Jeber’s

Dog Time

Sometimes things make more sense to us if we look at the situation from another perspective. We spend so much of our day locked into our human brains looking at the world through the filter of our human experience; we can forget that to those who don’t share our perspective life can be substantially different.

I got to thinking about this when I was in my shower this moring. I have the good fortune to be able to have Cleo with me nearly 24 hours a day. She’s with me at work and at home. The longest we’re apart is when she waits for me to eat in a restaurant or shop in a store where dogs aren’t welcome. She waits faithfully by the bathroom door while I shower. After each of these  separations she wiggles with joy at my reappearance. This is a common experience for dogs owners. We can’t figure out why our companion acts so overjoyed to see us when we’ve only been apart for a short while.

It makes sense if we look at time from our pet’s perspective.

The average dog has a life expectancy of 14 years, the average human, 70 years. These are very general figures, though reasonably accurate in many cases, and make the math easy to understand. That means a period of time to me is on average 5 times longer than the nsame period of time to Cleo. While I may perceive the time it takes me to eat in a restaurant as an hour on my human scale, Cleo perceives it as 5 of my hours. Think of the dogs left home alone while their owner is at work. To us only 9 hours have passed since we left but the dog perceives that same period as nearly two full human days. If you have to leave your dog with a sitter while you attend a week-long conference in another city, the dog will perceive your absense as nearly a month of its subjective time.

No wonder they’re so happy to see us after we’ve been away for a while.

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The Fall

The moment Simon entered the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby 73 floors below;

the moment he began to hope that this warm August evening might be a sign that the coming weekend would restore his soul, the soul that this dead-end job was sucking out of him every week;

the moment Simon wondered if a home-cooked dinner and movie that night might restore the flame of passion that had nearly disappeared from his relationship with Trish;

the moment that might have been a rebirth of the joy that Simon once felt just from being alive;

was the moment the cable broke.

A lot less Cleo

Not that she had much input on the decision, but Cleo seems to be enjoying her new look.She is also ignoring Sara’s LOLing from behind the couch.

Cleo shorn

To give you and idea of the length her Winter coat had reached, here’s a couple of photos from just before her spa treatment.

Long-haired Cleo

There's a dog in there somewhere

Since her 2nd birthday was the 3rd of the month, I decided to get her the full “spa” treatment. She got trimmed, bathed, conditioned, had her ears and teeth cleaned, nails trimmed and all the other pampering a diva expects.

Updated media

If you’ve never visited the lounge you owe it to yourself to at least check out the titles. It’s not like you’re wasting your own time. You’re being well paid for that job you’re not doing right now. You could probably watch two or three of the videos before your supervisor notices.

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Bruno: Goodbye my dear friend

Fran, one of our outstanding administrators at Scot Finnie’s Newsletter Forums, has composed a fitting tribute to our dear friend Bruno, who passed away this last Saturday.

Sadly, yesterday, February 20, 2010 at about 10:00 AM local Amsterdam time, Bruno slipped away…no more pain, no more sorrow. This is a soulful time for me. I really miss Bruno very much. But am so relieved that he will no longer have any pain to contend with. No one should have to suffer the horrendous pain that accompanies pervasive cancer that they can’t fix …

Fran also links to several other wonderful tributes to this gentleman who managed to present an often contentious topic, the
Linux operating system, with patience and respect not often encountered among OS enthusiasts.

I urge you to read Fran’s post as well as the other comments from his friends and fans.

I, and hundreds of other people, will miss Bruno. We wish his family and friends peace.

Bruno … Remembering a dear friend

The Last Act of Courage…

To Bruno Knaapen: God Speed

The World Is Mourning The Loss Of Bruno Knaapen – Linux Advocate

Bruno Knaapen of Amsterdam

Another Day After Groundhog Day

Fifty-six years ago I caused my mom a few hours of intense physical pain. I don’t know how that compared to the frequent pain I caused during the next 50 years or so, but at least I caused her that particular pain only once, and I was a totally innocent participant. I wasn’t responsible for her condition.

Birthdays are pointless between 50 and 60. And not just birthdays. I read this the other day,

There is no traditional symbol of the Fifty Sixth Wedding Anniversary

OK, that’s probably because so few people can actually stay together for 56 years. The two couples who have reached this milestone couldn’t agree on a traditional gift. Health insurance, maybe.

There were only a couple of times the fact that the 3rd was tomorrow and it is my birthday crossed my mind today. It’s just not an important milestone. The only thing significant about it at all is that it’s 29 years longer than the age I thought I’d be when I died. I felt, for some reason, assured that I would die at 27. I believed that for a number of years, from my early teens up to the day I turned 28.

