SILICON SOAPWARE wafting your way along the slipstreams of the Info Highway from Bubbles = Tom Digby = bubbles@well.com http://www.well.com/~bubbles/ Issue #142 New Moon of July 24, 2006 Contents copyright 2006 by Thomas G. Digby, with a liberal definition of "fair use". In other words, feel free to quote excerpts elsewhere (with proper attribution), post the entire zine (verbatim, including this notice) on other boards that don't charge specifically for reading the zine, link my Web page, and so on, but if something from here forms a substantial part of something you make money from, it's only fair that I get a cut of the profits. Silicon Soapware is available via email with or without reader feedback. Details of how to sign up are at the end. ********************* My college alumni newsletter contained an announcement that the Kingston Trio would be performing on campus. That brought back memories of the folk-music boom of the early 1960's. If you're not familiar with the group, you can look them up on the Web at http://www.kingstontrio.com/ They started in 1957, and had their first big hit in 1958. They sort of faded during the Psychedelic Era when tastes changed and too many other groups were competing for the same audience. They even disbanded for a while, but now they're back. Well, they're sort of back. As someone I mentioned them to pointed out, the group does not currently have any of its founding members. But then neither does the US Marine Band. http://www.marineband.usmc.mil/ If the Marine Band can continue through a complete turnover of members, I would think the Kingston Trio could as well. Would Peter, Paul, and Mary be a different story? Does that group's identity depend more strongly on its members, perhaps because of the way the group's name emphasizes them? And what of groups that were named for their leader, like "Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians" or "Les Brown and his Band of Renown" or "Dion and the Belmonts"? Are the leaders of those groups irreplaceable in the sense that it wouldn't be the same group any more with that one particular person gone? There may be points to ponder here. ********************* As I mentioned above, the Kingston Trio has been going, off and on, almost fifty years. That means their music is now reaching stars dozens of light-years away. Perhaps at this moment beings on a distant planet are tuning up what to them would pass for banjos and guitars, painstakingly reverse-engineered from fuzzy TV images and modified for their alien-to-us physiology. In moments they will burst into song: It takes a worried Zlarrgh to sing a worried song, It takes a worried Zlarrgh to sing a worried song. It takes a worried Zlarrgh to sing a worried song, I'm worried now, but I won't be worried long. That word spelled "Zlarrgh" isn't really pronounced that way, but that's sort of how most humans would hear it. It can't really be formed by human vocal apparatus, and can't really be perceived accurately by human neural circuitry. So "Zlarrgh" is just an approximation. The rest of the words are dubbed from the broadcasts, electronically noise-filtered, and transposed into the Zlarrgh hearing range. The singers would be lip-syncing, except that Zlarrghs don't have lips. But they're doing their equivalent, and doing fairly well at it. The Trio's first big hit was "Tom Dooley", but there were problems with that one. Zlarrghs don't have necks, so they can't hang their heads like Tom Dooley is told to do in the chorus of the song. They can't be hanged either. And even if they could, there are no oak trees on their planet to hang anybody from. They might be able to genetically engineer something, but they're not sure of the differences between oaks and maples and sycamores and other kinds of trees, or whether what they eventually come up with would be suitable. So scratch "Tom Dooley" from the program. But even so, they're really into Terran folk music. Of course the real fun will come when the subsequent Psychedelic-Era signals start arriving. ********************* Talk of the early Sixties reminded me of a minor mystery from my college days. Someone spray-painted on a sidewalk in foot-high letters the words "Rember [sic] the Olympics". What was that supposed to mean? The prevailing opinion was that "Rember" was just "Remember" with some letters left out, but that didn't really answer much. Which Olympics were we supposed to remember? As I recall, at the time there weren't any Olympics in progress or recently concluded or about to happen. And I don't think there were any current Olympics-related news stories either. So were we to remember the most recent Olympics, even if nothing especially memorable had happened there, or some earlier ones, or what? Or was it a call to somehow keep the general concept of the Olympics in mind as we want about our daily lives? No one could rightly say. As is generally the case with graffiti, the writer never came forward. Over time the incident gradually faded from people's minds as other happenings took center stage. Now we may never know the answer. And at this late date, more than forty years down the road, does anybody even care? ********************* I noticed some neighbors loading stuff into their car like they might be moving. So I asked. The discussion didn't start off that well: "Are you guys moving?" "Yes." "Where to?" "Next week." Further discussion clarified things. They're actually moving to San Diego. But that first bit brought up thoughts of time travelers and other science-fictional stuff which I dared not mention lest language problems lead us into a verbal and conceptual quagmire. The thought of one's neighbors being time travelers who have for some reason decided to move to next week is still kind of interesting, even if I did feel I couldn't discuss it with them. ********************* Have you ever thought of the kinds of language constructs you might hear around some place like the Time Patrol offices? Receptionist to caller: "Sorry, he isn't now right now." Framed motto on somebody's office wall: "Whenever you go, then you are." And so on. ********************* On the way back from dinner a few nights ago I stopped by a gas station that usually has lower prices than the stations closer to home. This time they outdid themselves, albeit probably unintentionally. As usual, I fed a five dollar bill into the machine. Usually the machine takes it, but sometimes it rejects it and I have to try another bill. This time it started to accept it but then changed its mind and regurgitated it after registering it as having been accepted. Was the machine too full of money? Whatever the reason for the machine's