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That Engineering Mentality, Again

Thursday, March 13th, 2014

There’s a claim that True Engineers (whatever that means) never rise very far in corporate environments because they’re more interested in solving problems than fixing blame or positioning themselves politically. That’s consistent with my experience in the corporate world, but this is more about the first part of that: having a need to solve problems.

Take the cover artist I’ve been working with recently. They’re doing very nice work, at a very reasonable price. I get along great with my contact there, he seems to understand what I’m looking for and he’s receptive to doing as many iterations on a project as we need to get the job done. But it seems that he stand me up on just about every other Skype conference call we schedule.

Why? Because the power in Columbo, Sri Lanka is unreliable as hell, and very often he’s in the middle of a blackout when we’re supposed to be communicating. We’ve managed to at least work out a system of text messaging when he’s in the dark, so I know what’s going on. But that’s a band-aid, not a fix.

I did a bit of research and eventually found  the web site of Sri Lanka’s electrical utility, the Ceylon Energy Board. There’s a section in the FAQ entitled “How do Island-Wide Power Failures Occur”, which makes me think they’re a fairly common occurrence – my contact there is most likely not making excuses. Okay, one more reason to be happy that I’m living in the First World.

But their reaction to the power failures is what surprises me. If we had them in my hometown with any frequency, you can bet that within  a few months there would be a backup power unit next to each PC, cables running across the floor to a stack of car batteries in the corner of the room, and a cellular access point buried somewhere in the rat’s next of cables to provide internet connectivity. But there, the reaction seem to be to just wait around until the power comes back.

Is this a contrast between engineers and lay people? Or between Americans and Sri Lankans? Or perhaps something else? Whatever it is, the correlation between willingness to engage in problem solving, and productivity, is obvious.

Channeling all that increased productivity in a useful direction, however, can be more challenging.

 

Test Pilot, Again

Sunday, February 23rd, 2014

Nobody wants their airplane to fall out of the sky. So there’s an annual ritual called, with great lack of originality, The Annual. Once a year, a certified mechanic disassembles, pokes, prods, inspects, tests, verifies, and in general works his way from propeller to tail, looking for problems. If no problems are found, this is only nominally expensive.

There is no upper limit to what it might cost.

In an extreme case, it might be judged that the airplane cannot be economically returned to service and must be scrapped. Fortunately that is a rare occurrence. Still, owners sit on their edge of their seats for the week or two that this takes, waiting for whatever bad news might come their way. If you’re the sort of owner who views the entire machine as a black box, then you write the check, however big or small it might be, and fly home.

If, on the other hand, you’re mechanically inclined and pay attention to what’s going on under all that aluminum, you can’t help but wonder whether your mechanic remembered to replace every nut, bolt, cotter pin, hose and cable that he touched over the course of the inspection. So that first flight after the annual can be unsettling. Your preflight inspection becomes more rigorous than it otherwise might be, and you try to become attuned to anything the plane might be telling your. But eventually, there comes a point where you have to push the throttle all the way forward and slip the surly bonds of earth. Perhaps your pulse races a bit more than normal. Or perhaps you circle the airport a few times before leaving the area. But on some level, you realize that you’ve become a test pilot.

As you head away from the airport, you relax a bit and enjoy the scenery. Everything seems to be working the way it should be, which reassuring. Nothing sounds noticeably different, there are no new vibrations, and all is as it ought to be. You touch down at your destination uneventfully, taxi, and shut down. Your neck and checkbook survived the ritual, and you’re good for another year.

And perhaps you reflect on the combination of technology, finances, air density, gravitational force, and age in which you live, and give silent thanks for the fact something as special as the trip you just completed was possible. After all, from the dawn of time until about one hundred years ago, it would have been viewed as a miracle.

Fluctuations

Sunday, February 16th, 2014

When you fly standby as an airline employee, you’re at the mercy of the people who are actually paying for tickets. They’re the ones who pay the bills, so they’re the ones who get priority. If the plane is full, you don’t go.