Beneath my obvious relief I was completely disorientated. Shit, now what? It was a little late to be making life-altering goals. I’m not supposed to still be wondering what I want to be when I grow up at 28. And now here I am at 56, with no better idea what it is I’m supposed to be doing with my life, if indeed there is a purpose to life. Philosophically I don’t accept the idea that there is an over-riding, beyond-ourselves purpose to life at all. But practically I acknowledge the comfort in thinking there might be. Not that it makes much difference one way or the other. If there is a purpose I’m in total ignorance of it, so it might as well not exist.

Turning 28 had another profound impact on my future. It was an event that killed any chance I ever had to be a professional prognosticator. I would never be able to convince anyone I could see, let alone predict, the future. Anyone who has watched “Dead Like Me” will understand how I felt upon turning 28. All my theories about my own life were shown, rather obviously, to be wrong. Not “slightly off” but totally incorrect. My mantra from the age of 28 to this day is, “What the hell do I know?”

Thirty is a socially significant age, forty more so, But forty is also the age at which significant “milestone” birthdays begin to occur only every decade until 70 or so. Only children and seniors consider every year significant. In the “middle ages” it takes a decade to effect much change in a person’s life. There isn’t a hell of a lot of difference between the me of today and the 52 year old me. Four more years? Maybe something will be significant about that age. All I can say is that I’m pleased to still be able to entertain the notion that I might get to find out. Gives me something to look forward to.

Now there’s something that sucks about getting older: the older you get, the less you have to look forward to and the more you have to look back at. You tend to spend more time in reflection and retrospection than anticipation. As someone curious about life that can be frustrating. I’m one of those rather dissatisfied with the period of human development I was chosen to be born into. I had no choice in the selection process, I was never consulted for my opinion or given options. My choice would have been further into the future. I’m fully anticipating a future that I’m also having to acknowledge I will most likely never get to see come about. Some days that really pisses me off. My generation had the energy to really effect a profound change on society in positive ways and we pissed that energy and determination away. We failed to realize our goals then spent the rest of our time making excuses for our failures. That’s not to say my generation didn’t have profound effects on society, it’s just that those effects were less important and less satisfying than our early goals.

At least I got to realize a lot of the goals I had early in life. I kind of rushed all the experiences I could into the first 27 years of my life. I got to do things I never thought I’d actually get to do, life had its very interesting moments. I’ve come to accept rather than regret those times I can recall that were not my proudest moments, I’ve come to see the positive benefits that some of the negative events produced. I’ve proven, if only to myself, that one can fail, more than once, and still find a reason to go on, keep making mistakes and enjoying the times you don’t. Some say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. They forget to add that this only applies to the young. To those well past childhood that which doesn’t kill you only makes you numb, immune, no longer amused.

Celebrate “my day” by having some fun today. Take a few moments to do something silly, something random, something childish (unless you are a child, then just carry on). Best gift I could get.

Good-bye dear friend

I just learned today that a dear friend is dying from cancer that has spread to his brain and other organs. It’s not treatable and he is resigned to his fate.

I’ve known this gentleman for 5 years or more. He lives in Europe, I live in California. We have never met.

Yet I know as much about him and what he holds dear in life as I do many of my off-line friends. He is passionate about Linux. When I was ready to give up and confess that I would never understand this foreign operating system, he encouraged me to keep trying, offering invaluable advice and direction that eventually had me up and running and never looking back…until tonight. Now I can’t help but look back and realize how profoundly he affected my enjoyment of computing and taught me about operating systems and, more importantly, how to persevere and stay focused until success was achieved.

I know he has a loving family that means all the world to him. While he is a very private person he was so excited about his daughter’s wedding that he shared pictures of the event with all his on-line friends, pictures from which he was conveniently absent. He is justifiably proud of his family.

He is extremely humble about his knowledge and influence. He is solely responsible for teaching a lot of us that Linux can be enjoyed without the typical animus that often exists between Linux users and those on Windows or a Mac. When writing about Linux, he prohibits the term “newbie” which he perceives as demeaning. His goal is to introduce Linux in a friendly and helpful way to anyone interested. In this he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

Being non-religious I’m at a loss in offering many of the hollow platitudes folks so often trot out at times like this. I know he will be profoundly missed by his family and friends. I know that we’ll miss his moderate attitude, his patience, his encouragement, his humor, his presence. He will leave a hole in all our lives that no one else can fill. We are saddened because of what the effect of his passing will have on us left behind. Our lives will be poorer for his absence.

I join all who know this wonderful gentleman in wishing him love and peace through his remaining time with us. May his last days be free of pain and filled with joy. May he pass from us fully aware of how significant he has been in our lives. May he know he will not soon be forgotten.

