Madness and Mayhem

Even without benefit of a calendar to confirm, I'd know it must be near the end of August. Tempers have been a little strained at work, my housework is getting away from me and the blackberries that volunteer in the back yard are nearly ripe.

Surprise! Surprise! Despite the fact that, at 15 percent, Michigan has the highest unemployment in the country, business in Mackinaw City has been very brisk this summer. I'd even go so far as to say that since the fourth of July, it's been crazy-busy. Most local proprietors would probably argue that there's no such thing as too much business—we'd be insane to complain simply because we're caving under the pressure. Considering it has also been one of the coldest summers in recent memory, we must be particularly lucky.

I spoke about our unprecedented good fortune with our Sysco salesman earlier in the month. He agrees that we have been blessed with a very good season; however, he said the extraordinary business we're seeing seems to be, more or less, a local phenomenon.

"Mackinaw City has been ground-zero for tourism this summer. Most other tourist destinations throughout the state are not fairing as well. Even Mackinac Island has had a relatively apathetic season."

Undoubtedly, he is basing his findings on what he's heard from Sysco salesmen on other routes, but considering Sysco supplies restaurants state-wide, that is probably a pretty fair measuring stick.

If I think tempers at work are stained now, I know from decades of experience in this business that the next several weeks are going to press each and every one of us to the snapping point.

The long, hard hours I've been spending at work probably explains why my housework has been suffering. There simply are not enough hours in the day to keep up with everything the way I'd like. However, I've begun to redouble my efforts (no time to linger over coffee after dinner!) and tackle some neglected projects.

Last night I cleaned out the science projects incubating in my refrigerator. I'm embarrassed to admit that had some small, furry creatures growing in there that actually defied identification. The washer and dryer were still downstairs running after I went up to bed. Tonight I want to scrub the floors.

Frankly, I'd be delighted to put some of this stuff off until after Labor Day, but Jamie, Nick and the baby will be coming to visit soon, so that isn't an option. We have friends and family arriving from both ends of the state to celebrate their homecoming with a reunion here on Saturday, Labor Day weekend. (Yeah, I have to work, but there will be so many people here, I figure they'll never miss me!)

The lake association newsletter needs to be in the mail by September 1. That takes hours and hours of layout that I'll have to fit in before I leave for work in the morning since my evenings are going to be spent on chores.

All of this is to explain why my days are kinda cram-packed to capacity right now and likely to remain that way until mid-September. This may be my last entry until I see some light at the end of the tunnel.

Yes, I know, that's what I said way back in June when the season was just kicking-off, but I still managed to squeeze a post in every few days. Hopefully, I'll find time to stop by and say hello before you know it.

Until then, do what I do... just grin and bear it. :-)

— Gee Vee

Believe Me, It's No Big Secret!

Over time, the Internet has become a primary, even vital, component of our daily lives. We shop, study, work, network, date and recreate online. Its diversity, possibility, potential is endless. Unfortunately, so are its repercussions and pitfalls.

An article published yesterday on CNN reported that an anonymous blogger was fired from her job when her identity was revealed. Apparently, this sort of consequence has become more commonplace as bloggers are forced by situations and circumstance to "come out of the closet."

At some point, every blogger struggles with the "identity crisis" to greater or lesser degrees, I'm sure. After all, I am what I write. If what I write is going to anger, slander, embarrass, inflame or incense a person or persons in my audience, am I prepared to sign my name to my work? Too often in the blogging community the answer is "no."

I prefer to keep it real, but I set limits. I don't publish my last name on my blog—not because I'm afraid to take responsibility for what I've written but because there are some serious whack-jobs in this world, and, ultimately, it's the audience who often remains too anonymous.

You prefer to be anonymous for a variety of reasons. Generally, it's because you actually know me, and reading what I've written about my life without revealing your interest by leaving a comment or mentioning that you've read my blog when we run into one another is a little like voyeurism. The next time I see you, you'll be thinking to yourself, "I know something you don't know." However, what you don't know is that I will be smiling to myself and thinking, "You may THINK you know something I don't know, but I actually DO know that you know"... and THAT, my friend, is what makes this all so entertaining.

