From the Road – Page 53

Fiddler Through the Roof

This summer unfolded as yet another rollercoaster ride, remaining in one state seldom longer than a few weeks. I ventured to Arizona a few times to visit Christa and family, California two or three times (I can’t recall), Hawaii for twelve days, on the San Juan river in Utah for ten, back to Arizona for two weeks, and finally home a little over a week ago.

In the between time I removed the roof of my house, all four layers of cursed shingles stubbornly refusing to find refuge in the 30 cubic yard roll-away (filled twice). While I have always believed, and repeatedly heard that reshingling a house is a 4-day weekend job, mine was instead two months.

It seemed to be going smoothly, although slowly, until I received a phone call while at work from my friend Chris who is helping me with this project.

Chris said, “Hey man, how’s it going?”

“Well,” I responded, noticing a slight agitation in his voice.

“Yeah, well, (pause) we have problem. So, what’s the worst thing that could happen on this job?”

I replied, “You fell off the roof?”

“What’s the second worse thing that could happen?”

“You fell through the ceiling into my house?”

“No, man. (pause) Not me. Ricardo did. And he’s only been on the job for an hour so he feels really bad. Do you want me to fire him?” I said no, and could do nothing but laugh.

(two days later)
Another friend fell off the roof altogether.

(a few weeks thereafter, while on the road)
I learned the contractor hired to wrap up the shingles on the south side of my house chose to forgo placement of felt beneath the shingles. A few terse words and the shingles were removed, tar paper installed, and new shingles replaced.

Upon return from my trip, I entered my house and was overwhelmed by the smell of wet, century old paster. A tremendous amount of water had come through the opening we cut (but apparently did not seal) for the dormer, dropping a portion of the ceiling into my laundry room and raising the grain on my hardwood floor.

(a few weeks later)
With the onset of fall rain and first snow storms, I awoke to the sound of dripping water in my living room. At 1 am, I scrambled across the wet roof top without roof jack nor climbing harness, in T-shirt and underwear bottoms. I struggled with a bundle of shingles across my shoulders. I tackled the 40×30 tarp which had become a large kite in the midnight storm and secured the corners. The pools of water in my attic later absorbed by every bedsheet that I own, which in retrospect, is not very many.

Yesterday, finally, I was given temporary pleasure in my properly shingled and snow tight roof, including four new skylights (a fifth to be installed –some other time) … until I recalled that I have no insulation and have yet to complete the rewiring before I can sister the 2x4s with 2x6s and lay down a new floor. Needless to say, if I don’t get this done soon, it will be a very cold, lonely winter as Christa will likely retreat to her home in Flag where she does not have to wear long underwear and fleece nor see her breath in the frozen morning.

By Kai Staats|2006-10-19T03:17:26-04:00October 19th, 2006|At Home in the Rockies|1 Comment

The Storm

Yesterday I drove from Rifle, Colorado to Moab where it has been raining off/on for 3 days. In the low ’80s the temperature was fantastic and the rock surprisingly sticky. I climbed with 3 guys from Carolinas and the locals who came in droves from 6 till what I assume was 9 pm. Big Bend their local, outdoor gym.

I headed South at 8:30 that same night and was overwhelmed by the most magnificent electrical storm I have ever experienced. It extended from Monticello to Blanding, and nearly to Bluff. Heavy, thick, black clouds that threw bolts to the ground every 10-15 seconds, never more than 30 seconds without a series of flashes for a contiguous two hours. There were dozens of horizontal whips of electricity that shot from one prominent underpinning of a cloud to the next, the fire produced similar to that between two or three CDs placed in the microwave oven.

I celebrated my front row seat to this masterpiece with Vivaldi’s flute concertos. I pulled onto a gravel road and faced my car East into the panoramic heart of this living, breathing creature. I literally clapped at the finale of a burst of strikes on three sides of me and above at the same time. Secretly, I hoped it would strike me car just to see what it was like. But when one such bolt came far too close, that desire was satisfied.

At Bluff, I was on the edge of its unfolded wings, the moon breaking through the sharp border where the storm stopped and the clear night sky began. I slept in my car just between Bluff and Mexican Hat, on the pull-out to the road that winds up and up and up the cliff. I wanted to return to where we had camped before our float trip, high on the cliffs West and North of Bluff, but was concerned that if the storm made it this far South, I could find trouble on those dusty roads.

The storm lost its power in pursuit of me, but the memory of it will remain for a very long time.