Does Daemon offer humanity Freedom?

My fascination with hard science fiction, especially books in which plausible technology is employed, started when I was a teen in the 60s. I was fortunate enough to be assigned to the National Security Agency as a cryptographic analyst when I enlisted in the Army Security Agency in the 70s. I like to joke that my first computer was a Cray, and it was. NSA prides itself on being 10-20 years ahead of the “outside” world when it comes to technology. That experience cemented my interest in technological science and science fiction. That interest is just as strong today as it ever was.

Daemon was the first novel of its kind that I’ve read. I’ve plowed through the Clancy Net Force novels, even those written by other authors, and found the premise of each to be a bit too fantastic and unrealistic though they were entertaining. I enjoyed Jack Williamson’s The Silicon Dagger though the technology was never explained and came across as nonsensical. The social issues he raised are worth considering. But nothing I found impressed me as much as Daemon. The use of plausible and contemporary technology in ways that could potentially alter human society challenged my mind and excited my imagination.

I wrote a glowing review of Daemon when it was first self-published and recommended to me by a friend on Friendfeed, appropriately enough. I’ve re-read the novel 3 or 4 times now, and am eager to read the follow-up to Daemon called Freedom.

Daniel Suarez ended Daemon in a way that suggested a sequel. And very soon this sequel will be available in bookstores.

If you’d like to read a few sample chapters of Freedom you can do that here. As soon as I’ve read it I’ll have a lot more to say on the subject.

(On the Daemon’s website you’ll find many interesting links to how and where the technology Suarez incorporates into his novels is being used and explored. It’s well worth reading if you have an interest in the potential misuse of technology or internet security. You may also want to view this video in which Suarez talks about botnets.)

(Disclosure: I bought my first copy of Daemon, then Daniel kindly provided me with autographed copies of Daemon and Freedom. I assure you, having been provided with free copies of these books is in no way responsible for my enthusiasm for them. I was not asked to review them; it was solely my decision to do so. My recommendations are authentically my own.)

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Codex Seraphinianus

I think this is truely wonderful. I love the idea of writing a scholerly reference about an alternate reality. Having read several books by Italo Calvino I can appreciate the reference in the title.

CODEX SERAPHINIANUS is a beautiful beast of a book.  It is giant and heavy and has all of the majesty of some sort of grimoire or encyclopedia of an alternative universe.  But I’m getting ahead of myself, and should tell you what it contains.The book was written and illustrated by Luigi Serafini in the 1970s.  It is an imaginary record of a strange world written in an invented language, divvied up into 11 chapters, and organized thusly:

The first section appears to describe the natural world, dealing with flora, fauna, and physics. The second deals with the humanities, the various aspects of human life: clothing, history, cuisine, architecture and so on. Each chapter seems to treat a general encyclopedic topic. The topics of each separate chapter are as follows:

• The first chapter describes many alien types of flora: strange flowers, trees that uproot themselves and migrate, etc.
• The second chapter is devoted to the fauna of this alien world, depicting many animals that are surreal variations of the horse, hippopotamus, rhinoceros, birds, etc.
• The third chapter deals with what seems to be a separate kingdom of odd bipedal creatures, apparently engineered for various purposes.
• The fourth chapter deals with something that seems to be physics and chemistry, and is by far the most abstract and enigmatic.
• The fifth chapter deals with bizarre machines and vehicles.
• The sixth chapter explores the general humanities: biology, sexuality, various aboriginal peoples, and even shows examples of plant life and tools (such as pens and wrenches) grafted directly into the human body.
• The seventh chapter is historical. It shows many people (some only vaguely human) of unknown significance, giving their times of birth and death. It also depicts many scenes of historical (and possibly religious) significance. Also included are examples of burial and funereal customs.
• The eighth chapter depicts the history of the Codex’s alien writing system.
• The ninth chapter deals with food, dining practices, and clothing.
• The tenth chapter describes bizarre games (including playing cards and board games) and athletic sports.
• The eleventh chapter is devoted entirely to architecture.

(Source with more pictures: Phantasmaphile)

Mr. Apologetic versus OnStar

OnStar: “Mr. Apologetic, my highly invasive monitoring equipment indicates you’ve been in an accident. Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

Mr. Apologetic: “Here now, who is that?”

OnStar: “Sir, this is the OnStar operator. I’m one of hundreds of under-paid and over-worked telephone representatives expected to make the conglomerate they work for appear to be human and caring. This service was provided as an “option” when you bought your car. Of course, like everyone else, you never read the fine print that allowed you to opt out and the even tinier pricing information. Well, dude, you’re finally earning a dividend from that $4000 “option” you agreed to. Now, you want an ambulance?”