You know? ;)

— Gee Vee

Road Trip

Hey, there! Remember me? Just when you'd like the time to sit down and write a few lines, life happens, you know? I've been out of town but hardly on vacation—just a quick trip downstate to pick up Mom and her dogs while trying to squeeze in a little quality bonding time with my sis and her family.

Actually, she didn't know I was driving down. It was a complete surprise. (See? I really can keep a secret!) The original plan was to meet her in Cadillac yesterday, the half-way point between our homes, collect mom and drive north again. Instead, I drove drove all the way to my sister's home in Portage, parked in her driveway and snapped a picture. I sent the photo and an attached message to Terry's cell phone.

"You better have some wine in there!"

You should have heard her squealing when she realized I was right outside her door. Heh! That alone was totally worth driving five hours after a nine hour shift at work.

Two glasses of wine later, we were all still busy catching up on news when a Sam Adams commercial came on TV. I happened to mention that although I'm all about Guinness, I think Sam Adams is probably the best (mass-produced) beer in the US. My brother-in-law immediately concurred, and we promptly adjourned to market to pick up a 6-pack. In hindsight, three drinks after a very long day is probably not a great idea. Isn't it funny how a random comment can turn into a hangover the next day?

Anyway, the beer did grant me access to an entirely new dimension I'd never suspected in Vince, my brother-in-law. About six weeks ago, he drove up north to my mom's house and harvested an old 100 cc. Yamaha enduro motorbike from her barn. It was covered in an inch-thick crust, twenty years of bird droppings and dirt. The piston was shot, and Dad had never bothered to have the little bike repaired. Vince was ready to tackle to job, to eventually use the bike for his short commute to work. My sister says if he actually manages to get the bike running, she's heading straight down to buy more life insurance on him. I believe her.

In order to appreciate why I have a hard time trying to picture Vinny riding the little ratted-out motorbike to work, you'd have to understand that he is a shirt 'n tie kinda guy, a VP for a large hospital in Kalamazoo. He doesn't have a clue about motorcycles. But he's been enjoying the restoration process these past few weeks, and we sat up into the small hours of the morning, long after the rest of the household had gone to bed, discussing what he'd learned about motorcycles engines.

What I know about bikes you could fit in a teaspoon, so it was an education process for me as well.

Well, I'd like to write more, but today is Friday, and I still have Dan's payroll to do before I leave for work.

You know, right about now I really could use a day off from my day off!

— Gee Vee

The Singularity: The Infinite Distortion Within The Blogosphere

I've been writing a blog on and off for over four years. Dan often wonders about the bizarre pastime, doesn't understand the reason I write. Heck, I'm not sure that I even really know why I write. I've often called it an addiction; it's certainly a compulsion; ultimately, it may simply be a vanity.

I suppose I worry most about the latter, although I've never considered myself vain. Realistically, I know that if my writing was anything to boast about, I probably wouldn't be working in a restaurant. Maybe I'd be a little more like Garrison Keillor, toasted and feted by all the right people when I come to share my gift. Instead, I began writing for my own enrichment and a very small circle of family and friends.

Then a few years ago, I began to read other bloggers—to study their styles hoping to learn from their mistakes and their successes. I knew right away that I couldn't really emulate their content. I'd already raised my daughter—too late to be a mommy blogger. I was too un-cool to be snarky, too intimidated by a camera to post a VLOG, too uninformed to publish a news-worthy column. I was too... ordinary.

Yet, when I left a comment or two on some of my favorite blogs, I was astonished to find people actually clicked the link attached to the comment and bothered to come by to read what I had written. It was flattering, I suppose. I realized they were bloggers as well, so I would return the compliment by visiting their blogs, leaving comments of my own. I soon found myself caught in a very unflattering cycle of "you kiss my ass, and I'll kiss yours."

This, in itself, was addicting. You're afraid to stop because if you do, no one will read your stuff anymore, and you kinda like the attention. Maybe you'll be discovered! You try to overlook the fact that your entire audience has become a host of bloggers just like you—all hoping to be "discovered" as well, no doubt. I'd become a blog whore, prostituting myself on blogs far and wide while hoping to find my niche.

Then came the compulsion to post an entry every day—whether I had actually had something to say or not. I'd like to convince myself I was developing "self-discipline," but I lied. I was scared. I was terrified the small collection of devoted zombie bloggers that would come to read me would simply forget I existed if I missed even a single day.