By Kai Staats|2006-07-10T19:17:35-04:00July 10th, 2006|From the Road|0 Comments

Terra Soft Team Saves Apple CEO from Intel Factory Line

TERRA SOFT TEAM SAVES APPLE CEO FROM INTEL FACTORY LINE

LOVELAND, Colorado – 1 April 2006 – Terra Soft Solutions, the leadingdeveloper of integrated Power Architecture Linux solutions, in a bold reconnaissance mission last night rescued Steve Jobs from captivity.

Borrowing attack helicopters from a non-disclosed Department of Defense customer, Terra Soft used an RTOS version of Yellow Dog Linux running on Cell processors to fly a nightime sortie to the headquarters of the Intel Corporation.

Ben Ratliff, Terra Soft’s Operations Manager lead a nervous but highly determined team into the heart of Intel’s empire, and then into the depths of their Santa Clara facilities to retrieve Apple’s rightful CEO from his captor.

“In December of ’05 we received an email from a woman at Intel [whose identity remains confidential] wherein she claimed to have seen Steve Jobs working the evening production line shift. We at first assumed the communication was a hoax. But when a similar email arrived a week later from another source, and then in January a few more –we were compelled to investigate,” states Ratliff.

Terra Soft spent the better part of January, February, and March working to determine if there was truth in this otherwise impossible scenario.

Ratliff continues, “It was only when we received an unmarked Intel Apple laptop that the unbelievable was made painfully clear. Before we even powered-on the unit, we discovered written on the screen in what appeared to be streaks of sweat, the words, ‘LONG LIVE PPC!’ We immediately recognized the truth– Steve Jobs had been abducted and cloned. Apple was under the control of an impostor.”

“We have been working hard since this moment, planting spies, infiltrating servers, and planning for this monumental task. With help from sympathizers on the inside, we managed to save Steve and Apple from an otherwise certain demise,” Ratliff concludes.

Once free from the confines of his prison of nearly one year, Jobs wore a tattered blue assembly line uniform but appeared in good spirits as he offered, “I am grateful for Terra Soft’s courage in this rescue operation. I will this week announce the return of the full Apple product line to PowerPC. And as a demonstration of my gratitude to Terra Soft, replace OSX with YDL on all systems from here forward.”

By Kai Staats|2013-10-08T20:50:27-04:00April 1st, 2006|At Home in the Rockies|0 Comments

Hibernation

Standing outside an apartment. Low lying brick building with a large, black-top parking lot to its south side. Overhanging flat roof kept the sun from directly hitting the pane windows. Well lit, clean, but not new. A sense of disrepair but not uncomfortable. Perhaps a ’40s or ’50s construction. Stepping inside, the kitchen was open to the living room, literally defined by the West and partial North wall of cabinets and utilities. Against the South wall, beneath the window panes a green couch.

The apartment was company rented in conjunction with a new job I took. Not certain of the name nor nature of the company nor my role, but I was required to maintain two additional refrigerators to house what I believed to be biological samples.

There was also a large, above-the-counter oven or microwave (not certain), mounted to the wall, which did not retain a front door and housed a human form, crouched and folded into its interior, arms wrapped around the legs in a severly cramped embrace. An artistic endeavor more so than one of utilitarian intent. Perfectly smooth, white, and made from what appeared to be molded plastic. No fine details. No real sense of the underlying structure nor original master.

[I was confused if this appliance was already present and the body-form inserted or if the entire unit was new. An oddity I was willing, in this dream world, to overlook for the moment.]

There was a woman from the company who delivered the units and helped with the placement. I neither recall her face nor name. We organized the two refrigerators against the North wall, pleased with the balance of the units in relation to the cupboards to the left and doorway to the right which led to the rest of the apartment.

I do not recall living there, as even that first night I had an engagement, a meeting perhaps for I was running late and in a hurry. I searched for my keys, finally found them, and as I briskly walked through the kitchen/front-entry room I was caught by what I believed to be a change in the body-form in the oven. The face was no longer an amorphous contour of plastic, but much more human like. I looked twice as I could not fully recall how it seemed to have appeared before, nor even if it had truly changed. But now I recognized a hint of blue eyes and pale skin in place of opaque, white plastic. Troubled by my lack of recollection for what was and what is, I was convinced the twilight was casting shadows. I kept moving in order to make my meeting.

The next morning [I don’t think I slept in the apartment that night, not even certain it was for sleeping, perhaps just for work], I returned to the brightly lit front room and continued to unpack, organize, and clean. Something caught my eye behind. I crawled beneath the left and South most of the kitchen cabinetry, a counter propped not on solid cabinetry, but a legged stand perhaps designed as an eating nook for bar stools.

