The laptop is dead

I cannot complete the title with long live the laptop. There hasn't been a replacement yet and I'm not certain when there will be one. It started a couple weeks ago as an odd message. The message didn't appear the next time I used the laptop, but after that it became increasingly common. What it was trying to tell me was that the chip on the motherboard that controls drawing the screen was going bad. Well, now it has finished going bad and is of no use. I cannot replace the chip; it is soldered to the motherboard. I could replace the motherboard, if I could find one. It looks like an otherwise perfectly good machine has been mortally wounded. My postings have already dried up. I'm not certain when they will return to their already irregular basis.

A day of Seattle politics

From my vantage point we in Washington only get two days of nomination politics this year. I didn't see my first Hillary ad until yesterday evening. I haven't seen a Barack ad at all. Tomorrow is caucus day here. With only three days between Super Tuesday and tomorrow, it'll all be over before I know it.

This morning I saw evidence that the candidates were in town. As I walked past the Westin Hotel this morning, I didn't pay much attention to the first motorcycle cop I passed. By the time I had reached the end of the block, though, I tuned in. There were black SUVs, black sedans, and men with dogs milling about the back of the hotel. I learned later that John McCain will be there tonight. Hillary Clinton was in Tacoma this morning and Barack Obama was at the Seattle Center around lunch today.

I went to see Mr. Obama in person. I left my desk twenty minutes to 11:00 and made the quick walk over to the Seattle Center where I fell into the back of the line and quickly found myself sitting in the upper level, behind the stage. Here is where I display my naivety and what I can only describe as not thinking very clearly. I was under the impression that the rally started at 11:00. It easily could have, as the building was completely full by 11:15. Soon, noon came by and then 12:30. Fifteen minutes after that I felt squeamish about being away from work the entire afternoon and left. I know now that everything started up a little before 1:00. A half hour of speeches by local and state officials put Barack on stage around 1:30. He spoke until just shy of 3:00. I listened to his speech online. I enjoyed it, but really did want to see it in person.

Tomorrow is caucus day. Our caucus site is at a local middle school, less than ten minutes away. Can Luke hang out there for two hours without melting down? I'm not sure, but I think we should give it go.

Obama Rally, Seattle, February 8, 2008.

I don't know what the ghetto is.

I don't know what the ghetto is and you probably don't know what it is either. That was one of the assertions of pair of gentlemen who rode home with me on the train last night. I was in the seat first, laptop open, ear buds in. I had a shaky internet connection bringing back to me news and email of the day when Gerry sat down. He was wearing a long black trench coat over his sweater and undershirt. He slid his briefcase beneath the table and kept a hold of his umbrella. He watched as people continued to board the train, seemingly smiling with his entire bald head, his eyes were alert and bright behind the thick black rims of his glasses. Soon what I now to believe was a coworker sat down across from him, next to me. They immediately began talking about medicine, local hospitals, and the Seattle region in general.

I was safe behind the laptop and my music, but I knew I was as good as chum and would lead him and his conversation right to me. Gerry's coworker departed the train after another stop. Nearly immediately he was on me, speaking right through my feeble ear bud barrier. I popped them out and gave myself over to his invasive queries. Without much circling, he dove straight into the what do you do line of questioning. I'm in software, I replied. Oh, what sort of, or what is your specialty. I told him and he nodded and paid attention to me as I went on. It was clear that the questions and follow-ups would continue so I dove right into the dreary details. He sucked them up, waiting for my extended pauses before adding to the conversation. He contrasted medicine with software. They ended up sounding very similar to me, I offered to him. software was a practice of breaking down the problem, defining the requirements for those pieces and investigating problems through the process of elimination; really it seemed very similar to me.

We continued on for some time. Occupation gave way to weather, climate and living. He has been in the area for a little more than a year. He likes it, likes many aspects of the region. Seattle contrasts with the east coast he came from in may ways. He likes that he doesn't have to wear a suit and tie to work, he likes that sir isn't a requirement when talking to one another, he like the overall lessening of formality. He is also a little frustrated by us. He doesn't understand why we don't talk to one another in more frank ways. If you are in New York and you don't have the exact bus fair ready when you board, you are going to hear about it from the guy behind you. Here, the guy behind you will be frustrated, but not say a word about it. I offered to him that it was our Stoic Scandinavianism that keeps us silent. He asked if I was serious, if that was it. I've heard it several times, during many conversation, I told him. I went on to relay another northwest oddity I've heard several times, that we are nice, pleasant, but cold to strangers.

About this time we were joined by another gentleman. He sat next to and, after returning from the restroom, became the focus of Gerry's conversation. I'm not certain where the questions started, but shortly after how are you, it turned to how it feels to be the only black man in a room of white people. I settled back and became a witness to the remainder of their conversation, as it was pretty clear that my color was going to push me to the side of this one. They went on to talk about how white Seattle was, as opposed to the South. I attempted a token offering to point out our diversity as compared to many other places in the country. They went right on their way. Speaking about the South, one being born in Louisiana, the other in Georgia, led to the heat and how they missed it and then to gangs and ghettos. We don't know what a ghetto is the new man offered, Gerry agreeing enthusiastically. He's been threatened and robbed in ERs he's worked, and in the neighborhoods around those hospitals. The mantra continued, we don't know what a ghetto is. Ghetto definition led to gangs and quite the detailed description by our new guest regarding the ease of setting up a drug dealing operation in the area. Kids here, he says, are eager and wanting to belong to a gang. They are easily manipulated by the dream and sex-appeal of gang membership. In reality, he'd just be using them to suit his needs. He'd set up one house, recruit some local kids to distribute and stake out territory. After the first, it is easy for the second house to spin off. On it goes and there is no resistance, no competition to getting it up and running.

Another stop came and our newest guest left, leaving Gerry and I. He turned the conversation back the other direction and wanted to talk about the environment and how nice Tacoma was for the remainder of the conversation. We disembarked in Tacoma, shook hands and parted. I gave him a "Nice to talk to you. Have a nice day, sir." before walking into the parking garage.

Blogging instead of writing. Browsing instead of living.

I started this post last week. I started it twice. The first time it got way out of hand and turned into what can only be described as railing against processed foods; brainwashed, lethargic children and our general lack of self awareness in this country. Seeing that go terribly off topic, I started again, but I ended up sounding like I had the answer to the Internet and the meaning of self. That was absurd and it could no be fixed. Now I'm at this a third time and I think I have a handle on it.

Should you blog instead of write short stories and long fiction? Should you read news, blogs and twitters instead of those books that people are writing less of? Yes and no; and no and yes is really the answer, I think. You should do what you want to do. You should read what you want to read. You should ponder if you really want to blog instead of write. You should also ponder why you want to blog instead of write. It is, after all, perfectly okay to write long fiction. It is a long road, though, so why not blog along the way and fritter away your time with twitters. Should you wade into the bog of You-Tube? You are apt to have your boots sucked right off your feet several times before you discover how to navigate without time-loss not seen since you were abducted by those aliens in 2004.

You should, if you want, but you should choose want to; queue the soap box. I guess that is the distinction for me. Now you are getting an idea of how I transgressed from blogging to the food courts of America. Directed self choice, not the filling of time because we need something to do is what we should aim for. So blog, write, twitter, browse, consume, run, paddle, laugh, and cry. But don't expect that anyone else will be choosing to read or care a terrible amount.