Mr. Apologetic: “Oh, well bugger me. You’re absolutely right. I never read anything the agent showed me when I bought this car. Perhaps it mentioned that the brakes don’t work now and then. Maybe it would have explained the strange oder coming from the back seat, the blood stains. Oh wait, that seems to be fresh. Oh my. Well, I brought it on myself, didn’t I? No, no. Don’t bother anyone. I’m to blame, I’ll figure a way out of this. No need to disturb the firemen. The tree I seem to have wrapped my car around is well off the road, so really, there isn’t anything for the police to do. Besides, I’m so far out here in the backcountry, at it appears about half buried in a snow drift, so they would spend too much time trying to find me. Well, look, there’s a positive note. The pool of blood hasn’t grown any larger for a few minutes. Yes. That positively motivates me. I bet if I can just get this large shard of “safety glass”-hoho, there’s a bit of irony for you-out of my face I could use it to cut my seatbelt. I may not feel like talking for a moment, Mr. OnStar.”

Mr. OnStar: “OH MY DEAR GOD! Sir, please listen to me. We need to get you some help.”

Mr. Apologetic: “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Mr. OnStar: “SWEET MOTHER OF GOD! {aside}Hey guys, this motherfucker’s got a piece of glass in his face and he’s out in the middle of nowhere and I don’t know what to do? This shit ain’t in the manual.{/aside} Sir, mister, dude, don’t touch that glass, man. Don’t. You wanna bleed to death.”

Mr. Apologetic: “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHaaaaahhhhhhhahahahahahahahaha…”

Mr. OnStar: {aside}”Man, can’t we call up a police helicopter or somethin’? I can’t listen to this shit anymore.”{/aside}

Another Mr. OnStar, in background: “Dude, put it on speaker phone. Let us play, too.”

Mr. Apologetic: “Hahahahaha…whew, OK, let me catch my breath for a minute. Cool, now I can use this to cut my seatbelt. Errr, having a bit of bad luck finding the belt with my good eye. Maybe I’d better use both hands, this glass is really slippery. Should have kept a cloth under the seat, which being now over my head, would have given me easy access to it so I could wipe off some of this blood. Gosh, there’s just no excuse for me to be so irresponsible. My laziness has put me in this position, which is upside down, by the way. It would simply compound my error to cause concern and discomfort to others due to my own mistakes. No, it’s nice to have someone to talk to and all, but you’re not out here so I don’t feel like I’m unfairly imposing on your time. But I’d hate to drag anyone out into this storm. I’m sure my face will stop bleeding pretty soon on its own.”

Yet another Mr. OnStar, in background: “Holy shit, man, who is that? Mr. Jeeves?”

{Much laughter in background}

Mr. Apologetic: “Hehe, yes, I suppose it must sound that way. Well, you’re spot on. I’m a writer from England on a book tour across your United States. I’m somewhere between Ohio and some other wonderful state of yours. I can’t seem to think of its name. Odd, I’m usually good with names. Anyway, yes, a book tour. What ghastly fun. This isn’t too much fun, though. It is, however, just as ghastly. Now, I seem to have only one hand free. I’m going to take a few blind stabs at the seat belt and see if WOAHOHOHOHOOWOWOWOWOWO.

First Mr. OnStar: “WHAT? WHAT? What are you doing? What’d you do, man? Oh shit.”

Mr. Apologetic: “OW OW OW ow ow ow ow…bloody hell. THAT wasn’t the seat belt, that was my arm. At least that wasn’t my writing hand.”

5th or 6th Mr. OnStar: “Dude, did you just CUT OFF YOUR ARM!? {aside}Get the hell out of my way, man. I’m going to be sick.{/aside}

Mr. Apologetic: “Oh dear, I’m so sorry to hear that. Anyway, no. Not exactly off. Not completely off. Close enough, but not completely off. Odd, there isn’t any more pain. One would expect a lot more pain. Well, don’t mean to look a gift horse…well, you know. I still need to cut the belt. Might as well get on with it before…before what? Before… Before… Then after. Hehehe, I seem to be losing my focus here a bit. Need to focus. Need to cut this seat belt. It would be helpful to be able to see it, but alas. Is thatOWOWOWOOOOPS”

A Mr. OnStar: {aside}”AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggg”{/aside}

His fellow Mr. OnStar: “{aside}Jeeves is awesome. I mean, this is incredible. I never get cool calls like this. I only ever get flat tires and lockouts anymore.{/aside} Hey Mr. Jeeves, dude, are you still there? Are you still alive? Jeeves? Jeeves?”