Pressed between the back of the closed cabinet which housed the sink and the West wall, I discovered a half-cardboard box (the kind used for presentation in warehouse style grocery stores) full of shrink-wrapped Asian pastries. I was thrilled to find my favorite red bean cakes wrapped in sweet, white rice dough with a light powder coating. I simultaneously learned about the previous tenants and gained lunch for the next few days.

I extracted the box from beneath the counter, stood and I turned to walk toward the counter when I felt certain the body-form had moved. I turned, looked upon the oven and I realized the face no longer held any plastic mold at all, but was a solid, full human male face. Bald, pale skin, bright blue eyes which stared straight ahead– no, they moved, they now looked to the center of the room.

God damn it. It moved! A bead of sweat ran down my spine and I could hear my heart in my ears. It fucking moved! The head rocked forward a bit within the confines of its enclosure. I was backing from the oven and this living thing. I have no recollection as to what happened to the Asian pastries nor even how I found my keys, but as I turned to open the front door and leave, it, he was slowly crawling from the oven, stepping onto the floor. Clothed now in a contiguous skin-tight white garment that resembled the once plastic form, his movement was very stiff, robotic, and cumbersome.

As I tore myself from the horrific sight and turned to race to my car, the woman who had helped organize the refrigerators walked in. I said nothing for I could not speak. What was she doing here? And yet it was obvious by her determination that she knew of this creature, had no fear, and had come to its aid.

I ran to my car, not looking back. It was daylight yet my body trembled as it would have in a nightmare. I opened the door via remote, jumped into the driver’s seat, and started the engine.

While it was my intent to drive from that place at top speed, something held me there, kept me from leaving, the engine running. The man who emerged from the apartment leaned heavily on the woman, his body tall and thin and less menacing than when unfolding from the oven. His skin was less pale as movement seemed to have warmed him. And the woman was obviously not afraid. My hands were shaking. The image of his eyes moving for the first time flashed inside my head over and over along with his foot reaching the ground for the
first time. Strange, fascinating, and horrifying.

I wanted to drive away, but I could not. Both of them walked directly to my car, the woman obviously concerned for others seeing this event unfold. I moved the transmission into first gear and then neutral repeatedly, but could not bring myself to engage the clutch.

The man was then leaning against my rear passenger side door, the woman fumbling for the handle while keeping him upright. They slid in and sat in the rear seat together. The door to the apartment remained open. “We didn’t expect this to happen so soon. Let’s go.” We drove away.

* * *

Some time later, although I am not certain when nor where, I was present at an outdoor company picnic or luncheon. The man who had emerged from my apartment oven was the focus of everyone’s attention. His hair had grown in, sand colored and curly. He was thin, like an adolescent who had grown tall disproportionately to the rest of his body, slightly over six foot.

I shook his hand and said, “You gave me a real scare that day,” to which he responded in the English of someone who is learning, “I … I am sorry.” I could not quite place his accent. A former East block country? Romanian? In the background I could hear the laughter and banter of a hundred or more picnic attendees. He smiled. I smiled. He had a warmth to his face now that was pleasant and inviting.

We walked together, a small entourage of curious individuals gathered around, pressing against each other to hear the conversation.

I then asked, “How long had you been in that … that mold?”

He smiled, looked to the ground, the sky, and then to me again, “A long time.”

“Hundre–” I knew I was way off and corrected myself, “Thousa– no,” judging by his immobile smile which said, ‘Warmer … warmer …’ but my brain hurting at the prospect,”… tens of thousands of years?”

“A very, very long time. I was not … living, technically.”

“Hibernation?”

“You could call it that,” again smiling the way a parent smiles at a child who has received an explanation which is appropriate, but intentionally incomplete.

We talked a bit longer about the transition from his home to here. My mind raced, trying to connect what little I knew about this man now, the company I worked for, the absurdity of transporting him in an oven and wondering what would have happened if I had cooked him by accident. Perhaps the mold in which he had survived so long would have protected him; a hibernation system so completely perfected –or was this body even his?

Wait, it started to make sense to me now. Something clicked.

I asked, “How does it feel to be … to be in this body of yours now? How does it differ from what you had before? Do you even remember after all this time?”

He smiled then laughed like a child, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He awkwardly darted a few paces from the crowd, standing in tall brown grass, spread his arms and looking first to his left and then to his right, he exclaimed (to everyone’s amazement, for this was his first bold expression), “I –I did not have these!”

And with that he moved them wildly, up and down while spinning in circles as a bird trying to take flight whose wings were not quite strong enough to carry the burden, yet growing stronger every day. Everyone laughed and applauded.

