Christmas and what-not

Because of everybody's schedules, I had to do Christmas presents early. It's pretty much all over now.

I'm trying to understand why everyone I gave gifts to told me, "That's too much." Every.Single.Person.

What, was I trying to buy love or something? I thought I was showing thoughtfulness, sharing a bit of myself (my photos and artwork were a large part of everyone's gifts this year. I made calendars from them and/or framed photos).

The bulk of the gifts went to my brother's family. He sent me a memory card with family photos on it (many of which I'd never seen before). That was great. But on the card he sent, he signed for everyone else in his family. They didn't even sign their own names.

Is there really any good reason I should feel whiny about this?

Never mind. Feelings are feelings. There's nothing in the term "in law" that suggests enforcement is ever appropriate.

Public Diplomat

Congratulations to Ken Griffey Jr., the latest envoy in the U.S. State Department's American Public Diplomacy program.

All-Star baseball player Griffey "joins Michelle Kwan, Fran Drescher, and Cal Ripken, Jr. as Americans who go out on behalf of the values of the United States – not the Government of the United States, but the values of the United States – to engage with people around the world from very special positions," said Secretary Condoleezza Rice.

Read the State Department's press release here.

AP video on YouTube:

A Hard Day's Chord

"You have to get obsessed and stay obsessed."
John Irving, Hotel New Hampshire

Every now and then a story comes along that makes me smile. Not much I can do with it, but smile.

The press release came in from Dalhousie University in Halifax, "Sherlock of Rock": A mathematician has cracked the chord that launches the classic Beatles film, A Hard Day's Night.



What was that sound? As the release describes, "It’s the most famous chord in rock 'n' roll, an instantly recognizable twang rolling through the open strings on George Harrison’s 12-string Rickenbacker." Math professor and musician Jason Brown wasn't satisfied.

Jason Brown. Photo by Danny Abriel

In more than 40 years, no guitarist had ever been able to replicate the mysterious, compelling chord. Using computer software to reduce the chord to its component frequencies, Brown now theorizes that the reason is the chord contains one hitherto secret ingredient: a piano, specifically an F note that would have been impossible to play with the other notes already in use for the chord on George's, John's, and Paul's guitars.

As a teacher, Brown sees the larger issue in his research:

“Music and math are not really that far apart,” he says. “They’ve found that children that listen to music do better at math, because math and music both use the brain in similar ways. The best music is analytical and pattern-filled and mathematics has a lot of aesthetics to it. They complement each other well.”

Alrighty, then. Professors with lifelong obsessions get research grants. I'm pleased.

I love A Hard Day's Night, and it became a kind of office obsession at The Futurist a few years back when the editors amused themselves by randomly throwing lines out at each other. One even sneaked a line from George's famous "grotty shirt" scene into an article.

"An early clue to the new direction?"


I love that scene for many reasons. It pokes fun at professional trend setters with their complex mathematical formulas, who attempt not just to predict fads but to create them. George would have none of that, and when told he could be replaced, said simply, "I don't care."

"I don't care" truly launched the youth revolution in the Sixties that began in the Fifties. It empowered youth to question authority and to defy it.

I would love to have used Professor Brown's musical math story for the magazine, but just couldn't quite see the future angle in it. Education: use of music to improve math education? Technology: use of computers to aid audio analysis, possible application in forensics? Social: importance of pop culture as reference points in history?

Nah, it would be a stretch. The story made me smile. Maybe it makes you smile too.

Love, hosaa
questioning authority and staying obsessed

Private Lives

Apropos of Clay Aiken's recent revelations, I am reminded of a story.

Once upon a time, I treated a friend to a Sunday matinee performance of a one-man play, an adaptation of P.G. Wodehouse stories called Jeeves Takes Charge, at Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C. I believe it was the last performance of the run.

As I settled into the second-to-last row of the balcony, I looked through the program to see who this guy is, Edward Duke. The bio indicated that he was about my brother's age. I looked at his picture. That is, I gazed, sort of dumb-struck, at his picture. Goggly-eyed, don't you know.

Only one word popped into my head as the lights dimmed. "Perfect." I was in love before he even set foot on the stage.

"Jeeves Takes Charge" program insert:

program page:

program page:

program page:

program page:

The show was promoted as a one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour-de-force. How this actor could embody all of these characters was beyond comprehension, but his delivery of Wodehouse's words was a revelation. It was the characters and the words that I grew to love after the show was over.

As Jeeves, the brainy cove who eats fish ("from the collar upward, he stands alone") Edward must have been brainy himself, I reasoned. As Bertie, the fat-headed goof, always getting himself unfortunately engaged and wearing inappropriate socks, he was just plain adorable.

But back in the olden days, the 1980s, there was no Internet to help in chasing after an idol. Frankly, I don't know how I ever got tidbits about where he was or what he was doing. So I ended up concentrating mainly on P.G. Wodehouse and reading all of the Jeeves stories I could get my hands on.