Mr. Apologetic: {sotto voce}Huh? What? Did you wish to speak to Jeeves? Sorry, I don’t believe there is a Jeeves here. Unless perhaps I’m Jeeves. Jeeves. Jeeves. No, I think not. Jeeves?{/sotto voce}

Numero uno Mr. OnStar: “Oh god Oh god Oh god, Jeeves! Jeeves, you there, man? Jeeves, tell me what’s happenin’ man.”

Mr. Apologetic: “Errrrrrrr, oh!”

Who cares which Mr. OnStar: {aside}”Hey Larry. You notice you never started recording this call? You still ain’t recording. Shit, man, they’re going to give you so much hell if this dude ever sues the company.“{/aside}

Mr. Apologetic:

The Mr. OnStar closest to the phone: “Yo, Jeeves dude, you still there? You OK? Speak to me, sir.”

Mr. Apologetic:

Lead Mr. OnStar: {aside}Hey Larry, I’m going to start your recorder, you know it’s supposed to always be on. Good thing you were in the can heavin’ your guts out. You could have had a call come in. Oh, and check this out, you left your phone off the hook. Well, that’s easy enough to fix…”{/aside}

{Dead silence}

Vote early, vote often

New Wi-Fi Standard Promises Blazing Fast Data Speeds | Gadget Lab

via wired.com

After nearly five years in draft, the next-generation Wi-Fi standard is set to be finalized in September. Officially known as 802.11n and often referred to as “Wireless N,” the new standard paves the way for blazing fast high definition video and data at home.

Posted via web from jeber’s found items

Jeber – a portrait

Back in 1983 I was at loose ends. I’d been out of the Army for two years and had received my second degree from a local college. I had screwed up big time at my job and been fired. My future, at least in San Diego, appeared bleak at best.

My father and I first met as adults the year after I graduated from high school. I spent a Summer with him in Plainview, Texas where he was working for John Deere as a tractor field-mechanic. Those three months summed up my knowledge of my dad first-hand until I was 29, in 1983.

By then dad had moved back to his hometown of Rupert, Idaho, and I decided to write him and see if I could spend some time with him there. He agreed to this, so in March of ‘83 I and my Keeshond puppy Colin flew to Boise. We both arrived in our San Diego coats. Colin arrived a few hours after me, having been accidently diverted to San Francisco. He obviously had his own plans. Neither of our coats protected us from the freezing cold of an Idaho Winter.

So there I was, in a strange town living with a near stranger, no job and a dog I was responsible to keep fed and healthy. Before leaving San Diego I’d sold nearly everything I owned. I arrived with a week’s worth of clothes, my dog and enough cash to keep us both alive for a few months. Then I found out a few ways my dad and I were alike. We were both opinionated and curmudgeonly. We weren’t social kingpins. We were both sarcastic. We rubbed each other the wrong way. We agreed I should live on my own and visit now and then. I really needed a job.

In Burley, near Rupert, I met a painter named John Horejs (pronounced hōrsh). Not a house painter, an oil painter, a landscape painter, an artist. He was about my age and a very enjoyable person to be around. We were polar opposites in two ways. He was a Mormon and I was an atheist. He was married with nine kids and I was a single bisexual. Normally when two people disagree over sex and religion, any type of friendship is near impossible. Not so with John and I. We both respected the other’s right to their life and beliefs. We were both raised to be tolerant of those not like us. He knew gay people from the art world and I knew Mormons from having one as a friend through high school (we were both in the school’s barbershop quartet). We hit it off and soon he asked if I’d be willing to do some framing for him.

John Horejs

I had a degree in drafting and that made learning the art of framing a bit easier for me. Like most of the jobs I’ve ever held, I hadn’t a clue how to accomplish the task I was being hired to perform. But I’m a quick learner and don’t hesitate to ask questions, and I really like gaining new skills. I loved framing. I can’t paint a lick. Can’t really draw much of anything. Prior to this, drafting had been my artistic outlet. “Drawing” with the aid of French curves, a straight edge and templates. It was as close to being artistic as I’d managed at that point.

Framing was to me what John’s painting was to him. John studied in France and I’d just been an intelligence analyst for the Army Security Agency. We both enjoyed talking about world affairs, art (him, painters: me, writers). We discussed philosophy. We both loved nature, hiking and photography.

John was a great companion as well as an employer. He, I and my two dogs spent a week once around Jenny Lake. It was perhaps the best week of my life. Sharing his company and that of his friends, getting to stay in a condo in West Yellowstone, knowing his wife and kids, watching him build his dome house, many were the benefits of working for John. Who would have guessed I’d have to travel to Idaho to find the international scene. The closest I’d come before was being stationed just outside Washington, D.C. during my enlistment.

Another benefit of working for John was that a couple of times I traded framing work for paintings instead of pay. I have two oils hanging in my front room, both landscapes painted by John and framed by me. I love them now as much as I did when I first saw them. They were quick one-offs for John. He usually paints huge canvases.

