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Monday, November 08, 2004

 


We sit here stranded, but we're all doin' our best to deny it.  (Visions of Johanna* - Thanks for the correction - D. A.)

And Mona Lisa must have had the highway blues, you can tell by the way she smiled. Dylan

The runners are boring, boring, boring.  They live in the air, and when they hop by, they look like awkward robots... Not like the baseball players who are dirty and spitting tobacco juice; unhealthy and neurotic; rocking back and forth in the dugout unable to breathe.  All tics and twitches.  All magical thinking.  If I twist my armband this way, then I'll get a hit.  Twist it the other way, forget to twist it - that's trouble.

Baseball - a game for twitching children.  The marathon is not a game.  It is seriousness and adult.  Responsible.  Determined. 

The marathoner is  flying by -  with what message to what troops?  Part of a pack, but not moving like a herd.  Individuals in a crowd.   Circling, circling, and finally returning to the heart of the park - to the Tavern on the Green - to be fed and stuck back into real clothing. 

Give me the Babe - eating everything that wasn't nailed down and then with nimble legs trotting around the bases.  Give me the pitcher - who was it - that took acid and pitched a perfect game.  Give me your unhealthy, your unshaven, your chinless wonders yearning to hit the ball rather than this race of spartans going nowhere, proving what?  I know the race proves something to each person that runs it.  But you know  it is getting out of hand.  I will toast the losers.  Though there are no losers.  Well, the ones who come in last.  And what kind of sport is it that doesn't have losers anyway.  Huh?

 

7:42:40 PM    

Years ago, when the first Palm Pilot came out, I bought one.  I learned the grafitti scribble and really liked the thing a lot.  Then, one day, I was travelling to the Southwest, and while I was on the plane, the batteries went on the Palm.  I had batteries with me, but not in the carry-on, and by the time I got to wherever, the thing was dead and with it, my hotel information. 

It's not like I didn't remember the name of the hotel, I did.  But it spooked me.  Yes, I had been synching up like a good boy, but the synch-up was back home in NYC.

So, before I took my next trip, I decided to print out all my connections, flight numbers, hotels etc.  And then after doing that I sort of wondered what good this thing was if I had to print everything out.  But you know, that was an extreme reaction, and it really stemmed from being so dependent and tied up with technology at my day job.  Anyway - I tossed the old Palm Pilot in a drawer.

Then the years go by.  I move away from the slave-portion of technology (I use it now, not the other way around) - and I get a cell-phone and the next thing you know I'm keeping my todo list and schedule on it.  The cell-phone isn't much good at this - and I'm already hooked into a two-year plan with Verizon.

And I go digging around in the desk drawer and lo and behold - there is the ancient Palm Pilot.  I have long since lost the synch-cradle, but I put some batteries in it and it fires right up.  Really like an old friend - or as Dickens says: Called Back to Life.

It is ancient and it want to be hooked up with the parallel printer port for synching and as I say, I don't have the syncher.  A bit of research on the web and I find that the Palm Pilot now comes in various flavors; that it hooks up to the PC through the USB port; and that there is now something called Grafitti 2 for input.  And for $99 I can get a nice monochrome unit.  I know, I should have thought ahead probably and gotten some device that would do wireless and PDA functions - but you know what - those things are just too expensive fer yours truly.  I'm gonna pick up the Zire 21 at Best Buy and have some fun gettin' organized because there's a whole bunch of things I'm supposed to be doin' and you know what - I still ain't doin' them and I apparantly need the ability to check things off a list.  Todo: stop writing run on sentences.  Todo: Fidn out if "run on" is hyphenated.  Todo: Look up how to spell hyphenated.  Speaking of which, my sister did read through my blog the other day and said the spelling was pretty atrocious.  She sent me this:

Freud posited that the human psyche  can be characterized by,  shall we say, internal checks and balances. The interplay of these reciprocal forces urging and obstructing urges can be described as cathexis and anti cathexis.

To cathect to something is to follow a primitive urge or attachment need. To decathect is to withdraw this urge or attachment need from the attachment object.

On yet a deeper level of this dynamic, Freud suggests that we do not learn to check our urges (develop a supergo that disciplines or regulates our urges), until our environment punishes us (usually parents, but in this case the red states). When we learn our behavior about this attachment is bad/painful (more Bush votes than anti-Bush votes), we attempt to establish inner control over the extent of our emotional attachment to the object (love or hate) when we realize we don't have control over it.

Excuse me while I cathect the Palm Pilot.  And btw, after her whole explanation, I'm still not sure how to use the word. 

10:12:11 AM