Just when the dizzy, vertiginous cycle began to spin hopelessly out of control, I somehow found the courage to just STOP. I stopped surfing the scores of blogs I would visit every day, stopped commenting, but, perhaps most importantly, I stopped expecting to see comments on my own work. I tore down my blogroll knowing they would take down the link to mine in return. I felt liberated... okay, maybe just a little lonely at first, but I was finally free to simply write the kind of crap about my life that no one beyond a few of my family and friends would appreciate. I'd come full-circle.

After an extended period of abstinence, I finally felt strong enough to add a few cherished bloggers back to my morning news review... but I still fear the allure, the temptation, the seduction their successes inspire.

I've been to the event horizon, peered into its abyss, but somehow managed to avoid being sucked in by the super-massive black hole that lurks at the heart of the blogosphere.

Hmm, maybe I should just take up knitting....

— Gee Vee

The "Reality Check" is in the Mail

Times have rarely been more difficult to be a builder in Northern Michigan, and Dan has been a builder here for twenty years. Last winter was probably the hardest we've seen since he's been in business. Fortunately, he's always kept his overhead low, never taken on debt and sticks with a small crew. This poor economy has certainly thinned out the competition. I honestly don't know how firms that had recently built expensive shops or made large equipment purchases are making the payments.

In the past year, many contractors have closed their doors, moved to greener pastures, I suppose. We'd heard Wyoming was the place to be. Like the settlers of old, a lot of people in Michigan just loaded up the truck and headed west looking for work. Today, with the recession more widespread, I'm not so sure that's true now.

With the real estate market swollen with relatively inexpensive foreclosure homes, new home construction has taken a hit. Looking to economize where they can, thankfully some homeowners are remodeling and renovating the house they live in rather than sell while the market is flat. It's these small projects that sustain today's tradesmen by the skin of their teeth.

The trickle-down impact has been enormous. The county building department isn't issuing permits, so they've laid off most of their inspectors. The lumber companies that have traditionally catered to builders, are running a skeleton staff, hoping to hold on until an uptick in the economy revitalizes the industry. They're closing their smaller outlets and putting all their energy and resources into preserving the main office.

Specialty stores, kitchen and bath centers, siding and window stores, are feeling the pinch the worst because they only targeted a tiny fraction of the overall building market to begin with. The large "box" stores feel the pain of trying to sustain a large, comprehensive inventory when just paying the electric bill has to hurt when your aisles are empty.

Then it happened. Amid all the little inside projects he's been working on, Dan pulled a permit for a small addition he's building on a house—not much more than extra square footage for a closet, really. Suddenly, our phone has been ringing off the hook with calls from contractor sales offices, and the mailbox is flooded with brochures and fliers from lumberyards, kitchen and bath centers, drywall hangers, plumbing and heating contractors... the list goes on and on, starving construction-related businesses so desperate for work they're soliciting from the public records at the county building, hoping to catch a crumb from the meager bounty of one small addition.

That scares the hell out of me.

— Gee Vee

Shooting Stars

I got up early, took my coffee and sat out on the back porch steps. It couldn't be better weather to view the Perseids Meteor Shower—warm enough I didn't need a jacket, clear skies... only a few mosquitoes. Two problems, however: the trees around the house are so full, there were only small patchwork pieces of the night sky visible, and the waning gibbous moon was so bright, the meteors I could see seemed faded by comparison. Still, it was a great excuse to enjoy the crickets' serenade. Before I knew it, the sunrise began to wash the night sky with light as well, so I brought in my coffee and called it a day. (Pun intended!)

Online, I thought it was kinda neat that my homepage, Google, was doing its part to raise Perseids awareness.



If you missed the show last night, there should still be a pretty decent display tonight, weather permitting. However, I think I'll set my sights on the Orionids (October 21, morning) and the Leonid Meteor Shower (night of November 17/18, morning). Both will be at or near a new moon, so viewing should be pretty good. Also the leaves will have fallen by then; I'll have more sky to see from my house... will probably need a really warm coat though.

There's always a catch, huh?

— Gee Vee

Ready to Rumble!

