FollowThis past Thursday June 3rd. A day that will live. Before I plunge into blog, since I’ve established a bit of a tradition, I’d like to dedicate. Just remembered a fraternity brother had a campus radio show (Lyndon Johnson was President, so this is a bit dated). The show was called “DJ Jake’s Dedication Discs. New(oxymoron?) 45’s were played into half dozen dorms. Campus was in Toledo, Ohio, air redolent with staunch Republicanism, not that there’s anything wrong with that. Jake let the “F” word slip out; of course the mike was supposed to be off. Show cancelled. No more dedications and memories of Yonkers or Great Neck. Stylistically, I know my writing drifts like an association game.
Back to dedication. For filling me up spiritually, resonating my soul, making me adore the smell of heather at Pedyston Crag, for haunting me (in a good way), for liking Native American flute music and loving, as I do, the Florida Keys(soon to be visited by BP’s oil) and being such a spirited, real part of the Good Earth (with respects to Pearl Buck). When I was in first grade, years after WWII, I actually thought Pearl Harbor was a girl friend of my mother. She was already friends with a Pearl Goldman.); for all the aforementioned, thanks to Cathy Earnshaw of the Heights. I feel like running off somewhere to claim my birthright. You indeed light my fire. Imagine Ed Sullivan not wanting Jim Morrison to use those lyrics on his Sunday night show. We’ve come a long way. Thing is, according to the title of blog, there’s a race on. Fasten your seatbelt; it’s going to be a bumpy blog (points for minor alliteration).
On my way up to Morristown, N.J. on Thursday to get a special x-ray, precursor to dental work and perhaps orthodontic appliances (braces, which I firmly believe will have this Ponce De Leon effect on me. I’ll be a regular riot on Saturday mornings when I break a wire and look like every patient’s father). I turned on my GPS (Garmin) for help. Maybe Rosemary’s baby was all grown up, whispering from the back of the GPS, but the ‘thing’ was taking me all over Northern Jersey, then towards a sink hole in Guatemala, around a bridge that fell down in an ash storm, through a hostage crisis in an optical shop(actually happened in Canada once). I kept going my way. It refused. Goosebumps paraded up and down both arms. I’ll swear the word “HAL” appeared in a flash on the screen. I pulled the power cord. It still flashed “HAL.” I whispered the names Anthony and Stanley. Love Thursday afternoon epiphanies driving home on Route 18 in East Brunswick.
Artificial Intelligence is making such inroads. We’ll never know all of it. The internet, robots, genetically engineered chicken soup, and the list goes on. A nephew recently mentioned to me, “Uncle Cal, you have no idea what’s in store.” To which I replied, apologetically, “I do, if we get there first before.” “Before what Uncle Cal” “Before Tuna goes extinct. No more fish in the oceans. 20 million fishing jobs lost. 68 Hurricane 5’s a season.” “Oh I know what you’re saying.” He’s a smart kid. Sure his uncle knows that silicon power doubles every 18 months and we’ll probably be visited in zoos (thanks to Michio Kaku and Al for the insight) by robots in 2050(Artificial Intelligence and HAL). Robots may be calling the shots. I wonder what cage for me. Ah, probably the giraffe. I am 6′ 6.” Quantum calculations are already being done on individual atoms. There’s a race. Interracial (a different race) marriages jumped to 14.6% in 2008 in America. We’re getting there. The real race is against Tuna going extinct, sustainability for our planetary ladies, gentlemen and children. As a social scientist and writer, I try so hard to understand why nobody really cares. Is it all resignation? Is there enough indignation with what BP did to America? What about some Orwellian thinking? That artificial world in 2050. Who gets there first? My nephew and son’s children. I can’t or won’t bet. Cryptic my dear Watson.
I’ve been listening to the Eagles, “Peaceful Easy Feeling” a lot these last two days. I never paid attention when it first came out; stuck on Peter Paul Mary. But I obsess; maybe I’ve listened to this song a hundred times last few days (OCD I know. I don’t care) One hell of a song. Imagine being in the desert with a billion stars all around. I’ve got a feeling. Spirit is all around. It exists. Maybe I’ll hop on one of those stars and go back to Jake and tell him the microphone is on.
Have a heavy wonderful weekend everybody. Check out my novel too. Looming more like Nostradamus.