When that was done, my mind kept turning to the man who embodied all the best of Bertie Wooster and his man Jeeves. I wrote short skits and scenarios of the characters, taking them to places of my own romantic invention.

And when I was done with that, I still needed to connect with the source of these inspirations: Edward Duke. In my most professional big-girl voice, I called a professional theater guild (it might have been Actor's Equity, but I don't remember now. Perhaps Screen Actor's Guild) and asked for the membership department. I asked for the mailing address of one of their members, Edward Duke, and received the information with professional courtesy. (I later learned that whoever gave me that information probably should have been fired. I tried asking the same question again another time and was rebuffed when I confessed I was not a member myself.)

So with an address to write to, I wrote my fan letters to Edward. I wrote about how he inspired me and how talented he was and all that. I don't know how many letters I wrote - enough to run out of topics, I'm sure! It was a little like writing to Santa Claus - since I didn't think he was really receiving the letters, I could say pretty much what I wanted. But after a year and a half, I gave up. It was rather silly, I knew.

But then, out of nowhere, I received this in the mail:

autographed publicity pic:

A simple autographed photo. My prized possession! I showed it to everyone I knew and laughed when they all asked me, "Which one is Edward Duke?" He's both, of course, My hero, my ideal man, with Jeeves's brains and Bertie's heart.

It was staggering to realize he must have actually read my fan letters - or some of them, anyway.

After I got his autographed picture, I was so thrilled and inspired, I wrote a novel "based" on what I thought he might be like (a romantic, wise, handsome hero, of course). I actually sent him the novel, and a year later, when he came back to D.C. in another show, he called me at work and invited me to attend that evening's performance as his guest!

I had heard from a friend that he was touring in a musical based on the strained relationship between Gilbert and Sullivan; Edward played the chowder-headed Alfred, son of Queen Victoria, who was enchanted by the theatre. His character gets to have a walk-on role in "The Mikado" and carries around an enormous bamboo parasol.

Sullivan and Gilbert handbill:

"Backstage, what? How very ... theatrical!"

After the show, I was to go backstage and meet Edward! Can you imagine how through-the-roof I was? In a daze, I wandered through the downstairs abyss that is the Opera House {correction: it was the Eisenhower. ~h} backstage at Kennedy Center, staggered through the dressing room areas, then saw my Edward, sitting on a bench and putting on his shoe.

Beside him were two young fan-boy boyfriends (stereotypically gay enough even to tip me off). Edward was gracious but flamboyant. Okay, I had to change my mind about who I thought he was! But I never stopped loving him.

After the run of Sullivan and Gilbert ended, Edward stayed on in D.C. to reprise Jeeves. ("My cheap little show," as he called it.) I met him in his dressing room each time I went - three or four times during that run. He gave me the window poster for Jeeves' limited engagement at Ford that year. He also gave me a publicity photo of himself taken at the age of 18. (Sorry, no scan of that. Personal treasure.)

At one point, he complained to me bitterly about the staid Washington audiences. "You have to jump through hoops for a standing ovation!" I then sent him this little doodle to cheer him up:

My cartoon for Edward:

After these encounters, and meeting him with yet another of his fan-boyfriends, I felt that I knew who Edward Duke really was, and loved him even more. I was inspired to write another play, this one about an actor dying of AIDS and the fan who loved and cared for him. I sent that to him too.

When I went to see him again a few years later, in another play (Private Lives, ironically, with Joan Collins), he gave me the biggest, warmest, lovingest hug. Then he said, "You wrote a play ... about me!!!" Since my hero dies of AIDS, I said, "I hope not!"

Edward Duke and Joan Collins, Private Lives:

I had sent him flowers backstage, and chocolates (which he gave to Joan, "she's mad about chocolate"), and he said I was the only one who remembered him. He seemed sad, or just tired. Then he invited me to hang out in his dressing room for the Saturday matinee, which I did. And after that show, I got to walk out of the stage door of the National Theatre (the same one Clay Aiken exited earlier this year after performing the song "Sarah" at the gala for Ford's), and was at his side when other fans begged for his autograph.... I felt so special to be his lady friend!

National Theatre backstage, Edward Duke dressing as "Victor" in Private Lives:

National Theatre, Edward Duke with fans:

Two years later, a friend called to tell me she just read his obituary in the New York Times. He'd died of AIDS at the age of 40. I never stopped loving him. He inspired me, and he genuinely seemed to love having me for a fan.

Edward Duke, February 1992:

This is how I respond to Clay Aiken's soul-baring experience. People need to get over the idea that only romantic love counts. Love is like water - it finds its own level and its own journey. My romantic fantasies, of course, will change. But my love for Edward, for Clay, and for anyone else who wiggles his way into my life for the better - that won't ever change. Not from this. Not even close.

