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 #183 New Moon of November 16, 2009 Contents copyright 2009 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. ********************* It's the calm before the storm, or perhaps the calm between storms. Halloween and the elections are over, while Thanksgiving, gateway to the year-end holiday frenzy, is just over a week away. The tombstones and cobwebs and orange lights and inflatable ghosts have vanished from front yards around the neighborhood, while Santa and grazing reindeer and multi-colored lights and inflatable snowmen are just beginning to take their place. The signs urging people to vote for or against this or that person or proposition are also gone. The lot down on the busy street corner is dark and silent, bereft of pumpkins and giant inflated play structures. Soon enough it will be full of Christmas trees, although these have yet to appear. The world, or at least the part of it that celebrates major December holidays, seems to be waiting ... ********************* One interesting bit about inflatable yard decorations: Both holidays feature creatures that are more or less humanoid and more or less all white. But they're conceptually quite different, even though their physical forms as yard decorations are similar. That leads to thoughts of something I've never seen as a Halloween theme: Ghosts of previous years' Christmas snowmen who have since melted. Likewise, you don't see ghosts of old Christmas trees. Is there some reason they don't come back to haunt us? ********************* On one busy street corner I often pass while out walking was a Pumpkin Patch with grown-ups buying Halloween pumpkins while their kids climbed and slid and jumped on inflatable play structures. One day as I was rounding that corner a woman pointed in the general direction of the gate (which is on the side street) and asked if that was the way in. "No, it isn't." "So where is the way in?" "There is no way in." "But [pointing to the people inside] what about those people?" "They don't need a way in. They're already in." "But they must originally have gotten in somehow. And what about when they want to leave? Where is the way out?" "There is no way out. They're ghosts. Once Halloween is past they'll just sort of fade away with the rest of the Pumpkin Patch until next year." "But ... but ..." "They were all victims of a drug-crazed homicidal maniac fifty or sixty years ago, all murdered on their way to Halloween parties. The authorities hushed it up at the time because it was the height of the Cold War and they thought the killer might have been a Communist and they didn't want to cause public panic." "Fifty or sixty years ago? They don't look like people used to look back then. They look like normal people you see today." "That's because they were killed on their way to Halloween parties where the costume theme was The Future. So they were all wearing the kinds of clothes and makeup and hair styles that people will be wearing in the early 21st Century. And since this is the 21st Century, they look normal to us now." "So does this mean I should go buy my Halloween pumpkins somewhere else?" "Probably." At least that was the conversation I kind of wish I'd had with her. The dull truth is that I just said that yes, that gate was the way in. And then we went our separate ways. And now I wonder if she ended up indulging in similar fantasies about her end of it. ********************* Is running with scissors an example of shear negligence? ********************* Someone posted to an email list I'm on about a psychic whose sign mentioned reading "ancient ruins". We sort of assumed it was an error and should have read "ancient runes". That does seem like a reasonable assumption. But what if it wasn't an error? What if this psychic reads potsherds and fallen masonry and such the way other psychics read tea leaves? What you would get would depend on the condition of the site. I would expect the reading to pick up whatever was important to the last people to have any significant interaction with the place. If it's been more or less undisturbed since the original inhabitants abandoned it or died off peacefully, you could get their cares and concerns and stories. If the site had been conquered and/or plundered, the conquerors would probably dominate whatever psychic emanations you picked up. To take it to an extreme, something like the Pyramids would produce a mishmash of stuff, mostly from modern tourists. That might have its uses. Maybe travel agents and such could get some idea of what the public thinks of various airlines and hotels and the area in general. But it would pretty much irrelevant to any serious study of ancient peoples. So the ability to do psychic readings of ancient ruins could be useful, but you need to think about how you're going to use what you get. ********************* Speaking of ancient ruins, I got an email announcement of some kind of ritual involving modern worship of ancient Egyptian deities. So far, so good. But the kerning on the default email font was not quite optimum, so the phrase "modern worship" in the subject line looked at first glance like "modem worship". So if it had been "modem worship", what would that be like? Do ancient Egyptian deities prefer to be approached by dialup rather than DSL or Wi-Fi or cable? While dialup may be older than those other technologies, even 300 baud modems would be new from the viewpoint of ancient Egypt. In fact, the Egyptian gods predate even the analog telephone and Morse code telegraph. So I wouldn't expect to get very far trying to communicate with them electronically. Or does modem worship somehow involve worshiping the modem itself? I suppose that's possible, given the diversity of religious practices nowadays. But I don't think it would be my thing. ********************* The doctor I had been seeing at Stanford has left, so I had to call a different Stanford clinic and make an appointment with a different doctor for my flu shot. There was some hassle with that because the new clinic reserves many of its time slots for same-day appointments and I'd already made other plans for the rest of that day. Same-day appointments may be good if you're feeling kind of sick but not too sick to go to the clinic, but they do make it harder to plan non-urgent things in advance. This all leads me to wonder what you do when you are feeling too sick to drive or take the bus to the clinic. One possibility might be to get a friend to drive you, but what if they aren't available on such short notice? A taxi might be possible, but would be expensive. I'm reminded that when I was a child my mother would call the doctor and he would come to our house. Do doctors still do that for anything short of major emergencies? And what do you do when you have something for which the best treatment is just to stay in bed, but you need a doctor's note for work or school or whatever? Is there a need for what would amount to a medical notary who would come to your place, confirm that you look sick, and write a note to that effect, but would not administer treatment or make any diagnosis beyond "This person is too sick to go to work"? ********************* Breezy Bubbles Soap bubbles on a breezy day Dance away in the wind. They wander hither and yon, Some soaring to the heavens While others tempt fate In a daring brush with the ground. I'm reminded that my every breath Scatters to the four winds And thence to the ends of the earth Even when no dancing bubbles make it visible. Likewise my every action, Grand or trivial, Serious or playful, Driven by sweet love Or by something less savory, Echoes through the cosmos To and beyond The limits of imagination. I cannot predict All that will come of any one act, Any more than I can predict the fate Of any one bubble. But just as I have a general idea of the wind And can position myself accordingly, I can make some guesses. So as I go through each day Full of myriad little decisions Too numerous to really think about I can try to make a habit Of spreading less sorrow And more joy. Like the playful bubbles Dancing away on the wind. -- Tom Digby First Draft 18:09 Mon April 30 2007 Revised 14:49 Thu May 17 2007 ********************* HOW TO GET SILICON SOAPWARE EMAILED TO YOU There are two email lists, one that allows reader comments and one that does not. Both are linked from http://www.plergb.com/Mail_Lists/Silicon_Soapware_Zine-Pages.html If you are already receiving Silicon Soapware and want to unsubscribe or otherwise change settings, the relevant URL should be in the footer appended to the end of this section in the copy you received. Or you can use the above URL to navigate to the appropriate subscription form, which will also allow you to cancel your subscription or change your settings. -- END --