actions, I ended up getting free gas. As I was pumping the gas I began to feel a sort of mischievous nervous high. It felt sort of like I'd found the money, and sort of like I was getting away with something. Or maybe it was a gift from the gods. In any event I didn't feel like I should go in and try to explain things to the attendant. I put the bill in my shirt pocket so I could hand it over if the attendant came running out demanding it, but he didn't. He might not have even known anything out of the ordinary had happened. Some account will eventually come up five dollars short, but since it's an automated thing I don't think they'll be able to blame the attendant. Like I said, I didn't feel I should go in and try to explain it. It wasn't like a human cashier handing me too much change. This was faceless automated corporate stuff. Besides, I don't know how well the attendant would have understood my attempts to explain. So I just sort of scampered away (to the extent that one can scamper by car) with my ill-gotten gains. ********************* An example of how I got the name "Bubbles": One evening as I was starting my post-dinner walk I noticed a bunch of teenagers standing around a Starbucks near the place I'd eaten at. Since they were downwind I let fly with some soap bubbles from about fifty feet away. I was rewarded with laughter and gleeful shouts. After a minute or two of this I went on my way. ********************* There was an article in a recent issue of Science (June 30, 2006) about population and birth rates. According to the article, most of the industrialized world is losing population because birth rates are below that needed for replacement. Authorities in those places are trying to raise their birth rates, but with little success. The writers of the article seem to be assuming that continued population growth is a good thing, or at least that declines in population are bad. They base that on economics, mainly on whether there will be enough younger workers in the future as the population in general ages. They pretty much ignored esthetic and spiritual considerations. I feel that rather than blindly trying for continued growth we ought to rethink our basic assumptions. There are some things scientists cannot measure, even though policy makers need to keep them in mind, or maybe in their hearts and souls. ********************* "Anything it did not occur to us that you might want to do is forbidden." ********************* I was at the Laundromat unloading a machine or something when someone walked in with a question: "Can I leave stuff here?" "You mean like flyers and religious tracts and such? Or just general stuff you want to get rid of? I don't think the owner would like that, but if he can't trace it back to you there's not much he can do but just throw it away." "I mean can I drop off laundry to be washed and pick it up later?" "No. This place is strictly self-service." "OK. I'll try somewhere else." No, the conversation didn't actually go like that. I just sort of gave him a blank look after his initial question, and he quickly added the explanation before I was able to ask him what kind of stuff he wanted to leave. But I think the way I wrote it up is more interesting. ********************* I recently saw a picture of a statue of a baseball player in the act of swinging, or getting ready to swing, or just having swung, or something like that. It isn't clear to me. But be that as it may, I got to thinking about how after hitting the ball the batter just drops the bat and leaves it for somebody else to pick up as he starts his trip around the bases. Doesn't that encourage littering? Wouldn't it be better to have a booth located somewhere between home plate and first base where the batter can check the bat in properly as he transitions to being a runner? I know he's generally in a hurry at that point, so it would be best to keep the paperwork to a minimum. A signature on a checklist about the condition of the bat (cracks, etc.) and confirmation of the player's identity with a Social Security number or something should suffice, perhaps along with a phone number in case there are any problems with that bat later. I suspect baseball players don't like to carry cash around with them during the game, so any monetary redemption value on the bat should just be credited to the player's account. Not having to deal with cash also makes security at the booth easier. How do I go about getting this adopted? I think it would give the game a much better image among environmentalists. ********************* There's been a major heat wave lately, and electric power supply and demand has been in the news. Today's peak load for California was around fifty gigawatts (a gigawatt is a thousand megawatts). Although that may sound like a lot, it's only a little more than half a milligram per second of E = MC^2. Doesn't sound like much that way, does it? ********************* The Trade Camping at an oasis in the Mashed Potato Desert I float on waters of wonder, Ignoring for now the bland sameness all around. I drift toward the sound of strange songs And spy a great wild bird Come to drink at the oasis. It lets me look deep into its eyes To see there the desolation from which it came, The hell-demons who in their obscene games Of rending and twisting lumps of desert blandness Will now and then chance to spin A transmutation of pain, A thing of wild beauty So alien to the demons That their nets of gold are as smoke it its path. There is one lure which can draw it, But its use would require the demons To cease to be demons And become creatures of the light. Some few do, Though most seem doomed To an eternity of throwing nets in the dark. Why all this is so in a mystery Leading those of us chosen to be more than lumps in the desert To ask if the gods have given us the pain as the price for our awakening Or the wonder as compensation for the pain. written 1640 hr 4/04/83 typed 0150 hr 5/17/83 entered 1220 hr 3/05/92 ********************* HOW TO GET SILICON SOAPWARE EMAILED TO YOU If you're getting it via email and the Reply-to in the headers is ss_talk@bubbles.best.vwh.net you're getting the list version, and anything you send to that address will be posted. That's the one you want if you like conversation. There's usually a burst of activity after each issue, often dying down to almost nothing in between. Any post can spark a new flurry at any time. If there's no mention of "bubbles.best.vwh.net" in the headers, you're getting the BCC version. That's the one for those who want just Silicon Soapware with no banter. The zine content is the same for both. 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