Private Lives? Privacy? We wonder what those things are anymore. It was instructive for me to learn about my heroes' private lives; it allowed me to understand more about them. It makes me sad that Clay had to provide a glimpse of his private life in order for the rest of the world to achieve this understanding.

love, hosaa,
Not hero-worshipping. Hero-loving.

"Mirage" and "Fallen Angel"

The 1965 psycho-suspense drama Mirage, directed by Edward Dmytryk and starring Gregory Peck, Diane Baker, and Walter Matthau, has yet to be made available on DVD, and even VHS copies of it are hard to come by.

An even rarer commodity to come by is the novel upon which the film was based. IMDb credits Howard Fast, but it turns out that he wrote the story under the pen name Walter Ericson, and the original title was Fallen Angel. I managed to find a copy at a local warehouse, Second Story Books in Rockville, Maryland.

For those interested in collectibility, the book itself was in great condition, hardcover with a plastic covered dust jacket. No tears or marks. It is a first edition, signed by the author, so that is what put its price up more than I wanted to pay ($127 including tax), but I wanted the book. I wanted to read it.

I really can't tell you why I "had" to read the book. You want what you want. In fact, it had been so long since I had read a complete book, uninterrupted, that this in itself was a startling mission to find myself on yesterday. When I got home, I'd realized I'd done all my Saturday morning errands without benefit of breakfast or coffee, so I set myself up at Starbucks and dug in with my new prize. Two hours later I was a third of the way through the book, but I got tired of sitting in the coffee shop, so went home and finished the story.

I am not a fast reader, so to tell you I raced through this book at a rate of 30 pages an hour (or two minutes a page, and yes, I read each word in my head. None of this 'scanning down the middle of the page' crap for me), should tell you the story was gripping.

Though created roughly 15 years apart during the rise of the Cold War era, Fallen Angel the book and Mirage the film were definitely one and the same. By the time the film was made, the Cold War's influence on the American psyche had altered somewhat, from the post-World War II existential angst induced by more recent memories of its atrocities to an almost sophisticated hubris about how to prevent those atrocities.

A few alterations seem minor, but I like noting them. The principal character (played by Gregory Peck) was David Stillman in the book and David Stillwell in the movie; the private eye (Walter Matthau) was Mike Caselle in the book and Ted Caselle in the film. And the sinister character Vincent in the book became The Major on film. (There was also more cussing in the book, a distracting insertion of "toughness" that I was glad did not convey to the film version.)

The most interesting invention added to the film adaptation was a peace-promoting organization founded by the heroic character of Charles Calvin (unseen in the book but shown in fleeting but memorable flashbacks in the film; he's the fellow who is found having fallen from the skyscraper in the opening scenes). The story involved research on atomic weaponry; in the book, written in 1951, the goal was to make cheaper atomic bombs, but by the 1960s, when the film was made, the goal had transformed to finding more-peaceful use of atomic technologies (which, in the hands of evil, would still be perverted toward further destruction).

The goals of the peace-promoting foundation were noble but corrupted by a military influence (hence, The Major) and by corporate influences. The foundation run by the fictional Charles Calvin (film version) attempted to achieve its goals by violating some rules, such as mixing for-profit and nonprofit activities. Calvin saw his work as existing above these arbitrary rules, and his hubris helped lead to his downfall.

I bring all this up because the military had a great deal to do with the rise of futures studies in the mid-1960s and advanced such techniques as scenario writing. More so than the book, the film well articulates the fears of the era surrounding the birth of the World Future Society. Read about it in founding President Edward Cornish's memoirs, "The Search for Foresight: A Brief History of the World Future Society," a series of articles appearing in The Futurist magazine in 2007.

More than half a century has passed since Howard Fast expressed his fears of man's isolation and animal aggression, and of technological progress used to promote power and destruction. Are we any closer to solving these problems, taming our obsessions?

My own adventure in an obsessive little search seems to indicate that we can still be taken over easily by an idea. We want what we want. We should try to want good things.

Parallel Worlds

In my little world everything is either Clay Aiken or future related. So here is today's parallel-world example.

Voice of America covered the World Future Society's conference this summer, and here is their little story: Futurists Consider Trends, Look to the Future.

An American inventor once said, "We should all be concerned about the future because we will have to spend the rest of our lives there".

With that in mind, perhaps, an international gathering of so called futurists, attended the annual conference of the World Future Society recently, to discuss their views and concerns about tomorrow's world.

VOA Paul Sisco reports.