And then I understood. I laughed too, realizing I was part of something beautiful and historic and terribly important. His body was but a vessel and inside, a miracle that was just beginning to unfold.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00February 25th, 2006|Dreams|0 Comments

Permission to Send, part 2

When bouldering in Hueco Tanks this early fall, I discovered something profound. I was working on a problem that started with a series of heel hooks and hand-rail maneuvers, placing my body in a completely horizontal position. The crux move then, was to move from this linear position of balance and tension across the bottom of the roof to a far-reaching right-hand ledge which would cause both feet to fully cut, the left hand secure on the final extension of the original rail.

With the roof but five feet from the crash pad, it seems the swing, reach, and connection would be easily done. However, I fell short each of three or five attempts. I grew frustrated for I knew I was physically capable of doing so. The others had completed the problem. I was the last and only to have not done so. They were ready to move to the next problem. I asked, verbally, if it was ok for me to give it another few runs to which the answer was of course (in the wonderful tradition of climbing culture) a resounding yes.

One individual, whose name I forget, stood very near as I worked through the moves again, beginning to crux. And just before I attempted the move, as my hips swung once to the left to gain momentum for the release, throw, and catch, he said in a quiet voice, “Stop telling yourself you can’t do this. Just do it.”

In that instant I realized I had repeatedly fallen short by just a few inches, each time, because of what I was telling myself. I didn’t even have to convince myself I could, rather, just stop telling myself I could not. And I did.

I connected perfectly. My legs cut. My hands held, I brought up my right heal and placed it onto the same ledge which held my right hand, in a undercut hueco for which the area is famous. And a half dozen moves later I completed the problem.

When I jumped down I landed on a crash pad that sported a hand-painted butterfly. Hannah commented that it was her “send butterfly”, a reminder that she can send problems

[a climbing term meaning “to complete”]. I was the last to pack my gear, the others had already disappeared through the adjacent arch and cave formed by several large boulders.

As I walked to catch-up with them, I paid close attention to my heart rate, the speed of my breathing, and the exhilarating feeling of accomplishment that raced through my body like a self-injected drug.

And when I further considered what Hannah had stated of the butterfly, a few images and associated connections unfolded that to this day are difficult to describe. That butterfly became a simple yet effective religious-like connection with a super-natural (meaning, greater than what would otherwise be considered a part of the measurable world) animal guide. Believe in the power of the butterfly and you will send the problem. Be the butterfly. Climb.

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00January 9th, 2005|The Written|0 Comments

Permission to Send, part 1

The internal muscular, cardiovascular, emotional sensation of having completed a bouldering problem is similar to that of discovering a series of notes applied to a rhythm, the realization of music.

Both bouldering and playing piano invoke the quickening of my pulse, the warmth of my insides, the giddy sensation of connectedness, temporary expanded vision, and sudden sensation of resolution, a place in the universe. Both open me to possibility.

What if these are manifestations of the same? What if connection to a higher power is nothing more (or less) than fulfillment of need to guide one’s self, to create a path where one may not otherwise be obvious and to have the courage to follow it?

What then, if prayer to a higher power is truly granting oneself permission to recognize otherwise unseen paths and the wisdom to choose one over the other. Then proactive visualization is preparation to move as desired, a prayer to oneself that opens possibilities.

If this is true, then permission to send is a problem sent.

By Kai Staats|2004-10-20T20:53:23-04:00October 20th, 2004|The Written|0 Comments

Al Qaeda to Destroy Iowa

I was watching the 10 o’clock news at my Grandparents farm in Iowa last night (my one dose of TV for the year). The TOP STORY was an interview with a “homeland security expert” who claimed something really bad was going to happen soon and could happen in Iowa.

When asked what and why, he said (and I quote), “Well, we’re getting pretty close to the election now and you see, the Al Qaeda may attack Iowa because, well you know, we produce all the corn and beans. We’re the source of the food for the U.S. and they would want to disrupt that.” Following a question about what to do to help prevent attacks, he concluded, “Be very wary of strange things your home town and do not be afraid to report suspicious activity to the police.”

You have got to be kidding. No name. No title. No job. Just “homeland security expert”. What? Are 10,000 militant extremists wearing John Deere baseball caps, blue jeens, and basketball shoes with loose laces to drive through rural Iowa in Dodge Caravans saying things like, “Ya think she’s gonna rain?” in order to burn 10,000,000 square miles of fields and blow up grain elevators?

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00September 13th, 2004|From the Road|0 Comments

Spearfish Canyon

Racing along Wyoming grasslands and South Dakota forest boundary with sun setting to my left, the full moon rising to my right, breaking over multiple, distant grass covered, raised earthen shelves and sand cliffs; fence posts, and glistening barbed wire. Stopped abruptly to capture the moon on digital film, another car on the other side stopped to watch the sun set, clouds on fire on the horizon, burning yellow, orange, and eventually deep red.