We’ve been hoping to make a quick hop to visit family, but over the last few days the northeast has been hit by a series of storms, which has wreaked havoc with travel plans. When we first checked seat availablity in the middle of last week, our chances looked pretty good.

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A total of seven seats available, five in coach and 2 in first class. With only four people trying to fly standby (non-revs), it was as close to a sure thing as it could be.

But things changed. By Saturday morning, it looked like this:

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So we didn’t bother packing.

But over the course of Saturday, it must have changed five time, from six seats available, all the way down to minus one, meaning the flight was overbooked.

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What could be going on to make it change so much, just one day before departure?

Honey, yes I’m still at the office. We’re way behind, and I’m going to have to work the weekend. Can you break it to the kids, and call the airline to move our reservation up until Tuesday? By then we’ll either have the deal or it’ll be gone forever.

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Are you okay? Thank god? What happened?… Slid off the road on the ice?… I don’t care about the car, just so long as you’re all right….Keep you overnight for observation? I’ll be there as fast as I can. Yes, I’ll be careful

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We’re going to visit Grandma??!! Yaaayy…..

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I’ll bet you thought I forgot Valentine’s day, right? Well open this.”<sound of tearing paper> She opens the card. “We’re going back home for a week?! And First Class?!” <sound of smooching> “I love you”

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I know. But she was ninety-three; she lived a long wonderful life. And she went in her sleep. What more could anyone ask?… Of course we’ll be there – Diane’s making the reservations now.

nr8

Zero seats open. The plane holds 157 people. There are eight inches of snow on the ground–bound to be a few no-shows.

Let’s head to the airport!

This is going to be good

Sunday, January 12th, 2014

If you know me (and hopefully more of you will moving forward), you know that one of the recurring themes in both the fiction I read and the fiction I write is ordinary people doing extraordinary things. So how could I not take note of Laura Dekker’s odyssey.

In case you don’t remember, Dekker was the 16-year-old Dutch girl who sailed solo around the world in 2012, setting a new record. Here in the United States, we pretty much only got the news about this when she successfully completed the trip. But apparently the events leading up to her trip were nearly as challenging, with Dutch authorities attempting to seize custody of her from her father (her parents are divorced) when he publicly announced that he supported her plan to make the journey. She was 14 at the time.

The whole thing also precipitated a very polarizing public debate at the time. There were those, including the authorities, who called her plan ‘delusional’. And there were others who thought fulfilling her dream was feasible, worthwhile, and worth the non-trivial risk.

Not being a sailor (or at least not willing to sail anything much bigger than a Hobie-cat), I’m not sure I’m in a position to have a strong opinion on whether her plans were reasonable. Certainly they were unusual. But Ms. Dekker was born at sea, and spent the first five years of her life on a boat. Various articles suggest that she felt more at home at sea than on terra firma.

Perhaps the question to ask is what’s reasonable to expect from a 14-year-old. Well, 250 years ago they were raising families. Today, many of them can’t seem to focus long enough to get through a semester of junior high school. On the other hand, there are 14-year olds today working toward scholarships, and I’m sure that the class of 1764 had some losers in it as well. So what’s reasonable to expect from a 14-year-old? Well, perhaps that depends upon the 14-year old. And as far as the Danish equivalent of Child Protective Services is concerned, if the kid’s not being beaten or starved, I’d say how she’s being parented is none of your d*mn business. All things considered, I’d rather live in a world where an occasional young life is lost than one in which the dreams of amazing young people like Laura Dekker are systematically crushed.

But what did I mean by ‘This is going to be good’? Well, one part of the story I wasn’t aware of was that journalist Jillian Schlesinger shadowed Dekker from port to port during the course of her journey, and has created a documentary telling her tale. The work is titled Maidentrip, and the trailer can be viewed below.