One day he asked if I’d like to pose for a portrait holding my then pup, Hillery. Of course I was flattered and intrigued. John didn’t paint portraits. Maybe he had as a student, but as an established artist he was strictly a landscape artist specializing in Idaho and Montana scenery. So I was curious to see how he would render a human and his dog.

Jack and Hillery by John Horejs

Since we cannot see ourselves as others see us, I’m a poor judge as to the accuracy of the image, but I can honestly say that this is the one and only oil painting I have of myself. Good or bad, it’s certainly unique.

It’s not painted on canvas. It was painted on a piece of artist’s board, so it’s all of a quarter of an inch thick. It’s also not signed, but John would remember it, I know he painted it and now I’m preserving that knowledge online, where thanks to Google it will forever be available to anyone who wants the information, like whoever will be selling it or buying it 200 years from now.

I’m glad I had a chance to meet, know and spend time with John Horejs. He was a down-to-Earth guy with his head in the clouds. I’m sure he still is. He’s not into the web, and I haven’t been in touch for several years. We didn’t have so much in common that we ever became like brothers. My life has taken different directions from what I was doing then, and John appears to be getting shown in more galleries around the country. Any gallery anywhere that features nature paintings on a large scale ought to be showing his work.

That’s the tale of the portrait. It is the only self-portrait I own. It’s still unframed.

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Life’s First Spark Re-Created in the Laboratory

A fundamental but elusive step in the early evolution of life on Earth has been replicated in a laboratory.

Researchers synthesized the basic ingredients of RNA, a molecule from which the simplest self-replicating structures are made. Until now, they couldn’t explain how these ingredients might have formed.

“It’s like molecular choreography, where the molecules choreograph their own behavior,” said organic chemist John Sutherland of the University of Manchester, co-author of a study in Nature Wednesday.

RNA is now found in living cells, where it carries information between genes and protein-manufacturing cellular components. Scientists think RNA existed early in Earth’s history, providing a necessary intermediate platform between pre-biotic chemicals and DNA, its double-stranded, more-stable descendant.

Like other would-be nucleotide synthesizers, Sutherland’s team included phosphate in their mix, but rather than adding it to sugars and nucleobases, they started with an array of even simpler molecules that were probably also in Earth’s primordial ooze.

They mixed the molecules in water, heated the solution, then allowed it to evaporate, leaving behind a residue of hybrid, half-sugar, half-nucleobase molecules. To this residue they again added water, heated it, allowed it evaporate, and then irradiated it.

At each stage of the cycle, the resulting molecules were more complex. At the final stage, Sutherland’s team added phosphate. “Remarkably, it transformed into the ribonucleotide!” said Sutherland.

According to Sutherland, these laboratory conditions resembled those of the life-originating “warm little pond” hypothesized by Charles Darwin if the pond “evaporated, got heated, and then it rained and the sun shone.”

Such conditions are plausible, and Szostak imagined the ongoing cycle of evaporation, heating and condensation providing “a kind of organic snow which could accumulate as a reservoir of material ready for the next step in RNA synthesis.”

Intriguingly, the precursor molecules used by Sutherland’s team have been identified in interstellar dust clouds and on meteorites. (Source-Wired)

It’s a fascinating development. We may not find a practical application of this information that’s acceptable to everyone any time soon, but just knowing that there is a reasonable explanation for the beginning of life is worthwhile.

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Physics discussion ends in skateboard attack

Sometimes we forget that once upon a time philosophers drank poison and submitted themselves to death at the stake, rather harsh criticisms of the philosophical arts. Then something like the following happens and we are once again reminded that philosophy can be dangerous. It seems contemplating physics is an especially risky occupation.

(06-24) 13:20 PDT SOUTH SAN FRANCISCO — A homeless man is on trial in San Mateo County on charges that he smacked a fellow transient in the face with a skateboard as the victim was engaged in a conversation about quantum physics, authorities said today.

Jason Everett Keller, 40, allegedly accosted another homeless man, Stephan Fava, on the 200 block of Grand Avenue in South San Francisco at about 1:45 p.m. March 30.

At the time, Fava was chatting with an acquaintance, who is also homeless, about “quantum physics and the splitting of atoms,” according to prosecutors.

Keller joined in the conversation and, for reasons unknown, got upset, authorities said. He picked up his skateboard and hit Fava in the face with it, splitting his lip, prosecutors said.

Fava also fell and broke his ankle, although how this happened wasn’t exactly known, authorities said.

The attack was witnessed by two other people who told police that Fava had done nothing to provoke Keller, authorities said.