Winding up and round into the Black Hills, North bound on HW85. Peaked at more than 6,000 feet, the temperature quickly dropped from the high fifties to 43F. The scent of pine entering my car through the fresh air laden vents. A camp fire at canyon bottom, river side camp ground invoked a smile as I assumed someone was also melting chocolate and marsh mellows between graham crackers.

Twisting round and round, down the canyon, the trees rising higher, split only for moments by white sand cliffs and small open fields whose condensation touched blades of grass reflected the full moon light. I raced by in my Subaru pulling hard around corners, remembering to accelerate, not brake. A good challenge, to program a physiological response to the opposite of that which is autonomous and seemingly logical.

At the intersection of HW85 and Alt14 which splits left to Spearfish, my birth place, and right to Lead, I noticed a hand painted, carved wooden sign showcasing cabins and tent sites. Were it not for anti-lock breaks, I would have enjoyed a brief spin as I turned hard to the left and applied ample pressure to the brake pedal, returning to the cabin property and entry. I dimmed my headlights and drove nearly silently deeper into the compound, in search of the camp host.

At the very back, where a single mercury vapor yard lamp illuminated a small portion of the property, I noted an open interior door through which the screen door cast warmer yellow light to the walkway. Inside, I tripped over a pair of sandals, entry rug, and nearly fell on to the dog who was too tired (or old) to take notice. The woman at the counter seemed pleased to rent a cabin at that late hour and I was thrilled to find something so perfectly situated at the bottom of the canyon where I was born, on the creek whose unique babble I believe I can recognize from any other in the world. Shallow, even, crisp, and over large, moss covered and smooth fist to head-sized boulders which dislodge once in a while and tumble just once or twice, emitting the deep reverberation of a small underwater collision.

The single room cabin greeted me with the flicker of a flame in the corner gas stove and the wonderful smell of untreated pine. Not one square inch was left without raw wood. The ceiling too covered in tongue-n-groove. I pressed my thumbnail into a piece to demonstrate that it was neither preserved with lacquer, stain, nor even water seal. Just pine. I could not help but smile, for the aroma of that wonderful wood has that effect on me.

I walked to the other side of the drive, plastic fork and kung-pow tofu delight from Wild Oats in hand, purchased in Fort Collins five hours earlier. I erected an overturned lawn chair just inches from the edge of Spearfish Creek, tightened my fleece jacket, and ate.

And then I listened and watched. Even at 10 pm, by the light of the single yard lamp mixed with the rising moon (which just broke the tree tops of the canyon walls, given me the opportunity to watch it rise twice in one night), I could easily enjoy both the surface and submerged features of the creek. Sticks, leaves, and other natural debris swiftly moved by.

I was briefly reminded of Siddhartha’s exploration of his world and the man who lived by the river, surviving, even thriving on what it randomly delivered. I wondered how long I would sit there before the river would bring something to me.

And then I felt more than I did hear something move behind me. When I turned, two white tail deer had crossed half of the yard, now perfectly and fully illuminated by the yard lamp. The lead deer stared at me, attempting to determine who or what I was, its ears moving as radar dishes concerned for enemy approach.

I retracted my eye contact and slowly turned away again, hoping it would not panic. To my surprise, the deer sneezed, it’s head bobbed vertically. It stopped, moved its front hoof forward and then back again, and sneezed even louder. At this, the both turned and bounded back to the roadside.

It appears they are not interested in my zesty tofu.

By Kai Staats|2004-08-29T23:33:40-04:00August 29th, 2004|From the Road|0 Comments

Bluetooth, Neural Networks and Talking Toaster Ovens

by Kai Staats
for MacNewsWorld
08/25/04 10:47 AM PT

The original story may be found at MacNewsWorld.

Perhaps some day soon, I will be able to access recipes from home through the LCD touch screen mounted to the handle of the grocery cart and warm dinner by simply talking to my microwave through my cell phone while walking home from the office.

There exists in my life a complex duality in my relationship to electronics. As a purveyor of Apple and IBM computers, I am, of course, interested and excited by the latest makes and models, their incremental improvements constantly narrowing the gap between the brains of the devices we, as humans, create and our own grey matter.

At the same time, I remain concerned about how quickly, mindlessly we, as consumers, purchase products without regard as to why we are doing so.

I am by no means stating that anyone should deny themselves the opportunity to simplify their life with an improved product, or to knowingly complicate their life with a completely unnecessary, but equally enjoyable, toy. However, I do believe we, as consumers, should remain cognizant of our behavior and select products based upon an awareness that is beyond that of the televised marketing or product packaging.