At one in the morning, Dan and I woke from a deep sleep to the most alarming sound...I mean, it was like nothing we'd ever heard and was growing louder. In a groggy stupor, my first thought was that a very large plane was heading for an impact somewhere nearby. Just when I thought it might actually crash right into our house, the doppler shift in pitch seemed to indicate the source of the noise had moved on. The deafening growl eventually faded away. I was left shaking in reaction, my heart slamming hard against my ribs.

What in God's name was that?

Then it occurred to me that I'd heard a similar sound in the middle of the night, the night before last, although it hadn't been quite so intense. In a flash of inspiration, I knew: The highway rumble strips!

In the late 50s or early 60s, when they built the new stretch of US 31 destined to merge into I-75 a few miles north of here, they laid the highway right through the heart of our small town, effectively bisecting the community. Then MDOT began installing rumble strips (they refer to them as "audio tactile profiled markings") on the shoulders and down the center line a few years ago.

Intended to save lives, the grooves cut into the asphalt definitely wake you up if you're dozing behind the wheel and veer out of your lane.



What we heard last night had to be more than two wheels running down the rumble strips, it had to be a semi-truck pulling a trailer full of wheels. I also know that only reason a driver would pull his trailer down the road over a line of rumble strips in the middle of the night is because the jerk fully intended to wake up every body within a mile of the highway. If he drove like that through every small settlement he passed through, he could wake up hundreds and hundreds of people.

It's bad enough that we have to listen to rumble strips every time a car crosses over the center line in order to pass, but if people start deliberately driving the rumble strips during the night just to be annoying, folks from small towns from one end of this state to the other are going to be ready to rumble with Lansing.

Because I heard a car pulling the same stunt two nights ago, I hope this isn't about to become an alarming fad. Unfortunately, rude behavior too often does.

— Gee Vee

We're Hooked!

Since Thursday morning, Twitter has been the primary target of a series of cyber attacks that crashed the popular social networking site for several hours and has caused intermittent disruption of their service since then. Facebook and LiveJournal have also been targeted, which has created some ongoing glitches in their services as well.

The denial-of-service attacks have sporadically left many users unable to log in, which apparently has prompted some people to panic, according to one article on CNN.

I use Facebook and Twitter, though not obsessively. I think I might be more alarmed if I couldn't have logged into my Blogger account this morning. In an age when we're so accustomed to being connected and in almost-constant communication with a large and ever-expanding circle of contacts, suddenly losing that connection can be very disquieting.

I personally experienced this kind of "panic" years ago—in fact, in "cyber-years," 1997 is probably considered the stone age. People, we're talking so long ago, there was no Twitter, no MySpace and no such thing as a "blog." The Internet was still relatively uncomplicated. Way back then, we had chat rooms. I belonged to Excite's Virtual Places, a service which drew thousands of users at its peak, although trifling numbers by today's standards, I suppose.

Today, chat rooms have earned a certain seedy reputation, but I can testify that they used to be a lot of fun before they began the long spiral down into an abyss of moral decay.

However, that, my friends, is a whole other post for another day. My point is, I enjoyed "VP" and would spend hours a day visiting a group of friends online. When hackers would periodically cripple their service, I can vividly remember that feeling of panic when their server crashed, and I couldn't connect. I suppose that's when the sad fact really hit home that I had an Internet addiction.

Today, people don't really discuss Internet addiction because it has become socially acceptable to be "connected" around the clock; and it's never been easier to satisfy that addiction with so many portable networking devices disguised as cell phones.

But when Twitter's servers crash and it makes the headlines, I know that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Our addiction is now a global phenomenon, and I can't even begin to predict the implications and impact that will eventually have on our society.

— Gee Vee

Shame on me!

This is going to be a lazy entry this morning because that's kinda how I feel today.

I went to bed before 8 o'clock last night, exhausted after a long day following a short night. It was kinda pointless though; I just tossed and turned and couldn't fall asleep. So I laid there and listened to Obama's First 200 Days Report Card results on CNN because it was basically a poopy night for TV. (He's not scoring well, btw.)

Probably because I fell asleep listening to all the doom and gloom on the economy, it seemed like I spent the night troubled by nightmares. In one dream, I was at work and had a board full of bread raising. It was a busy Easter Sunday, so I also needed to put up a huge dessert table. There was just a ton of work to do, but I blew it off and went to hang out with a friend at another restaurant...just left my bread and walked away.

