FDK, GTB and the Internet

Here I am on the Facebook. I am also on Gmail. Myspace. Blogger. Elsewhere. Think about it, I am on the world wide web and so are you. We are out there and in there, so let's all blow our minds as a team.

What is to become of hand-written letters, books, or any other way BESIDES THE INTERNET to send and receive information? Gosh. . .Do you remember when the only way to correspond was by use of a mailbox? And the only way to communicate was with a telephone? Honestly, who "puts the flag up" for anything other than Christmas cards?

I mean, LOOK at all of this. I think about my grandfather, Frederick Darwin Keeler, and how he would react if he was with us today. Pops was the most technologically-fascinated individual of his time. Granted, he stopped buying all of the "new" things prior to, oh, 1990 I suppose, but in spite of this, pops would be overwhelmed with wonder as I listened to an I-pod or as my sister edited her pictures on Photoshop.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my Ipod, Pops.”
“A what?!”
“An Ipod”
“What are you doing with it?”
“I’m listening to music.”
“On THAT LITTLE THING?!”
“Yup.”
“How?”
“I download songs from a computer.”
“Download?”
Like I say, Pops was a wonderfully curious man and those question-and-answer sessions would last an entire afternoon, sometimes extending into dinner time. Sarah and I loved these sessions, though. We marveled at his passion for knowing and answered him to the best of our youthful ability.
And now we come to Geraldine Taylor Besse, who in her time lived in Smalltown USA atop Anyrandom Hill. How would she react to "all of this internet STUFF"? Ah, Granny...a truly amazing woman. She was very involved in her community. And now, if she were still living and doing all her things for her town, she would have an email address. GTB@hotmail.com- sending, forwarding, and replying to issues regarding Old Home Day.
So now I wonder how much and to what extent Granny would utilize the "www"? Furthermore, how long would the Q&A on the subject last with Pops?

Wow.

Shuffle 2

To fulfill half of my promise, the next shuffle tune is "Live Wire" by AC/DC. It came on while running east-bound on Van Buren. The increasing intensity of the base guitar gave me wings, which proves the "other ways" theory regarding a certain energy drink. My per mile pace dropped nearly five minutes during this song. I also found that "Live Wire" produces in me a certain rebelliousness toward certain colored lights.

We Got What We Were Promised.

Saturday was a special night. Tim, Will and I took to Denver to see an aspiring alternative band out of Scotland perform. It was a real great time- everybody crowded into the small bar, offering very little room for us to move. But it's not like we really wanted to move, the music was that captivating. Funny, I can't really find any band with which to compare Jetpacks, maybe I can get away with saying Death Cab meets Phoenix. The songs bare some similarity to the melancholy mood of Gibbard's works, but have the fast-paced "uppityness" of Phoenix. That made for an extraordinary show, and we loved every minute of it.

Equinox

It is hard to explain how it felt to be outside today. Every year, there seems to be that one distinctive day of change, and it does not matter whether you live in the North, South, East or West. The air takes on a different aroma, the wind shifts a little bit. It is a bit chillier, a bit cloudier. You wish you had worn that extra layer, but it is too late to go inside to get that coat or sweater. So you just sit and think. You hate the idea of going into that building to endure fifty-some minutes of lecture, and you think rather about staying outside and watching mother nature do her Autumn work. A cloud moves in front of the sun, the wind picks up, making the chill even more so. The peaks to the north have newly-fallen snow, and the sun melts what it can. Nothing really melts on the back of the peaks, for they do not see that much sun. Clouds that are dark but non-threatening move in during the late afternoon. Against the sunset, they give off a dark grey, almost black color, as they move harmlessly over campus and off to the east. Today, it seems as if a line has been crossed. It is the line that divides the mildness of the Indian Summer to the chilliness of Autumn, and there is no turning back.

Shuffle

The “shuffle” setting on my ipod is fascinating. I was just starting up a ten-mile run and the first song is none other than “Laughing” by Crosby, Stills and Nash. It's not a bad tune. I went with it.

