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