Much later that day, I ran into someone I worked with who told me how angry Nick was with me.

"Am I fired?"

"Yes."

I knew I had it coming, and by her tone of voice I knew she thought I had it coming as well. I went back to the restaurant, prepared to face Nick... to somehow explain my inexplicable behavior. When I arrived, my bakery was as neat as a pin. The bread I'd left on the bench had been baked, the dessert table was up and the place was hummin' with a brisk business. I knew Nick must have worked his butt off to cover my job and his as well. I felt awful. At one point I saw him, but he just breezed past me like I wasn't there. Then I noticed the kitchen was full of cooks I used to work with years and years ago, and by their satisfied smiles, I knew they were all gloating at my misfortune.

What a nightmare! I don't even want to try analyze that one, it's so depressing.

This morning I must have punched the snooze button many times because it was 5:10 before I could bring myself to crawl out of bed. I don't even remember hearing the alarm. I sat here in the dark slumped over my first cup of coffee and heard the lunatic laughter of a coyote pack some small distance from the house.

What in the heck is up with the coyotes these days, anyway?

Oh, well. I've another busy shift ahead; I'd better get to it. I sure hope Nick is in a better mood.

— Gee Vee

Call of the Wild

I woke in the small hours of the morning. Although it's cool outside, we have the bedroom windows open, allowing a small pretense of summer. Even without my glasses and blind as a bat, I could see the yard illuminated by the other-worldly light of a full moon. As we so often do in our modern, "inside" society, I'd lost track of the moon phases.

Against this bright backdrop, I could see my cat, Jezebel's sharp silhouette as she sat almost motionless on the sill, framed in the window. Her ears rotated a bit as she seemed to target some small sound, the tip of her long, slender tail twitched in annoyance.

The sudden, soulful cry of the coyote on our front lawn, probably not more than a few feet from the porch, was startling but not unusual. Living on the outskirts of a small rural community, we often share our yard with an abundance of wildlife. Coyotes are generally furtive, secretive creatures, rarely seen. However, when a pack gathers to celebrate a hare they've caught, their raucous, maniacal laughter will echo for miles through a quiet night.



The keening wail of this lone coyote was disturbing. Two of our cats were taking advantage of the fine weather, "camping out," but they're clever kitties and wise to the ways of coyotes by now, I imagine....

I tossed back the blankets and hurried downstairs to check on the cats. (So much for sleeping in on my day off.)

When Stella wants in, she will come to the window behind my chair and pluck the screen like a harp. This morning she gave the screen one, almost inaudible, claw to let me know she was out there but not really willing to advertise her location to the coyote. When I opened the front door, she sailed past my legs with hardly a second glance, headed straight for her food dish. Now, there's gratitude for you.

Rob and I have a routine as well. He waits on the back porch for me to put Maisy out when I get up in the morning. He'll stretch and glare at me as if to say, "About time you decided to get out of bed, old woman," then takes advantage of the opportunity to come inside where he'll spend the rest of the day sleeping upstairs on my pillow.

This morning, I checked the porch once, twice, three times. There's no sign of Rob, but I'm not too concerned. He wouldn't expect me to be up until 4:30, and I swear his internal clock is more accurate than the "atomic" model on Dan's end table.

Although we had his "swagger" removed when he was quite young, Rob still thinks he's the cock of the walk around here. He can be a very arrogant kitty—but he's not stupid. He'll be holed-up somewhere waiting for his alarm to go off and meet me at the back door at 4:30.

I hope the coyote is celebrating a hare.

— Gee Vee

Welcome to the Real World

I read a Newsweek article this morning, The Recession America Needed, and finally heard someone with the guts to say out loud some of the hard truths we've mostly been too afraid to whisper—even in our worst nightmares.

With China currently holding some $800 billion dollars in U.S. treasuries, they have "warned the US that its appetite for American debt is not insatiable." So far they have been willing to fund our recovery because an implosion of our economy will also have a catastrophic impact on their own export-based GDP. The concern is that China could decide to cut back on its loans to the U.S. and, instead, use those dollars to stimulate its own economy—infrastructure projects, etc.—building a more consumer-based economy much like the one that has sustained the US GDP for decades.