Yes, even before you purchase Linux, you should study the Web sites and read what customers have to say. Make certain it will meet your needs.

Gone Shopping
Perhaps I am old-fashioned, but I truly enjoy interacting with other humans directly far more than through a web interface to an online store. I prefer to call my account manager of six years at MacMall or to chat with the incredibly positive, supportive and proactive account manager with our local distributor. It seems he can find anything, anywhere on the planet, and at a fair price. I don’t mind paying for his personal attention.

Generally speaking, I prefer to shop in retail environments when time allows. Compared to the incredibly high energy environment of working at Terra Soft, it can be relaxing, even engaging, when the need for a particular product is met by a knowledgeable salesperson.

Herein lies the challenge, to find a local electronics store that employs a human being who knows more than my neighbor’s dog about electronics.

Typically, I am sorely disappointed for lack of intellectual stimulation. But once in a great while, I stumble across an individual whose knowledge of USB Latest News about USB devices is more than simply being able to differentiate them from LCD monitors.

Bluetooth Possibilities
I walked into Circuit City last week to purchase a USB WiFi card, wanting to test the readily available models against Yellow Dog Linux v4.0. And so the conversation unfolds:

Kai: Where might be your USB WiFi devices?

Salesperson: Next isle over. This way. (We walk down the main isle and exit right, into a side isle.)

Salesperson: Right here. (Pointing to the selection.)

Kai: Do you know which models are supported by Linux?

Salesperson: I run Red Hat at home, I’ve had good luck with the Linksys. It’s pretty cool. Decent range. I borrow (smiles) bandwidth from either of two neighbors or just walk into a coffee shop and get online.

Kai: Nice. I’ll try this one. And glad to hear you run a real OS.

Salesperson: Yeah. You too?

Kai: (I nod, and notice other products.) Tell me about Bluetooth.

Salesperson: Not much yet, as far as I know. Mostly cell phone kits.

Kai: No need for one of those. What else?

Salesperson: I hear it is suppose to enable all kinds of devices to communicate with each other, starting with cell phones, printers, computers — eventually home theater, security systems, appliances.

Kai: Appliances? Like toaster ovens? (smiling.)

Salesperson: Yeah, I guess so. (playing along.)

Kai: (pause) What do you believe is the goal? What would be the ultimate implementation of Bluetooth?

Salesperson: Dunno. Maybe a more intelligent household — you know, to make things simpler, to save time.

While I personally find that the only way to save time is to make time, I was not in the mood for a debate. I paused to read the back of the package in my hands and study the diagram of a stick figure woman connected via a dotted line to her cell phone, laptop and printer.

Kai: You think a talking toaster oven would save time?

Salesperson: Maybe. Never thought about it. Sounds cool.

Kai: If one could talk, what would it say?

In the United States and many countries worldwide, we enjoy a free market where original equipment manufacturers (OEM) move to create products new and exciting. Some promise the savings of time and effort in our daily activities, while others entice us with “Now you can do

[this] without having to do [this]!”

Great Potential
I find Bluetooth in particular to be the beginning of something with great potential.

I recently visited bluetooth.com to learn about the consortium that is driving this international product initiative. I was surprisingly impressed. It is a well orchestrated Web site with clear presentation (and a lot of photos of people connected to things with dotted lines). The companies involved are all seemingly top notch.

It appears this is one of the more well organized and focused technological consortiums of this decade. Best of all, it is presented for the average consumer, not the geek.

If you have read my introduction to this column, and read between the lines, you will recognize that I am not one to rush out and purchase the latest, greatest electronics. In fact, I am personally rather conservative in adopting the new, driven perhaps by my grandfather’s practice of conducting research, waiting for the product to stabilize, and then buying the best he can afford.

“Do it right the first time,” he says, “And take care of it so it lasts a long time.” While this wisdom is more readily applicable to a tractor than a cell phone or laptop whose lifespan is a few years at most, it has provided a slightly conservative foundation for my behavior as a consumer

Some Day Soon
It appears Bluetooth will finally do what infrared data association (IRDA) attempted a few years ago, offering a less cluttered desktop and the ability to move through ones home or office without a phone in hand. I like this. Of equal interest is the ability to tie multiple devices to each other and perhaps a common, shared database.

Perhaps some day soon I will be able to access recipes from home through the LCD touch screen mounted to the handle of the grocery cart and warm dinner by simply talking to my microwave through my cell phone while walking home from the office.

But for someone who is soon to replace Teflon-coated pots and pans with cast iron, I would prefer to cook over a wood fire than have a kitchen full of appliances that require firmware upgrades or must be replaced because the new models are not backwards compatible.

