder if the song will mention the ice cream and its alarming speed.
My brother's son is now married. That just makes it clear how long I've been hanging around. He was a Marine and served his country well. When my dad died, there he was, in full uniform, laying his hat on the casket as an offering, a sign of reverence and respect. He's a great kid and, as far as I know, has never faced fast-moving ice cream.
As hard as it might be to imagine, I was born and raised during a time when there was no Internet. My generation spent our days outside in the sunshine and our tans were real, not artificially induced from the glow of a monitor. Kids then didn't have e-mail, chat rooms, or URLs. No kid I knew ever performed an illegal instruction and was shut down. Kids then didn't have Playstations or Nintendos. We were old fashioned, riding bicycles instead of simulating them. We played baseball, football, and basketball, and exercised our bodies instead of our wrists using the joystick. We sometimes did these things at night-- with no lights, and we lived to tell the tale. As I recall, everything was uphill, and there was a lot of snow, and we were constantly dodging ice cream. And, yes, that's the whole point. My generation used something that seems to be lost now: our imaginations.
So, what you will read on this board is from a different time. I am not particularly awed by technology, which may seem odd since I teach others how to use it. Still, a 3GHz dual-core P4 with 2G RAM, 128M AGP GFX, USB2, and a 120G HD does not send chills up my spine. If you understood any of that last sentence, you may want to step outside and get a breath of what we call "fresh air." Cell phones are a particular annoying technological marvel. The things ring in the middle of everything and, since rudness is the standard these days, everyone answers the things: in movies, in class, probably even in an operating room. It seems a difficult task now to find a person without a cell phone permanently attached to the side of their head and I'm sure someone in California will be the first to have one surgically implanted in their brain. At least, then, they'll understand the ringing in their ears. I am also not a huge fan of this monster we call the Internet (the capital I is forced upon us by the spell checking gremlins who live somewhere inside of Windows). This statement, of course, seems contradictory since I am using the Internet to deliver this message. I would discuss this further, but I have just been alerted to incoming ice cream missles.