The article suggests that in an America with limited borrowing power available, infrastructure projects here at home will eventually have a limited net-yield. Instead, the US will need to use its $$$ to provide larger incentives to create home-grown manufacturing opportunities and keep professional jobs from moving off-shore. These actions might help offset a more frugal consumer. That all sounds good, but, IMHO, the real trick is going to be how to prevent the global community from viewing this as protectionism.

I guess the single point the article hit on that I've often wondered about myself is the cost of American labor.

"The recession will probably lead both American businesses and workers to the point where it is clear that the cost of labor in the United States has been too high, and it has been too high for twenty or thirty years. That has not been true uniformly across all industries. Labor became too expensive in the car and other manufacturing industries in the 1970s. The cost of service workers, especially in the technology industry, has become too expensive in just the last few years. The American worker is going to have to come to terms with the fact that an economy that supports 95% employment will be an economy where the incomes in many industries must decrease.

"China has a number of advantages over the US economically and it can increase each of those. Its manufacturing base is its most important advantage. America can only take back initiatives in this arena if there is a permanent change in the expectations about compensation among US manufacturing workers and an extended improvement in manufacturing productivity. China will continue to hold its largest economic edge over America if the American worker continues to believe that he has the right to a compensation package like UAW workers at GM had for thirty years. Those days are gone and gone irretrievably. The only issue is whether the US blue collar population is willing to admit this today or live through a decade of high unemployment in order to be convinced."

Dan and I tend to disagree on this point. He feels a blue collar worker, say, in the auto industry, is entitled to a wage and benefit package that averages over $60 an hour. I have felt right along that we can't possibly sustain those levels of compensation and still compete in the global marketplace. That's why jobs have been steadily leaving the US for twenty years. He understands my point but thinks the American worker needs to—deserves to—earn a "living wage."

What in the heck makes us think the sweat of our brow is worth so much more than the sweat from a line worker in India, or China? Is it golden, or what? I believe that in order to maintain our position on the top of the dog pile in a dog-eat-dog marketplace, the American worker is going to need to put its arrogance aside and get real.

With manufacturing jobs disappearing, competition for those that remain will be very keen which will probably begin to drive down wages. In fact, we're beginning to see that happen now.

The "good ol' days" are gone forever, people, but we can have our jobs back. We just need to take off the rose-colored glasses and see the changes all around us in order to shape a more prosperous future based on a global economy. Perhaps this recession has been just the catalyst we've needed to bring that about.

— Gee Vee

Peevish Me!

While I'm not a lead-foot, I don't exactly drive like a granny. I often find myself testing the upper end of the speed limit... and beyond. (Can this admission be held against me in a court of law?) Anyway, I do try to stay within 5 mph of the posted speed because I kinda like having a blemish-free driving record, and speeding tickets can be expensive.

So imagine my consternation when I'm already running down the road at 59 in a 55 mph zone, and some clown has parked his big, whompin' SUV on my back bumper—obviously in a big flippin' yank to get somewhere in a hurry. For instance, yesterday I had a large pick-up truck so close to my back bumper that I couldn't see his front bumper in my rear-view mirror--only an aggressive-looking grill that seemed to fill the entire back window.

This often happens south-bound on US 31 where a lot of traffic is still traveling at nearly 80 MPH because they've just exited from I-75 a few miles back. Apparently, they resent the lower speed mandated on the two-lane.

Well, don't take your frustration out on me, jerk!

You know, I could even understand his crowding me if he was waiting for an opportunity to pass... but, no, he had plenty of chances to go around yet still seemed to be gravitationally bound to my bumper. This went on for over five miles and grew to be quite nerve-wracking after a while. So who would blame me if I got a little pissy? Normally, when it's time to make the right-hand turn off the highway onto my street, I ease off onto the shoulder as I slow down, allowing traffic behind me to continue on smoothly. It's a small courtesy.

Not yesterday.

I took my own sweet time, braking a slowly as possible, never veering out of my lane, forcing the guy on the Testosterone trip behind me to slow down to a crawl before I finally, slowly, even t.e.d.i.o.u.s.l.y s.l.o.w.l.y turned off the highway.

I smiled a little to myself as I imagined his head turning purple, about to pop as his blood pressure soared.

Yeah, I can be a jerk too.

But it takes one to know one.