At least one of our members complained about how our organization is being cast in a bad light in this news clip, that it makes us look like a bunch of eccentrics. [Substitute "futurists" for "Claymates," and you'll see what I'm getting at.] It's actually a professional futurists' listserv where the angsting is taking place - you know, one of those insiders' back channels.... [this should sound familiar to hard-core Clay fans]

This is the second time that some less-than-fabulous publicity popped up about our organization in the last few years, but I've learned so much from being a Clay fan that it's easier to get some perspective.We get so little mass market attention that, when we do, we're super-sensitive to what is being said about us. I think we Clay fans can be the same way. I want every single passing mention of Clay to be about how fabulous he is, but that just doesn't happen.

The reportage about the futurists' conference, to me, was fairly neutral, and obviously done by a reporter who had no clue what futurists are about. "So-called" futurists do not stand up and tell you what the future is going to be like. We show you ways that you can be prepared for what may happen.

The diversity of our membership, the diversity of points of view, actually facilitates that understanding. Clay fans discuss all aspects of Clay's life and career, bringing their own values and filters and experiences to the discussion. And that's what "future fans" do at WFS conferences.

That's one reason I've always thought of Clay as a poster boy for the Wild Card scenario (a low-probability, high-impact event). We watched him jump head-first into the deep end of an unknown future, and what an adventure it's been!

Getting back to the VOA clip:

It’s not bad at all, just a little superficial. The “Jetsons” theme beginning and ending is very typical of what non-futurists think our field is all about. It’s one reason we did the Sci-fi theme in the September-October issue of The Futurist (which also mentions the Jetsons). It’s a popular hook, and we just have to deal with that. A phrase like “so-called” futurists just shows the writer’s lack of awareness, like people who still use a term like “so-called greenhouse gases....”

The point the video reporter makes that futurists don’t know exactly what will happen in the future is the same point we make ourselves. The fact that the future is unknowable is the reason we work so hard to understand trends, wild cards, forces of change, and so on. The expectation is common among non-futurists that futurists are supposed to come up with a pat answer to the question, “what’s going to happen in the future?” This video showed that this is not what we do. It also showed that we’re a diverse group of people who approach the study or understanding of the future from different perspectives.

The lack of real content in the video (other than the interviews with WFS communications director Patrick Tucker and conference chairman Nat Irvin) is just because it’s only a couple of minutes long. For what it was – a mention of our work and a sampling of the people who do it – I thought the piece was fine.

Futurists, like Clay Aiken fans, are passionate supporters of something in a world that seems often indifferent if not downright hostile. We want everyone to agree with us that the Future and Clay Aiken are incredibly interesting and important and worthy of universal attention and support. But sometimes we're the butt of a joke. It hurts, but that doesn't make what we support less important, less interesting, or less worthy of attention.



love, hosaa
inspired anyway

aka Mom

Marjory J. Wagner (aka "Aunt Irish" to my Dad's family, aka Mommahosaa, as she is known among my Clay friends) passed away on Sunday, August 3, 2008.



This falls under the category of Unexpected but Not Surprising. The move to long-term care at the nursing home wasn't because her fractured hip didn't heal, but because her emphysema and weakening heart made the physical therapy untenable. She knew she would never be able to take care of herself, so she accepted her "prison" with better humor than I expected.

In fact, she'd been doing pretty well. Her former interests interested her once again. I'd brought her an old abandoned needlepoint project. We talked nearly every evening, about an hour, usually about nothing in particular.

I laughed when she started complaining - about other people who complained so much! I was lucky to have the last few months of her undivided attention. The alcohol that had been taking away her memory, her personality, was out of the picture (even though I know she still wanted it).

She knew what was coming. She died exactly as she said she would: an apparently massive heart attack and relatively little lingering, just 17 hours.

In looking through her things for photos to display at the funeral yesterday, I found some note pages she'd tucked away. She wrote these words as her younger sister was dying in 1992:

I'm watching my sister die. She is three years younger than I. She is much more intelligent, more educated, and a much nicer person. I watch her gradual fading away - wondering at the tenacity of the human spirit. She has planned everything - giving her faithful daughter power of attorney, disposing of all she owns to her two children.

As I watch, giving whatever comfort and solace I can, many questions plague me, making for often sleepless nights. She has always advocated a "living will" - no special efforts by man or machine to prolong life. Yet, I see her frightened with each traumatic episode - concerned that each medication be available as needed. I see the terrible stress put upon her loving, faithful daughter, who is taking care of everything, fortunately supported by a loving, understanding husband.

She cannot recover - the damage of heart and lungs is too severe and is only progressing to an inevitable end. The cost of this gradual dying prodcedure is astronomical. Not just the cost in drugs, therapy, hospital, hospice, nursing, ambulance, etc. - but the cost in stress and anxiety, and cost to those who love her and make such efforts to support and sustain her.

One of these days, my turn will come. My loving and supportive children are on the other side of the country, engrossed in their own lives as they should be. Will I be so afraid of death that I will imperil them and their future? Can I organize my affairs as reasonably as my sister has? Can I find a way to die without inflicting such trauma and burdens on those I love?