No indication as to when the full film will be available; Amazon doesn’t have it,  but it can currently be saved on Netflix. It might be a good idea to do that now, to avoid the rush.

 

Holiday Message

Sunday, December 22nd, 2013

Its easy to get cynical about the holiday season. And if you’re not of the dominant religion, its also easy to start wondering about whether it even has any relevance. But there are universal truths to be had, and one of them is the value of generosity.

Robert Heinlein‘s round-the-world travelogue Tramp Royale was originally written in 1953 and 1954, but not published until 1992, several years after his death. And it wasn’t until last week that I began reading it. Given that it’s sixty years old, it’s held up reasonably well. The Old Master’s voice rings clear, and the inevitable anachronisms read (at least to me) as quaint, rather than irrelevant.

There is a passage where he and Virginia befriend a few young children in Lima, Peru; street urchins, really. The kids were staring forlornly into the window of a toy store, a place they’d never be of the means to enjoy. The Heinleins took them into the store and bought them each a toy, pleasantly surprised that the kids made only modest requests. In describing the event, Mr. Heinlein penned this gem:

One of the real magics in life is the fact that wealth can always be
multiplied by dividing by the age of the donor.

That’s something important to be reminded of from time to time. As a child, my family was not of the means that there was much opportunity to teach the lesson of charity, and I had to start figuring it out for my own later in life. And it still doesn’t come as naturally as it perhaps does to others.

But one of the upsides of getting on in years is that acts of generosity become easier. There’s a huge gray area between destitute and financially independent, and I’m fortunate enough at this point in my life to be living there. Sure, I’d prefer to be on the right side of the bell curve, but the fact that I’m somewhere in the middle doesn’t preclude me from helping some other folks move from the left toward the middle, however infinitesimally.

So as I age, I find myself making donations more frequently, giving gifts where none are called for, and tipping from a baseline of twenty percent rather than fifteen. That extra buck or two at the restaurant is a far bigger fraction of the waitress’s take-home pay than it was mine, and the interesting thing about it is that it makes us both feel good. If there’s a downside, I can’t see it.

There are those who say “Christmas Spirit” is merely the behavior that we should all be exhibiting every day of the year, but don’t. I’d argue that no matter what our average behavior, an annual reminder isn’t such a bad thing.

So Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, or whatever else applies. And remember that no matter what your circumstances, there are those worse off than you, and this might be a good time for an act of generosity.

The Human Side

Monday, December 16th, 2013

The idea that technology dehumanizes is a theme that seems to rear its ugly head from time to time. So it’s refreshing to see a case where the reverse is so obviously true. The video below has been making the rounds for the last several months, and with good reason – it’s a real tear-jerker. Yeah, it’s just an advertisement. And I’m sure that some people who look at it will see it as yet of another case of Microsoft (Skype’s parent company) exploiting two young people for their own gain. But judging by the two million plus views on YouTube, that’s not the majority opinion.

Judge for yourself:

One of the many things we take for granted today is ubiquitous, essentially free, communication. Fifty years ago, Paige and Sarah most likely would have never known about each other. Twenty years ago, they surely would never have cultivated the friendship they now share. Perhaps they would have become pen pals. Or maybe not. But even a techno-cynic like me can’t deny the intimacy that even a short video chat brings. And when I reflect on that, I’m pleased that beyond the semiconductors, protocol stacks, IP packets, and megahertz, something is created that’s greater than the sum of its parts.

And if I’m so moved by all this, I can’t even begin to imagine how the techies at Skype must feel.

 

A Real Tear-Jerker, but More

Tuesday, November 26th, 2013

First, go here, and read the article.

Its a touching story, about an honor provided for a man who never expected it, and was left with a wonderful experience to relive during the remaining few days of his life.