What does appeal to me, however, is the reduction of complexity. Removing the memory stick from my camera and inserting it directly into the printer Trade in your old desktop printer without having to power on my laptop is indeed a step in the right direction. What I see on the LCD screen is what I get, every time. That level of interconnected simplicity is warmly welcomed.

So where does this lead? Where will Bluetooth be in 10 or 20 years? What is the ultimate goal of any emerging technology? What could be the goal of all emerging technologies?

Gadgets and Gizmos
In general, I personally find personal electronics to be too compartmentalized. The PDA, the cell phone, the laptop, iPods and DVD remote controls –so many little boxes for so many functions. While I do not necessarily desire a single box to replace them all, it does seem overwhelming at times to keep track, tending to their proprietary batteries and charging stations.

Earlier this summer, I spent twice as much time making the cables to interconnect the components of my home theater as I did programming it once assembled. I do not desire that they dangle to the floor or run parallel to the power cables, for fear of picking up interference.

This is where Bluetooth could excel, if applied to the transmission of digital sound. But let’s take this one step further.

Little Change
While Bose and a few other OEMs have presented unit-wall-mounted CD changers, and the original piezo membrane speakers are making a comeback, home audio/video equipment has not changed in three decades: black boxes of identical width and height that stand on small gold ringed, felt-padded feet. They stack. They collect dust. And they produce a lot of heat. The quality of sound is by no means improved in line with the delivery of features, as the return to analog tube amplifiers a few years ago demonstrates.

I have a very reduced gadget household simply because even if the gadgets are interconnected via invisible transmissions, they remain isolated boxes with individual functions.

They sit on shelves or stands or in cases with smoked glass fronts. They are encased motherboards whose embedded operating systems offer a complex (and in many cases, amazing) series of algorithms that help to reproduce a specific sound environment. They do not gain value with age and are by no means a complement to my 1912 piano or century-old furniture.

A Synthesis
But as Ray Bradbury’s “The Veldt” proposes, there may be a not so distant future whereby the gap between our homes, our appliances and ourselves is elegantly reduced.

Let’s walk into a home whose walls contain not strands of copper that conduct either 110V, phone or ethernet signals, but, instead, invisible molecular networks that may be rearranged with the simple pressure of a finger along a path between two points, or an automatic reconfiguration based upon the presence of a human in a given room.

I envision ceiling, walls and floor whose surface is painted with a thin coat of interconnected LCD cells that come to life at will and transfer the stars or the motion of the moonlit clouds and falling snow directly into my bedroom as though the shelter above were transparent.

The television is no longer a physical appliance, but a response to a verbal request independent of where I am in my home, and a 5.1 DTS surround sound system becomes the subtle vibration of any section of the house. If the hardwood floors vibrate to the rumble of thunder, why could they not create the sensation of thunder when I desire a rainstorm on a hot summer day?

This intelligent household will not only know where it’s insulation has settled in the attic, but can offer real-time analysis and suggestions for how to reduce the electric bill (assuming it is not already off-grid and dependent solely upon the thermal couples and photovoltaics embedded in its shingles).

Neural Network
When I arrive home, I am recognized by my personal heat or voice signature, and each room I enter adjusts instantly to my preferred lighting, perhaps even adjusting according to my apparent mood.

While fixing dinner, I desire to contact a friend to plan a day of climbing and need only say his or her name. The space above the stovetop comes to life and presents a human image, the wall itself vibrating to offer the voice.

And when I arrive to the home of a friend the next morning, but forget to bring the family pancake recipe, I need only ask and my friend’s home connects to my home to transfer the data from the holographic database, which is not housed within silicon wafers, but in the very stone foundation of my home.

My home itself houses an embedded, organic neural network. It monitors the moisture content of the soil, warns of radon gas (and tracks the resident mouse population), and easily holds 1,000 years of conversation, music, televised programs and data — never corrupting, never requiring a backup.

After a good day of climbing, the evening gives way to night and I head home, craving yesterday’s pizza. The toaster oven is pleased to comply with my request for warmed leftovers, its voice distinct from that of the fridge, but equally comforting: “Thank you. See you soon.”

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00August 25th, 2004|Humans & Technology, MacNewsWorld|0 Comments

First Boot Feels Like Bringing Life to Inanimate

by Kai Staats
for MacNewsWorld
08/19/04 8:43 AM PT

The original story may be found at MacNewsWorld.

I have experienced the pain and reward of many development cycles of Yellow Dog Linux. Some come together quickly, others through a great deal more frustration and seemingly insurmountable barriers. But always, in the end, it works. I have come to trust this statement for there seems to be no limit to what can be done when individuals driven by a desire for improvement focus their talent and energy on one goal.