Keller is expected to take the stand at his jury trial in the Redwood City courtroom of Superior Court Judge James Ellis.

E-mail Henry K. Lee at hlee@sfchronicle.com. (Source-sfgate.com)

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Facebook, thy name is vanity

I can’t believe what a fuss people, well, tech people, ok, geeks, are making over the opportunity to reserve a vanity URL on Facebook tonight. There was a prolonged countdown hours before the window of opportunity opened, then a flood of postings showing off the URLs once obtained. It was near hysteria. People pushing and shoving, knocking the poor geeks glasses all askew. There might have even been a death or two from the crush of Facebookies trying to get through to the magic URL. The screaming of those poor souls being trampled, I’ll hear it in my mind for a long time. It may be muffled by all the other voices I hear in my head, but I’ll hear it, faintly, off in the background.

I just can’t fathom such joy at such a dubious accomplishment. What does it say about the quality of your life when getting to have a personal URL on Facebook is the highlight of your week? How pathetic has your existence become when you feel proud to own a personalized URL on Facebook? What a complete loser you must be to feel compelled to announce to the world that you can now be found at facebook.com/ohlookatme/.

I’ll have more to say on this sad internet meme over on my Facebook page. That would be http://www.facebook.com/jack.carlson.

Be honest; do you like me?

You worthless bag of filth

You vulgar little maggot.

You are a canker. A sore that won’t go away. I would rather kiss a slug than be seen with you. You’re a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a cad, a weasel. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench, a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

You are a bleating foal, a curdled staggering mutant dwarf smeared richly with the effluvia and offal accompanying your alleged birth into this world. An insensate, blinking calf, meaningful to nobody, abandoned by the puke-drooling, giggling beast who sired you and then killed himself in recognition of what he had done. Your daddy was a bastard, your mamma was a whore, and you wouldn’t be here if the rubber hadn’t tore. I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at the very thought of you.

You have all the appeal of a booger. Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. And did I mention you smell?

You snail-skulled little rabbit. Would that a hawk pick you up, drive its beak into your brain, and upon finding it rancid set you loose to fly briefly before spattering the ocean rocks with the frothy pink shame of your ignoble blood.

May you choke on the queasy, convulsing nausea of your own trite, foolish beliefs. You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid, nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You’re a fool, an ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Sheep won’t have sex with you––only trash such as yourself.

You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in a land that reality forgot.
And what meaning do you expect your delusionally self-important statements of unknowing, inexperienced opinion to have with us? What fantasy do you hold that you would believe that your tiny-fisted tantrums would have more weight than that of a leprous desert rat, spinning rabidly in a circle, waiting for the bite of the snake?

You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a disease, you puerile, one-handed, slack-jawed, drooling, meatslapper. On a good day you’re a half-wit. You remind me of drool.

You are deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of a used condom. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted. You are the source of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go. You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock. You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted boggish foot-licking twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You gormless crook-pated tosser. You churlish boil-brained clotpole ponce. You cockered bum-bailey poofter. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill.

You are a fiend and a coward, and you have toe jam. You are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just for knowing you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go away forever.

I cannot believe how incredibly stupid you are. I mean rock-hard stupid. Dehydrated-rock-hard stupid. Stupid, so stupid it goes way beyond the stupid we know into a whole different dimension of stupid. You are trans-stupid stupid. Meta-stupid. Stupid collapsed on itself so far that even the neutrons have collapsed. Stupid gotten so dense that no intellect can escape. Singularity stupid. Blazing hot mid-day sun on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one second than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. Nothing in our universe can really be this stupid. Perhaps this is some primordial fragment from the original big bang of stupid. Some pure essence of a stupid so uncontaminated by anything else as to be beyond the laws of physics that we know. I’m sorry. I can’t go on. This is an epiphany of stupid for me.  (Source-though possibly not the original-Best of Craigslist)

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom (1923-2007)

Dear Mom,

This marks the second Mother’s Day I’ve celebrated without you. As you knew full well, I’m not a believer in an afterlife, so I’m not deluding myself that you can actually read this from a higher plain or celestial viewpoint. But I see no reason I cannot address this to the you that lives on in my memory, the you I knew and loved for 53 years of my life, and continue to love to this day, your day, Mother’s Day.

Bertha Vivan Carlson (1923-2007)

You wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I have the same job and nearly the same daily routine I had when you were here. I have received a few pay raises, and it appears the store’s future is bright. Not much that happens every day is very different than it was back then. I’m still driving the same truck I’ve owned since 1998, the one you helped me buy by paying the down payment I couldn’t afford at the time. I still get home about the same time, still relax in front of the computer until bedtime, still have the TV on with a History Channel or Science Channel show playing in the background that I’m hardly paying attention to. I still spend most of my free time online, trying to help others in forums and learn more about technology from others in social networks. I still collect books like they were going out of style, reading them as often as possible. I still spend a few hours every week in my greatly reduced garden, tending the plants you and I both raised for years. Every one I transplanted from our old house to my current place has survived and flourished.