Having never served in the military, stories like these resonate with me in a couple of different ways. There’s the part of me that realizes I’m indebted to those who did serve. I can never repay that debt, but I can show interest in and respect for the exploits of the men and women who, essentially, make my life possible. And I can donate to soldier-friendly causes, for those currently in the service as well as those who once were, both the living and dead.

But something else that made this story interesting for me was the camaraderie that Bud shared with the sailors on board the Dewey, The article doesn’t mention Bud’s age, but some quick calculation puts him in his early nineties. Yet there he was, hobnobbing with soldiers one-third his age, like they were old friends. And it got me thinking that there is no past experience in my own life that would afford me such an opportunity. High school reunion? Bah. I asked a friend who attended one  of mine a few years ago about who showed up. He reeled off a list of twenty names. Nineteen I didn’t recognize and the twentieth I remembered as someone who had made my life a living hell back then. So no, I don’t think I would have gotten a reception like EM2 Bud Cloud got on board the Dewey.

Should I consider this a shortcoming? There’s a saying that you should live your life so that the undertaker doesn’t have to lie at your funeral. I’ll call that baseline; I’d like to try for something more. Perhaps a good metric would be to have a decent turnout at my funeral. I think I’m on track for that one, though I’ll admit that for best results, the venue would have to be chosen with care.

When I think about it, given the choice, I would not be willing to endure Pearl Harbor in exchange for what Mr. Cloud experienced. But within my own limitations, devoting a little more energy to broadening my social horizons might not be a terrible thing. Perhaps the writing will be a conduit in that direction.

 

Town On The Edge of Forever

Monday, November 4th, 2013

Business in Huntsville, followed by vacation in Memphis. No reason to travel all the way back to Boston, with the two destinations less than 200 miles apart.

Road Trip!!!!!

A quick browse of the web reveals that Avis will make this possible for only slightly over one hundred bucks, so the die is cast. A few days later, with the business part of my mission complete, I swing past the rental counter at HSV, sign my name a few times, and get handed the keys to a fairly new Ford Edge. Not quite what I expected (a compact sedan), but the trade of fuel economy for comfort seems like a reasonable one if I’m going to spend four hours on the road. I climb into the thing, turn the key, and get greeted by three separate LCD screens lighting up. That’s two more than in the panel of the Trinidad. Eventually I figure out enough of the touch panel to coax the climate control to a decent setting and tune the radio to an acceptable station. Having been to this area four times in the last few years, I’ve developed a taste for WDRM Huntsville/Decatur; I won’t be able to hold it all the way to Memphis, but its a good start.

With a four hour trip anticipated, but no need to meet my bride’s flight into MEM for eight hours, the previous evening had been spend studying the map to see if anything worthwhile was visible along the route. Corinth, Mississippi was the only town of any size, and it was close enough to the middle of the route to be stopworthy. Being a town of only 15,000 or so, I wasn’t expecting much, but Tripadvisor mentioned a Civil War museum that looked like it might be worthwhile. Route 72 turned out to be a county road, not an interstate, making it a bit slower but far more interesting. Some small towns (be sure to observe the speed limit), fewer farms than I’d have expected, and lots of undeveloped woods. Plenty of rain.

The miles click off on the GPS, and eventually I roll into the teeming megalopolis of Corinth. Its already 1:00 PM, so I opt for lunch first. Tripadvisor mentioned a Mexican place, but I accidentally blow past the address. While I’m turning around, I notice a bar-b-que shack that doesn’t exactly look Yankee-friendly, but what the hell, I’m hungry and what’s a road trip without a little adventure?

The place is one large room, with the obligatory license plates on the wall, soda machine off to one side, and a counter up front where you place your order. There’s a list of specials on the wall encoded with the local crypto key: 4 BN BBQ FF SLW $7.49. It takes me a few seconds but I manage to decode it, and it seems like a reasonable deal when I find out that it includes ‘pop’. The locals look like…well, locals. Lots of jeans, overalls, beards, beer. One guy has his daughter in tow, a blond positioned somewhere between the farmer’s daughter and Lolita. I’m out of place in my business casuals, but the proprietress is still willing to serve me, and even cracks a smile when, between ribs, I give her a thumbs-up about the food. Which was a bit charitable, but what the hell?