I love my sister and do not want to let her go. But I know she will fairly soon - and I hate the watching and waiting - and what it is doing to those she loves. She is the kindest, most unselfish person I've ever known. How miserable it must be to die so slowly, inflicting such pain on the children she loves above all else.

I think that must be one of my reasons in retiring cross-country from my children. In spite of my spend-thrift ways, I don't think I will ever be dependent upon them, although they may not inherit much. My health insurance and annuity should take care of my needs - and if I should become "terminal," I pray I will have the gumption to end it quickly somehow.

These morbid thoughts haunt me, affecting my usual joy in life and all that it still offers. I must cling to my own life plan, give what I can to my dying sister and her children, and leave a little to subsist on for the sake of myself and my children.

Somehow, I must not only cope with these concerns as an aging person among those in the prime of life, but must somehow do this whole bit gracefully. It seems as though my contemporaries are dropping like flies. But I am still relatively healthy and active. I must not allow these concerns to impinge upon my work or on my relationships. If I do, I will negate my lifetime philosophy - keeping private and hidden any problems or grief rather than inflicting personal problems on others.

I suppose I'll always be one of those who "gripe" and "complain"; but hopefully those who know me realize its lack of meaning. This is a difficult period for me. Hopefully I will survive intact.

My aunt died in 1992 at the age of 64.

Mom outlived all of her siblings, my father, and his siblings. That was painful to her, too. It's hard to understand why she didn't feel that her longevity was a success story. But her life was so full that I think this is what depressed her most about growing old. She couldn't do all that she wanted to. And when you're active all your life, inactivity equals death.

I'm sad but not devastated. I know I did what I could for her. Maybe even too much - it's hard for an independent person to accept help. She said I worried too much, and she's probably right. But one thing I know now that I should have known all along:

No one will love you the way your mom does.

Back from the Future

WorldFuture 2008 has come to an end, and the first couple of videos are now posted.

The first is from the Q&A during the opening plenary session, during which business futurist Edie Weiner gave a presentation on why the world is NOT flat yet. (Audio from the entire session will be available from the World Future Society soon; please check back.)

Edie Weiner, The Truth About Diversity


The second video is from the closing plenary session. Michael Marien, long-time editor of Future Survey, receives the distinguished service award from World Future Society President Tim Mack. Marien will step down from FS by the end of this year after having been the sole editor of the newsletter since 1979, a position he describes as "unsupervised play."

Michael Marien, World Future Society Distinguished Service


Thanks to all those who worked so hard to put the conference together, the meeting went smoothly. The Meet the Editors session for FUTURIST staff was a lot of fun (no tomatoes thrown!) and there was a lot of interaction throughout the meeting.

Since this IS a personal blog, I'll mention a couple of personal things...

During the Future of Men session, I was soooo tempted to raise my hand when speakers Amy Oberg and Joe Bourland of the Kimberly-Clark Corporation sought an archetype of the future adaptive male with the nurturing/caring skills necessary for the service economy. (Archetypes of males of the past included Steve McQueen and Fred MacMurray, and the two archetypes of the present confused male are the Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer characters on Two and a Half Men.)

Yes, I would have said UNICEF ambassador and inclusion-advocate Clay Aiken, but unfortunately, through no fault of his own, his name is something of a punchline these days. Eh, whatever. He's a long-termer. I'll save my thesis on why he's a perfect futurist for another blog, but there was a short article on him in Futurist Update awhile back.

Speaking of future men, I'd like to thank the sweet fellow who paid me a nice compliment at the end of the meeting. Sorry he ran away so fast. Are we future females all that scary?

Love, hosaa
futuring and trying to figure it all out

Olympians - On Their Way

I've been watching the Olympics since I was a kid and am always so moved by human achievement and perseverence. This tribute includes some vintage clips found on YouTube, set to Clay Aiken's song "On My Way Here." Enjoy!

love, hosaa

Somalia's Children

Education and children's advocate Clay Aiken recently returned from a Unicef mission to Somalia to observe and report on the status of children in this "forgotten" country, "one of the poorest and most volatile countries in the world."

He reports on his mission in the UnicefUSA field notes blog. He writes:

One of the most incredible things I learned on my trip is that there are only 350 doctors left in the entire country, mostly because of the violence and insecurity. And many of these doctors are older than the average life expectancy in Somalia, which is only 45. I can't help but wonder, what is going to happen in a couple of years when there are no more doctors? What will happen to the children who struggle to survive?

Read more on how Unicef is helping in that struggle to survive: UNICEF Seeks Emergency Support for Somalia's Undernourished Children.

