It’s 10 p.m. and I have been sitting in this chair, fingers tapping on the keyboard, for nearly 13 hours.

Across my six desktops I have KMail with 10 or more drafts awaiting my closing thoughts; Mozilla with a half dozen tabs offering interfaces to various server-side databases; YDL.net; one or two Web sites where I am conducting research for current customer projects; and, of course, a minimum of two terminal emulators on my laptop that keep me connected to our primary Web server and local file access.

X-Chat is open as well, a rarity for me as I tend to leave my engineers to their development efforts and not distract them. Nor do I find the need to be pulled into conversations that swim between the size of their new television, bootable iPods, preferred beverage for serious coding, or the latest buzz on slashdot, which usually starts with, “Some guy has Linux booting on his

[brand, model] cell phone! That is s-o-o-o cool!” and ends a few minutes and 100 responses to the thread later with, “The guy’s an idiot. Why do you have to have a reason to put Linux on your cell phone!#@$ You can, therefore you should! Man, some people should just keep using Windows …”

Different Locations
One engineer is in Canada. Another is in California. A third is in Texas. And an industry expert is in Australia. No two engineers are in the same room, let alone the same state. This seems, at first glance, to be a challenging means of developing something as tightly integrated as an operating system. And yet, surprisingly, at times, it works very well.

With a build-box and CVS server connected to each other via an isolated gigabit crossover and then each to our fiber optic backbone, these two machines form a central focus to the development effort. And around these machines we revolve, a virtual hub with spokes made of Internet connectivity.

In order to give Yellow Dog Linux life to the latest Apple G5 PowerMacs, whose Northbridge was modified midproduction (causing the kernel to “oops”), I have become the physical hands for my team in these final hours of development and testing.

Back and Forth
In this role, I stand in the server room atop a raised floor, through which a dedicated exchanger forces 50F-degree air past the backside of the mobile rack and onto my face, as I lean over the PowerMac to insert the power, USB Latest News about USB, video, and Ethernet cables. I open my PowerBook, gain an IP address, log on to the IRC server, and engage:

eng1: hey bossman!

kai: let me remind you that “boss” is a 4-ltr word

eng2: we can think of other 4-ltr words, if you prefer

kai: remember who writes the checks :)

eng2: right, good point boss

kai: nice … so where are we? let’s get this thing done

eng1: the patched kernel is building … give it a few minutes

eng3: parted is crap

eng1: why

eng3: won’t make a blessed boot partition properly

eng2: did you use holy penguin pee?

eng3: yeah, didn’t work … yaboot can’t see it

eng2: try pdisk

eng3: pdisk is crap too … dies on large drives

kai: this is not a large drive

eng1: good point … I’ll post it to cvs in a minute

kai: what would you guys do without me? :)

kai: going to eat … back in a few

(I move into the Terra Soft kitchen to fix a late dinner and then return 10 minutes later)

kai: Mmmm! 3 egg omelet with sauteed onions, mushrooms, diced red pepper, and curry powder … you guys are missing out … should I post a photo? :)

eng2: I had cold chinese food

eng3: this is why I hate all of you

kai: huh?

eng3: I had 3-day old beer

(pause)

kai: hey, how about that kernel?

eng1: done

kai: nice … so tell me what to do!

I downloaded the new kernel RPM from the CVS server onto a functional box, edited yaboot.conf, ran ybin, and shut the machine down. I removed the drive, installed it into the new PowerMac, and booted. Back to IRC.

kai: it’s booting

eng1: well?

kai: it’s still booting

eng1: has it hit the kernel yet?

kai: yeah, just made it … looks like it’s working

eng2: no sh__?

eng1: what? surprised? I knew it would work :)

kai: I got a prompt. Y-E-S! We got it.

eng1: ok, this goes to YDL.net tomorrow …

kai: thanks everyone, nice work … we’ll start building machines tomorrow … we have a lot of G5s waiting to ship … very nice :)

Human Creative Spirit
While each member of my team is motivated by different aspects of this effort, it is for me the thrill of having given life (as a team) to something that was inanimate just a moment before.

When the kernel boots for the first time — in fact, every time I power-on my PowerBook — I am reminded why I love my job — not because of the computer nor Yellow Dog Linux itself (I can live without computers) but because the human creative spirit is reflected on the computer screen when it offers “localhost login:”

I read this as “You have given me life. Now what can I do for you.”

By Kai Staats|2017-04-10T11:17:49-04:00August 19th, 2004|Humans & Technology, MacNewsWorld|0 Comments

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