Now sated, I program the coordinates of the museum into the navicomputer and head over. The parking lot contains only a single car, and at first I think the place may be closed. But I decide to hike up the hill to the building anyway, and find that it is in fact open for business. I chat a bit with the park ranger/docent and begin my trek. My knowledge of the civil war is limited. Probably the last time I learned anything about it was in high school, and that was years ago. Quick version: Painful, bloody, brother against brother, some question as to whether it was about slavery, or keeping the union unified, or perhaps something else. Possibly it wasn’t necessary. But I suspect most wars look that way in retrospect.

Today’s lesson begins: At the crossroads of two critical rail lines, Corinth was of tactical significance to both the Union and Confederacy. One of the first battles of the war was fought in Shiloh, just a few miles to the Northeast. The losers regrouped in Corinth, which pretty much turned into a hospital. Not that it did much good; a combination of primitive medical technology and typhoid wiped out nearly as many soldiers as were lost on the battlefield. The town was also home to the first of the ‘Contraband Camps’; compounds where newly-freed slaves were fed and educated, and directed onto to the long road to citizenship.

The war lasted four years and took over 600,000 lives. Nearly one in fifty of the 90-year-old country’s population. How might it have played out if the Union had instead offered to ‘condemn’ the slaves, compensate their owners under eminent domain, and turn them free? Sure, it would have been expensive, but so was losing the lives of more than half a million citizens. The idea is not original, nor is it mine. One of John Roth’s characters speculates about it in Unintended Consequences (a definitely worthwhile read, if you can find a copy), But it’s always easy to Monday morning quarterback. And the teachings of the museum suggested that when the war began, people on both sides thought it was going to be a short one. Maybe that’s the case with all wars.

The rain makes it difficult for me to spend quality time contemplating the fountain behind the museum: a long rectangular pool flowing downhill, with each step representing a year of the war, and marble blocks commemorating each battle strewn across the pool, each in its appropriate place on the time line.

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Despite the wind and downpour, I spend a few moments out there, and then head back in for a movie that does a pretty good job of reenacting the battles surrounding Corinth, what led up to them, and their aftermath. A short while later, I’m back in the car cruising downtown Corinth, trying with limited success to trace the route described on the ‘historic drive’ map I picked up at the museum. The sites of critical skirmishes now look like nothing more than grassy hills; it’s tough to imagine the amount of blood that was shed there. A visit to the Corinth Contraband Camp park is more rewarding. The site of the original camp is now a park, with bronze statues commemorating the activities of the past.

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Tranquil and thought-provoking, at least until the winds knock down a tree that takes the nearby power lines with it. Yikes! By now time is starting to run out, and a short while later Corinth is receding in the rear-view mirror as I continue my trek west toward Memphis. I’ve learned a bit about Mississippi, and my country’s history, which is surely a Good Thing. And I’ve put Corinth on my personal map; if it ever makes the national news for good reason or bad, there will be a personal connection that there otherwise would not have been. But most of all, I’ve yet again underscored my incredible gratitude for the fact that I was born into this particular time and place.

And that’s a Good Thing, too.

Reflections from 21B

Sunday, October 13th, 2013

I’m sitting in an only slightly uncomfortable leather seat, closing in on the end of Encounter With Tiber, sipping a cup of tea. To my left is a woman deeply engrossed in Of Human Bondage reading it on her iPad mini. To my right, another woman, with a map of Maine unfolded, is planning her camping itinerary.

Its hard to believe that we’re actually sitting in a pressurized aluminum can six miles over Lake Michigan, hurtling through the air at six hundred miles per hour while being tossed about by forces we can’t see or comprehend. From time to time I find myself reflecting on the enormity of it all, and take a moment to be grateful for having been born in this particular time and place. When Lewis and Clarke took a similar trip a couple of centuries ago, it took about eighteen months, and arrival wasn’t guaranteed. Neither was survival.