“I thought,. . .I met a man. . .who said,. . .he knew a man. . .who knew. . .what was goin’ on” is how it begins, in a solemn tone not befitting of such an activity as running. I think more along the lines of, oh, sitting around a camp fire or painting a barn with a watercolor brush as criteria for a good CSN tune.

Tune in next week as I tune into another song on my shuffle.

Stupor- Punked Felines

Memories. Good ones, dull ones, funny ones, exciting ones. This will be a funny one. It occurred when you were an age of which I am not certain and when I was ten. On a late fall evening in the comforts of a certain Clearfield, PA Best Western, two cats were under the influence. What influence, you ask? Could it be owner’s love? Chopped alewife in a saucer? Catnip? For Elferd and Maimie, it was none of the above. Those cats had something in their system that made them spiral from nuts to clumsy to just plain stupid. We Norths, tired from the long haul and needing rest, had front row seats for the upcoming show and had no choice in the matter.
ACT I: The Wandering. The cats wandered every square inch of that motel room, a wandering that was slow and sluggish. Bumping into a wall, they would double back and bump into another wall. It was almost as if they were wandering to the Nutcracker tune of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, but for the sake of the situation I’ll change it to “Dance of the Stupor- Punked Felines.”
ACT II: The Yowles. It was not until after we went to bed that the noise began. (Bed…what were we thinking?) At first, we kids were a bit startled, for it sounded as if we were being haunted by two deceased cat-souls.
“Yowwwwlllllll! Yowwwwllll!”
Realizing what the noise was and in all frankness amused by it, we just tried to ignore it. Two hours passed and oh, how we longed for sleep. But it would not have anything to do with us. Thus we continued our lying and looking at the motel ceiling.
ACT III: “Mrooowwwwwer.” “Myowwwellll” “MeyoWoWoW” There was now yodeling, yodeling under the influence of whatever the vet injected them with. On top of this they were still wandering and bumping into things. Zeke, our dog at the time, was very unlucky. His peace was shattered from two cats bumping into and climbing over his frail body. Never did he have to experience this in his twelve years living with us. Thoroughly pissed-off, Zeke snapped at the cats whenever he got the chance. All of this happened under a luminous glow of the in-shining moon.
You may be wondering when the vomiting began. Well, I was getting to that. It all started ‘round one o’clock. By now Sarah, Mom, Dad, Zeke and me had abandoned all hope of sleep and were just waiting for whatever else was in store. Lying in our beds, we noticed that the yowling ceased. Yay!!! Could this mean that the show was over? Could it be? Sleep began to overcome us. Zeke began to snore quietly. The cats were somewhere else, not anywhere to be heard. All was calm on the Best Western front until we began to hear the upchucking. And you know what that sounds like, you cat owners. I needn’t put it down on paper. Let’s just say that whatever corner of the house you’re in, your head will turn to the sound and you will refuse to accept the reality of what is going down. Indeed the four of us, at that moment in the wee hours of the morning, were refusing to accept the reality. Of course, everything else started back up too, the noises and all that. So now the cats have one heck of a multitasking system going on- wandering, yowling, yodeling, and vomiting.
ACT IV: If you are not already grossed out and making a conscious choice to read on, I may as well address the beds. Two beds were in the hotel room- Sarah and Mom in one, Dad and I in the other. Elferd and Maimie decided to incorporate the beds into their show, and that they did. Only in this case they couldn’t really stay ON the beds, they would hop up, walk all over us and fall off the side. Sometimes they got it in their heads to try to leap from one bed to the other (I guess they thought they had it together enough to do so). The funny thing is, the influence they were under disallowed them from completing their leaps and they would land on the floor with a thud. There were no give-ups, for the strong will of the drugged felines kept them persistent straight on till morning.
And that’s the story of the stupor-punked felines. Truth is, we had to have them put under some kind of drug to keep them lax during our move from Connecticut to Ohio. Ironically, they were anything but relaxed.

Haiku By a Bird.

White something outside
Skies, blue tolerate clouds, grey
And I fly away.