Clay Aiken in Somalia. Photo by Denise Shepherd-Johnson, UnicefUSA

See Love

Voila! Wedding gift:



love, hosaa
seeking

Respect

A reader e-mailed me yesterday to comment on my losing the Little Miss Christmas pageant mumbledy-ought years ago. He told me:

You cannot live an authentic life while worrying about what others think. The people who win contests for approval are generally so eager to please that integrity escapes them.

Since most of my non-working mind is occupied by thoughts of Clay Aiken (whose voice brings me great joy and solace), I filtered my reader's comment to help understand what is going on with his new album, which sold well the first week, thanks to loyal and attentive fans, but hasn't yet caught on with the general public.

So far, Clay Aiken hasn't received much in the way of respect from music critics or radio programmers, but his recently released studio album, On My Way Here, was supported by some very well respected musicians. This Yahoo! video shows some of them in action:



An exceptionally well-researched blog, The ConCLAYve, profiles the musicians and their credentials:

"Clay Aiken's 'On My Way Here' - Measuring the Gap between the Critics and the Truth."

What I hear in the music supporting Clay's voice is respect: genuine appreciation for a voice that has the power to touch other people's lives. His voice is the instrument of a master musician, and the artists who recognize and support that gift also deserve respect.

love, hosaa
listening

3 a.m. Paper Chase

Some people fear outliving their money; others fear not outliving their money. Either approach to life will have some consequences for your loved ones.

Case in point: Mommahosaa's hip surgeries earlier this year (three surgeries from one fall and two dislocations of the new joint) landed her in a rehab facility; with the post-op complications, she lost a lot of strength and will now "graduate" to the long-term wing of the facility.

Medicare and her federal-retiree insurance covered most of this stay, but this week that ended. We were then presented with a bill that could not be paid. She simply had not saved enough. Now we are collecting all the necessary paperwork to apply to Medicaid.

By "we," I mean "me." My brother and I cleaned out Mom's apartment, and the important papers got conveyed to a little pile by my kitchen window. The three "important papers" boxes seemed to have what we needed, but they were not exactly organized--old letters were mixed with new photos, old address books mixed with recent Comcast bills. Almost everything but what I needed: Social Security card and birth certificate.

It seemed to me that I had seen the SS card at one time, perhaps just long enough to put it in "a safe place" - i.e., a black hole.

After searching for that one bit of paper till 3 a.m., I finally did find my "safe place," and the black hole coughed up the SS card, birth certificate, an expired passport, and one or two other goodies.

The moral of the story is, if you're going to outlive your money, get your important paperwork organized enough so that your loved ones don't create black holes trying to do it for you.

And by "you" I mean "me." I see several future black holes in my own important messes. No one needing to deal with my paper has a chance of finding the long-term-care policy I took out on myself (to avoid outliving my money).

Oh, but here's one of the other goodies I found in the black hole: my very first newspaper clipping, from my old pageant days.* Herewith, the Montgomery County Sentinel's coverage of the Little Miss Christmas pageant, November 30, 1961:

Love, hosaa
front and center

* My one and only pageant. The young lady front left won the competition. I believe I came in dead last, after chastising the announcer for mispronouncing my name. At age five, I showed strong tendencies toward correcting other people and questioning authority. Heh!

Speaking of the future...

A word from our sponsor:



The World Future Society has also posted some other videos of conference speakers on their YouTube channel, which can give you a better idea of what they actually talk about during these conferences.

Dr. Helen Fisher, author of Why We Love, addresses the World Future Society's 2007 conference, describing the impacts of antidepressants on the brain systems associated with romance and attachment.

Biomedical researcher Gregory Stock, author of Redesigning Humans, speaks on "Biotechnology and Health Care: The Road Ahead" in this excerpt from his presentation at the World Future Society's 2007 conference.

Business professor Nat Irvin II (University of Louisville) tells a personal story about his partial blindness and his insights as a futurist at the World Future Society's 2007 conference. He will chair the Society's 2008 conference in Washington, D.C.

Waiting

Waiting for life to happen,
wondering when it will start
to bloom and awe inspire.

I don't think that "waiting" is the same as "standing still." As Ferris said, if you don't stop to look around once in a while, you might miss it.

love, hosaa,
pausing

Nest Guard

Yesterday I watched a cardinal guarding her nest in a tree near a parking lot:


She flitted back and forth between the tree and the supposed intruder she spotted in the side mirror of a car.

I watched awhile then went into the nursing home to visit my Mom. She understands that she will be moving from the rehab wing into long-term care there. It will mean downsizing from her small private room into a double. But she still wanted a list of all the things in her apartment so she could decide what to bring to the new room.

Mommas never stop guarding their nests, do they?

Love, hosaa,
wrestling with nests

On his way here

Clay Aiken's new song is being previewed at AOL's Popeater site:

On My Way Here

The lyrics were posted online at one (probably several) of the Aiken fan message boards.