I think the thing that would most impress the early American colonists, if we could sent the message back, would be that in less than 250 years an average Joe would be able to make it back to England in about eight hours, for only a few days wages.

Miraculous times, if you stop to think about it. I can’t help but think of the G. K. Chesteron quote:

 “We are perishing for want of wonder, not for want of wonders.”

 I wonder if it was always that way. Did folks in the age of the steam engine say “yeah, whatever” when months of backbreaking labor vanished? Did those who witnessed early airplane flights turn their back in indifference? When penicillin, the first real wonder drug was discovered, was the general public reaction apathy?

I can’t say with certainty why our view of the incredible world around us seems to be “…yeah, but what have you done for me lately?” But I’ll take a stab at it. Once we’ve experienced this level of prosperity for a few generations, I think we begin to view it as normal. But its not. And I think its healthy to remind ourselves of this on a regular basis. It may be far more fragile that it appears, and if its we’re going to try to preserve and improve it, the first think we need to do is stay aware of just how special it really is.

So when you’re cooped up in 21B, elbow-to-elbow with your seatmates, take a moment to reflect on the enormity of what’s actually going on.

 

 

Why Fi?

Sunday, October 6th, 2013

The ubiquitousness of WiFi coverage these days never ceases to amaze me. When I sat down at our local pub last weekend, I felt a brief vibration from my belt; my phone telling me that the BritishBeerCompany free WiFi access point was available. I opted instead to access a bottle Wells Banana Bread beer. We’ll leave the discussion of whether that was an optimal choice for another time, but now that WiFi is nearly as common as running water, it would be worthwhile to consider whether it’s always a good idea to quench our thirst.

Tomorrow I’ll be spending several hours in a 737. In the past, I’ve considered this to be an opportunity to catch up on some combination of the three Rs: reading, (w)riting, and relaxing. The isolation was a Good Thing.

Now, I’ve got the opportunity to fork over ten bucks or so for some moderately wide-band coverage during that six or so hours aloft. I tried it once when, during the introduction, it was free. They block video, which is fine. I never tried Skype. For browsing the web and checking email, it did the job. I ssh’d into my web server just for the hell of it. Probably, I spent most of the flight catching up on my favorite blogs and my email – I don’t really remember.

Generally, if I want to get online while I’m on the road, I want the WiFi to be free. When it’s not, I’m moderately annoyed, especially if I’m in a top-dollar hotel. It’s been my experience that the fancier the hotel, the less is included in your room charge. At the Hampton Inn, WiFi is always included, but it never seems to be so at the Embassy Suites.

But when it comes to the airlines, I’m actually kind of glad that WiFi isn’t free. It’s new technology, so when it was introduced it wasn’t free, and given the sad state of the airline industry today, it’s unlikely that it will be free any time soon. Which is just fine for me. Tomorrow, I’ll get to work on a few short stories with one less distraction, and most likely the world will survive without receiving my emails for a few hours.

Generally, I’m not a fan of unplugging. While I’m too old to spend my every waking hour texting, I fully understand why today’s yoots don’t want to break that connection. I wouldn’t voluntarily give up any of my five senses, so why would they voluntarily give up their sixth.

But there’s another metaphor that comes to mind, too. My taste in music is diverse, I love conversation, I’m fascinated by the subtleties of sound as a telephone call is established1, and I could listen to Air Traffic Control for hours. Sound is very important to me.

But sometimes I just want quiet.

So tomorrow, I’ll skip the ten bucks and enjoy the quiet. There’s a time for everything, and some things are easier at 35,000 feet.

 

1 –  If you’re wondering how big a deal this could be, take a look at Exploding The Phone, a very worthwhile read