— Gee Vee

How I Spent My Dan's Summer Vacation

First, let me begin by saying that if Dan had been within arm's reach last night, he would have been a dead man. He predicted he would arrive at my sister's house by 7 pm but was nearly two hours late with no phone call to assure anyone that he hadn't smeared himself all over the highway with his motorcycle. I just sat here biting my nails, waiting for the police to pull in to notify the next-of-kin. Yup, I could have just wrung his neck. Honestly. When he finally did call, he actually had the nerve to laugh at me.

Arrrgh! Stupid man. Kill yourself on that stupid bike. See if I care!

Anyway, with Dan arriving home a little later today, this is supposed to be about how I spent Dan's summer vacation. Well, aside from the "worrying" thing, I spent most of my time working. I spent the rest of the time alternately trying to avoid the kitchen stove completely, reading a good book and attempting to console Maisey who has been mostly inconsolable in Dan's absence.

I did make the mistake of watching some ghost stories on the Bio Channel late Saturday night. Then it must have been around midnight when Maisey decided there was something downstairs that absolutely did not belong there, and she kept running down to growl at it. I tried to convince myself that she probably heard a raccoon in the bird feeder outside, but I'll never know for sure because I was way too busy hiding under the covers to go see.

So after one night spent mostly not sleeping, last night I decided to avoid the spooky stuff on TV and, instead, watched PBS, "Walden," a play based on Henry David Thoreau's last two days on Walden's Pond. Needless to say, that put me right to sleep.

So there you have it—four entire days spent missing Dan. He's supposed to drive the last leg of the journey home today. I'm listening to the rain outside even as I write this, and the radar map promises more of the same. He's been lucky with the weather he's encountered until now, but I'm not sure how he's going to avoid getting a little soggy on his ride today.

Um... not that I care, mind you.

— Gee Vee

Hang Ten, Dude!

There is something very appealing in the unorthodox, the unexpected. Garrett Lisi, "Surfer Dude," is a bit of both. I've been reading a little this morning about his paper, "An Exceptionally Simple Theory of Everything." Predictably, (because, "simple" or not, we're still talking about physics here, people!) most of it is right over my head.

But when we think about gifted physicists who crafted startling theories while engaged in activities far from the traditional academic circles, we remember Albert Einstein who composed his greatest theories while working full-time as a clerk in a Swiss patent office.

After he received his Ph.D., Lisi left the academic world behind and moved to Maui.

"I got my PhD and looked at my options. I love differential geometry, general relativity, and particle physics. But the only options available then for a postdoc in those combined areas were in string theory, and I thought string theory was overly speculative. There are many really impressive aspects of strings — anomaly cancellation in particular — but there are other things that just seem wild and physically unsubstantiated. I had gotten lucky by investing my graduate stipend in a little company many thought was going out of business (AAPL), so I decided to go to Maui, learn to windsurf, and work on physics on my own."

Sounds like he struck gold when he invested in Apple, doesn't it? Anyway, I've always had a thing for the underdog. His Unified Field Theory flies in the face of some real heavy hitters and their standard model grand unification theory, "String Theory."

The fiber of Spacetime?The E8 Lie Group

When the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in Bern, Switzerland, begins to produce the kind of results the science community anticipates, many answers to the lingering questions on the origins and design of our universe may begin to be realized.

Meanwhile, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for the surfer dude.

— Gee Vee

Too Connected?

I am constantly astonished and amazed by the way technology has brought all corners of the Earth closer. It's easier to see the connections we've in common when barriers created by borders, governments, philosophy, religion, language, caste and class merely become the slender seams in humanity's patchwork quilt. Through more accessible communication and almost instantaneous, real-time exposure, our myopic perspective begins to blur as we now see vast distances. The beauty of the whole can be captured at a glance. Through resources on the Internet, we can gather news from far and wide and marvel as we experience our varied culture through one another's eyes.

Then there are times when I read the headlines, and I'm filled with anguish. Our sick and twisted perversity is right in my face. I can't miss it, can't turn away. I can't ignore it. I feel like the world has just dumped on me, and the scope and scale, the absolute enormity of our dysfunction has never been more apparent.

In moments like this, I am haunted by the words of one man and can almost grasp his profound sorrow; I begin to feel the utter immensity of his despair.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.
(Luke 23:34)

Yeah, I guess it's just one of those days.

— Gee Vee