There have been a few changes since you left. I had to move out of the house we shared the last few years of your life, the one next door to the house you lived in for more than 20 years. I couldn’t afford a two bedroom house anymore. My current studio bungalow is about the right size for my needs. You’d feel right at home in my kitchen. Just about every dish, every pot and pan and every piece of cutlery I brought with me were once yours. Two years later and I still have those two boxes of brown sugar in my cabinet you bought and never used. I should throw them out but never seem to get around to doing it.

I also have a new companion, one I know you’d have loved as much as I do. Her name is Cleo, and she’s sleeping at my feet as I type this. Of all the animals I’ve owned and you met, she most closely resembles Bob the Malamute in attitude. She’s mellow, well behaved and easy going. Cleo is the perfect dog, a much better pup than I probably deserve to own. She goes to work with me every day and both the customers and my co-workers all love her. We just celebrated her 1st birthday last Friday at the store. I was tempted to rename her Bert to make up for having once named a pygmy goat after you. But she already knew her name when I adopted her, and I didn’t want to confuse her. Cleo doesn’t fit her as well as Bert would have, but there you go.

There isn’t much more news to catch you up on. I know you often said that your greatest satisfaction in life came from raising your two sons. In all honesty I can’t claim to have made as much of my life as your other son has, and as you well knew I made some dreadful mistakes that I have been able to outlive and to some extent make up for. You knew my good and bad points and were still always there for me.

I was fortunate to have you around for more of my life than many of my friends had with their mothers. You raised me well enough that I didn’t precede you in death or wind up in prison. Considering all I’ve done to make my own life inconsequential, it has instead turned out rather well. I give the credit for that to you and your influence. You were always patient, always supportive, always honest with me. It paid off.

You weren’t famous. You never made the national news. In your mind you were just a farm girl from Nebraska that moved to California after high school. You never were aware of your nearly unique status as a single working mother of two in the 1950s. You never took enough pride in the jobs you held until just shortly before your death. I don’t think you ever noticed how many lives you touched in a positive way, how many of your friends depended on your mid-Western practicality and no-bullshit way of expressing your ideas. You didn’t notice much of the influence you had on this world. But you did, and you still do.

Happy Mother’s Day, mom. I love you.

Jack

Internet all a-Twitter

Poor Twitter.

Twitter gets raves when it proves to be useful and efficient but suffers predictions of its imminent demise when it’s used inappropriately. Reminds me of what Craigslist is going through. Read the headlines:

Swine flu creates controversy on Twitter

Some observers say Twitter — a micro-blogging site where users post 140-character messages — has become a hotbed of unnecessary hype and misinformation about the outbreak, which is thought to have claimed more than 100 lives in Mexico.

Swine Flu Misinformation Runs Rampant on Twitter

Still, mass hysteria and paranoia — with voices wailing over an ‘epidemic’ — continue to sweep the Net, especially Twitter.

It appears there’s confusion over the difference between a means of communication and the communications themselves.

Twitter is one medium among many that facilitate human communication. The internet is a free country, in a free country open communication is encouraged. While the methods used to communicate may differ in the degree of communications they permit, the means of communication do not dictate the substance of the communications. Twitter limits the conversation to less than 140 characters but it doesn’t guarantee the quality of the conversations one reads there. Perhaps there’s so much misinformation being spread around on Twitter because too many people are following those who spread it. If you walk too close behind the guy shoveling manure don’t complain when you get shit on your shoes.

Twitter has nothing to apologize for, has no reason to feel guilty or responsible for any hysteria about swine flu or any of the other thousands of inane and useless conversations going on at this very minute on its service.

There is a bit of a bright note to all this, though. The fact that the national media can casually toss off “Twitter” and “Craigslist” without feeling the need to go into much explanation shows just how common the knowledge of those two services has become to our society. It’s a sort of validation. They’ve joined the ranks of Google and AOL. There’s a difference, though. Increased awareness of Craigslist, eBay and Amazon means increased profits to someone, usually several someones. Increased awareness of Twitter doesn’t benefit anyone at the moment. In fact, increased awareness can also attract the lower lifeforms on the web. Spamming and spoofing are sure to increase on Twitter. The value of the experience will lessen for many users. “There goes the neighborhood” will be implied though not often explicitly stated.

Still, it would be nice if now and then the mass media and some bloggers would stop blaming the medium for the message.