On My Way Here
written by Ryan Tedder, performed by Clay Aiken

I took my first step
On that black and white kitchen floor
I sometimes wonder if that house is even there anymore
I had my first glimpse
Of love when I was five
I watched two people split apart
But still the three of us survived
I’ve seen the best
I’ve seen the worst
I wouldn’t change what I’ve been through
I’ve touched the sky
I’ve hit the wall
But I did what I had to

Chorus
On my way here
Where I am now
I’ve learned to fly
I have to want to leave the ground
I’ve fallen hard but I’ve been loved
And in the end it all works out
My faith has conquered fear
On my way here

Oh yeah, yeah

My address has changed
Almost every year
I’ve found that standing still
Can quickly make a lifetime disappear
I’d rather try and fail
A thousand times denied
And this, whenever you feel pain
It lets you know you’re alive
I’ve been a fool
I’ve been afraid
Yeah, I’ve been loved
I’ve been lied to
I’ve been wrong
And I’ve been right
I stood up when I had to

Chorus

No guarantees
I believed that I would find
An open door or a light
To lead me to the other side
I guess that is why

Chorus

Body Parts

(A poem for anti-reductionists)

Once I rhapsodized upon his eyes,
Became transfixed upon his lips,
Transferred allegiance to his thighs,
And now reflect upon his hips.

His ears beguiled me for awhile,
His flaring nostrils did me in.
Dreaming of chesthairs made me smile
And his turned-out feet my heart did win.

His hair of variable styles and colors
Taunt and tease me like the weather.
His parts enchant me like no other's
But I love him most entirely together.


love, hosaa
loving his whole entire everything

Fog of Future Wars?

This just in! A hosaa's blog exclusive:

This photocollage illustrates an article in the latest issue of the World Future Society's Futurist magazine, which just landed on my desk this afternoon.

"Nanopollution: The Invisible Fog of Future Wars" by Italian physicist Antonietta M. Gatti and colleague Stefano Montanari of Nanodiagnostics describes the effects of pollution from nano-scale particles, which "expands traditional battlefields and extends warfare's impacts to innocent victims, including future generations." This article is part of a special section on Bioviolence.

The cover story is on finding sustainable solutions to global shortages of freshwater.

Members should be receiving their copies later this week.

Identity Snark

I don't know about you, but I get far more spam in my office e-mail than through my personal Yahoo and Gmail accounts. Most of the junk is sent to Junk, but the spammers have found a way to spoof the subject lines sufficiently to get by the filter.

Of course the trick is to identify the e-mailer as an unfriendly sender, but I'm amused that they're even making that easy. Among the ones that caught my eye this morning came from blatant, sullied, and invective @ wherever...

My old pals Blatant, Sullied, and Invective. Yes. I remember them well. I will probably spend most of my college reunion weekend avoiding them.

love, hosaa
blatantly avoiding sullied invectives

Visual Aid

I'm really more of a word botcher than a bird watcher, but yesterday I heard a familiar voice in the neighborhood. I hadn't heard a Baltimore Oriole since I was a kid, but I think there's one making its home in the trees near my apartment building.

They're shy birds, but I thought I spotted one in the bare limbs. I whipped out my camera but knew that, shooting it against the early morning southeastern sky, I'd only get a silhouette:

I had a plan: Import the shadowy thing into Paint Shop Pro, crop, and click on Clarify and Saturate about a million times. Of course I wouldn't get a good photo out of it - I just wanted to see what colors would come up.

Close enough? I think I'm right. I recognized the voice. Maybe I'll name this one Belanger.

Love, hosaa
seeing through my ears - and technology

"Doolittle"

I admit this wasn't the greenest purchase I've ever made, because my new car, a Ford Focus, is not a hybrid. But "Doolittle" here was within my budget, while no hybrid in sight was within my reach.

Much of the green movement now is about consumption (though a more-informed variety), which is not only ironic but counterproductive IMO.

My greenest choice in life was to live 10 blocks from my office so I can walk to work. Dear little Doolittle will be asked to do very little over the next (hopefully) 10 or 15 years.

Love, hosaa
pricing car insurance

Superman of Futurism

Sir Arthur C. Clarke
b. December 16, 1917, d. March 19, 2008


Video by TVE Asia Pacific

"Superman" of Futurism, Sir Arthur C. Clarke, dies at age 90

The Foundation named for him reports with quiet dignity this morning: "After a prolific and esteemed career, Sir Arthur has passed away in Sri Lanka."

Best known as the author of the short story on which the film 2001: A Space Odyssey was based, Sir Arthur C. Clarke was both an inspired writer and a source of inspiration for others.

In a poll of futurists for the Encyclopedia of the Future (Macmillan, 1996), Sir Arthur C. Clarke was ranked sixth of the 100 most influential futurists in history--ahead of Jules Verne and Isaac Newton.

