Author: Shelley Powers

Categories
Connecting

Control

Leaving the parking garage for my lunch appointment on Tuesday, I found the exit blocked, yet again, by the construction crew of the new condo across the street. I tapped my horn and when a couple of members of the crew turned towards me, I pointed to the pallets blocking the way. One of the guys holds up his finger in a gesture of “one moment”, walks over and moves the pallets — but not the huge truck behind them, basically giving me just barely enough room to turn the corner and not scrape the sides of my car.

As I fought to move the car around the obstacles, other construction crew members stopped working to watch and laugh at my efforts.

Last week when I took my car into the Ford service center, I missed the regular entrance and ended up driving through the actual center itself. At the center exit, a car blocked the way out, with a mechanic standing beside the car talking to another mechanic driving the car. I waited, not saying anything, not sounding the horn — I was a stranger in a strange land in this place. Eventually, the two guys finished their conversation, the car started to move, and I started to go…

…when I was stopped because the mechanic who had been standing by the car walked directly in front of me, slowly, looking at me, making sure I realized that he “owned” this territory, and that I pass by at his sufferance.

These two acts go beyond issues of courtesy. They were about power. These two individuals were the gatekeepers and I had to pay toll.

With the construction crew, my toll was to be humiliated as I tried my best to drive around the obstacles. At the service center, my toll was being made aware of the fact that I didn’t belong in this place, and I had best remember it.

There are well established (though often ignored) laws about driving to ensure we don’t kill each other. There are roads to enable driving from any point A to any point B. There is also a mapping and addressing scheme that works remarkably well in regards to location of same.

All of which can be arbitrarily shut down by one person who, in a moment of ultimate power, controls my only access to the organized but open system of the road.

Categories
Critters

A story of lasts

Two tales of extinction from Tasmania.

Earlier in May, I read about the efforts to clone the Tasmanian Tiger (Thylacine) an animal whose last known representative died in captivity in 1936 (see video at BBC).

I studied about the Tasmanian Tiger when I wrote a four-part story about cryptozoology, extinct and legandary animals, and the giant squid in Tale of Two Monsters. According to an article in ENN:

It took humans only some 70 years to make the Tasmanian tiger extinct, as farmers in the 1800s began shooting, poisoning, gassing, and trapping the animal, blaming it for attacking sheep. The last known Tasmanian tiger died in 1936, and it was officially declared extinct in 1986.

Today, Allan pointed to this sad tale of the return of pieces of the body of Truganinni, the woman who is considered “the last Tasmanian Aborigine”.(Descendants of the early aborigines have survived, though none are full-blooded.)

The British Royal College of Surgeons pilfered the pieces long ago for study, and only just discovered them again in January. Since the Tasmanian aborigines believe their bodies should lie in rest near their home, the pieces of Truganinni are being returned for ceremonial burial.

Accounts about the deliberate extermination of the Tasmanian aborigine bear a remarkable resemblance to those taken to exterminate the Tasmanian Tigers. According to Jared Diamond:

Tactics for hunting down Tasmanians included riding out on horseback to shoot them, setting out steel traps to catch them, and putting out poison flour where they might find and eat it. Sheperds cut off the penis of aboriginal men, to watch the men run a few yards before dying.

The final efforts to eliminate the aborigines occurred through that most efficient of destructive agents – religion. When only about 300 aborigines still lived, George Augustus Robinson a self styled preacher convinced the remnants to join him in a sanctuary created for them on Flinders Island. There he would convert them over to Christianity and “modern ways” while he protected them from further destruction. Unfortunately, the Island became a prison rather than a refuge, and Robinson helped complete the work started so enthusiastically by the other settlers.

Note: In the interest of disclosing possible bias, I should point out that here in the United States, we share much of the same efficiency as our Australian brethren when it comes to killing or displacing natives – human and otherwise.

Categories
RDF Weblogging

Doing my part: RSS auto-discovery

Since weblogging is all about RSS and aggregation, I’ve added the Mark Pilgrim RSS auto-discovery code to my weblog’s template.

Note: In the interests of disclosing any bias, be aware that I am writing a book on RDF, and that I support RSS 1.0 based on the RDF specification.

Categories
Stuff

Belief-o-matic

I took that Belief-o-Matic test that’s supposed to tell you the religious system that best suits you.

After finishing the test I waited for the results. And waited. And waited. Finally a simple plain white web page opened, and in the middle of the page I read the following words:

 

I reached a place where every light is muted,
which bellows like the sea beneath a tempest,
when it is battered by opposing winds.

The hellish hurricane, which never rests,
drives on the spirits with its violence:
wheeling and pounding, it harasses them.

The soul falls headlong, down into this cistern;
and up above, perhaps, there still appears
the body of the shade that winters here.*

 

As I puzzled over the results, a beating sound started coming from my computer and my monitor started slowing spinning. I was amazed since I was using a laptop and the monitor doesn’t spin.

Faster went the monitor, louder was the beating, smoke poured from the machine until all of a sudden the monitor stopped spinning and displayed

The Blue Screen of Death

And then my machine died. A melted plastic blob, still faintly smoking. In the air, the subtle scent of burnt plastic mixed in with overripe ocean and rotten eggs.

Luckily I had this backup machine so I could post to my weblog. Unfortunately, I don’t have any results from the test to post.

Sorry.


Categories
Just Shelley

And the seagull cried…

I knew today would be one of those days when I put on a black shirt and black denim pants. My only color was a turquoise necklace – primitive silver encasing the brilliant blue of a clear Arizona morning.

I bypassed my usual music, turning the radio to a station that features the likes of AC/DC, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin. Normally I cut such strong music with softer tunes, but not today. Today I wanted to rip into the air with sound.

Outside, a strong wind was blowing, knocking down tree branches and signs, pushing against the people walking along the street. I headed down to Crissy Fields, knowing I would have the beach to myself.

On the way I followed a muscle car – a black Camaro – and stayed behind him until he turned. I wanted to listen to the sound of the car; a deep, throaty rumble, part growl, part purr. A politically incorrect car among all the politely quiet and refined Mercedes, Audis, BWMs, Lexus, and my lone little Focus.

At that moment I would have sold my soul for a Harley.

I left the digital camera at home, and stopped by the photo shop for a few rolls of B & W film. I wanted to feel the heft of my regular camera, and to pay the consequences of a bad shot. And I didn’t want color. I wanted smug black and white, arrogant gray – to capture form and thought and not be distracted by neutral tans and safe blues.

The Bay was stormy, with an extremely high tide. The waves tore aggressively at the beach, depositing weeds and crabs and other debris in the water’s wake. The wind blew directly into the waves, sending sand into the air and water, stinging the skin of my face and arms.

I wanted to rip my clothes off and let the sand burn me clean.

I stood at the edge of the water, facing into the waves, back to the wind. I lifted my arms from my sides, and the wind blew around my body as the water inched closer to my feet.

And there I stood, balanced between wind and wave, face tilted towards the sun.