He was an early supporter of the World Future Society, participating in its first conference, purchasing books about the future from the Society's specialty bookstore, and ultimately joining its Global Advisory Council.

Society founder Edward Cornish noted in his series on the Society's founding that "Arthur C. Clarke not only joined but sent in a membership for Stanley Kubrick, the producer/director of 2001: A Space Odyssey."

Described as a "prophet" for the space age for his inspiring stories and meticulous scientific perspective, Clarke was one of very few science-fiction writers equally gifted on both the science side and the fiction side of the genre.

He was also modest; he demonstrated a graceful integrity when he wrote a letter to the editor to THE FUTURIST to correct another author, who had inadvertently credited him with "inventing" the solar sail--a sun-powered spacecraft he described in his story "Sunjammer."

Clarke could justifiably be described as the Superman of futurism, and not just for his longevity against extreme physical challenges. According to newspaper obituaries, he had suffered from post-polio syndrome for the past two decades, succumbing to respiratory ailments.

But his forward-looking spirit led him to "predict" in his 1999 book Greetings, Carbon-Based Bipeds! that he would celebrate his one-hundredth birthday as a space tourist, one of the first guests in the Hilton Orbiter. In that regard, his goal-driven life calls to mind that of Superman star Christopher Reeve, who set a goal to walk again by age 50 after the riding accident that paralyzed him.

Sir Arthur "was a good friend and an inspiration to us all," said Cornish.



Sir Arthur C. Clarke (center), the famed science and science-fiction writer, is welcomed at a Society meeting by World Future Society founding president Edward Cornish (left) and board member Michael Michaelis. Clarke, who died early on Wednesday, March 19, at his home in Sri Lanka, was a member of the Society’s Global Advisory Council. Photo: WFS Archive.

Links:
1. World Future Society's tribute to Sir Arthur C. Clarke

2. New York Times obituary

3. Arthur C. Clarke Foundation

4. Edward Cornish's series on World Future Society history, which notes Sir Arthur's early involvement in and support of the Society

5. NASA Remembers Arthur C. Clarke

Momentary Heroism

It only takes a moment to become someone's hero.



The story (briefly): I took my niece up to New York in January to see Clay Aiken in Spamalot. Moments after the show ended, the crowd gathered to collect autographs from our Idol. But I had a little trouble reaching him, as a tall man blocked my view and a mean lady pushed my poster away. In this video, Clay Aiken demonstrates how it only takes a few seconds and one graceful gesture to become somebody's hero.

Love, hosaa
Shopping for a nice frame for my autographed "Sir Robin" poster

Public Diplomacy

How many of you will see a story like this reported on TMZ, E!, or - well - anywhere? It is a positive story about the good that one celebrity is doing out there in the world. This is a press release from the U.S. State Department.

American Public Diplomacy Envoy Michelle Kwan Travels to Argentina

American Public Diplomacy Envoy Michelle Kwan will travel to Argentina March 15, 2008 to begin her third tour as a State Department Public Diplomacy Envoy. While in Argentina the figure skating champion will visit Buenos Aires, Santa Fe and Parana. The Public Diplomacy Envoy program is carried out under the auspices of the Department’s Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs. The program in Argentina follows Kwan’s previous, highly successful envoy visits to China and Russia in 2007.

As an American Public Diplomacy Envoy, Ms. Kwan promotes cross-cultural dialogue with international youth to increase understanding of America by sharing her story and life experiences. Kwan’s activities in Argentina will include holding skating clinics for Argentine youth, meeting Special Olympic and Paralympic athletes, meeting and speaking with students, teachers, coaches and aspiring youth entrepreneurs working on Junior Achievement projects. Kwan will also share her experiences with women leaders as well as have an open dialogue with Argentine athletes.

Please direct media inquiries about this or other programs of the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs to Darlene Kirk.

Released on March 13, 2008


love, hosaa
admiring an admirable person

"She works in heaven"

A friend in Dallas sent me these pictures she took when she got to her office yesterday. She works on the 54th floor of the Bank of America building downtown.

Another friend observed, "Mary works in heaven. Above the clouds!"

Would that we all worked in heaven, if for no other reason than the perspective. The future may resemble an ancient ruin, and our job is to build a civilization from the pieces we inherit from our past.

Love, hosaa,
peeping up from somewhere below Mary's heaven

Footscapes

"My Pedestrian Documentary" by the World Future Society:



The big-picture thinkers often look at a broad landscape and forget to watch their steps. You need to see where you're going, yes, but you also need to get there.

The video ends with a wry lesson. A schlemiel is someone who falls on the slippery ground. A schlimazel is someone who trips on the "Slippery When Wet" sign.

love, hosaa
stepping cautiously into the future

Take

Take the willing heart
of an unconnected soul.

Take her heart and teach her
to share and to know

The love of her life
was never hers to take

But to give.