GRABBINGSAND

When legislators step into unfamiliar arenas, the results can be ludricrous and tragic. We elect trustworthy men and women to offices of influence and we expect them to do their best. If a bill crosses their desk, we want them to vote in the best interests of their constituency. If they confront a piece of legislation that is new and not within their pervue, we hope that they do the research necessary to make an informed decision.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t happen as often as it should.

Recently, Senator Orrin Hatch introduced S. 2560 to the 108th Congress. This is the “Inducing Infringement of Copyrights Act of 2004″ or “The INDUCE Act.” The acronym is based on an earlier title: Inducement Devolves into Unlawful Child Exploitation. In short, Hatch believes that peer-to-peer networking clients (i.e., Kazaa) can and will corrupt the youth of America. Furthermore, devices that might encourage children to seek out the fruits of a peer-to-peer network (i.e., an IPod or some other mp3 player) are essentially telling them that stealing is okay. If left unchecked, he claims, this could lead them to a life of crime. In a rather dramatic touch, he invokes the ghost of Bill Sykes (from Great Expectations).

Preposterous, you might say. But several elected officials on both sides of the party line are supporting this measure. I believe that they are doing so out of a misplaced fear and, perhaps moreso, out of a misunderstanding of new technology. And so, I wish to induce actions of my own.

First, read this brilliantly annotated version of Hatch’s introductory speech. Then, go to Save The Ipod. Use the convenient form to send a fax to your Congressman and inform them. There is a portion of the form that can be filled with your own thoughts, and here is what I said:

“Look at it another way. If we decide that my mp3 player is illegal because it might encourage me to download digital music, then what does that say about my automobile? I might be tempted to steal gasoline to fill my car, so should the car be illegal? And what of my own body? If I am hungry, I might be forced to steal food, so should a law be passed against my own stomach? The analogies are ridiculous, but so is ‘The INDUCE Act.’”

Feel free to borrow. Or not. Either way, please step up and let your voice be heard. I know there are so many other problems out there and that the plight of digital media is nothing in light of terrorism and poverty, but these are your rights. Embrace them and guard them.

“Glad you could show up on such short notice. Really. I know we weren’t supposed to leave for another couple of days, but you know how it is, right? If I didn’t have my Palm, well, I just wouldn’t know what day it was at all! Anyway. I just want you to have a lovely time and if you need anything at all, well, you know we’re just a phone call away, right? Okay? Okay! Oh, don’t be silly! No tears! You’re all big and grown up now! B’bye!“

I love our local college radio station. Really. Sure, I’ve made fun of the occasional sleepy DJ, of course. And why must they always fall back on that one phrase? “Let’s get back into the music now with …” But if you truly want a break from mass-produced pop, there’s nothing better.

Last Wednesday, around 4:30pm or so, I’m driving home and listening to WRAS. This song comes on. How do I describe it? Okay, the intro has this Danny Elfman feel to it. Like a synthesized children’s choir. They’re singing something like “bop’-ba-da bop-ba’-da” and it is mostly a cappella. Just when I’m thinking that somebody is playing selections from the Edward Scissorhands soundtrack, this great beat comes in, turning the track on it’s head. This leads us to our singer. It sounds like Fiona Apple, but it can’t be her. I don’t think she has anything out right now and if she did, would it be on Album 88? The chorus has the line “I’m Sorry, So Sorry” and it follows the same cadence as the choir. Really good stuff for my drive home. What the heck is this?

Of course, as it always happens, the next track came on and then the next and by that time I was home. So I have no idea who that was. And it might even be a song that won’t last for more than a couple of listenings. But if you’ve heard it or you have any clues, let me know.

Update: This is Jem. The song is called “They.” You can hear a little piece of it here. Thankfully, it sounds just as cool on my second listen. (No, she does not associate with any Holograms.)

Let us look back at the last few days and recall what has been accomplished.

• Compiled my writing portfolio – An act long overdue.
• Visited the folks in Fort O. – An early Father’s Day, I guess
• Finished The Devil in The White City – Finally. And well worth it.
• Completed my review of The Terminal – Read it
• Submitted my resignation – A good thing.

And what can we expect in the coming weeks?

• Starting another run at Cryptonomicon – No doorstop of a book shall defeat me. (However, if Cryptonomicon cuts me off at the knees, I’ll pick up London – A Biography instead.)Finishing the 2nd and 3rd parts of my bestial feature – It’s in my head, really. Ready to go.
• Taking a deep breath, smiling, and reaching deep Into a New Career. – More details to come.

Ferris was right. “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.”

(Everything has a beginning. This weblog began with a simple story. Six years later, it remains close to my heart. Recent events have raised it to my mind. Just last week, I took it out and blew off the dust. I polished places that were tarnished. I filled cracks. So before I place it with the other stories, here it is … back on the front page.)

There is a simple story that got my college roommate, Darrell, and I out of bed at 4:30am, at the very crack of dawn. And on a Saturday, of all days . . .

We would roll out of our beds, hop in my car, drive three miles in the waning dark, and wake up Peter. Never was a dissenting comment made, and none of us ever griped about the early hour.

We didnt take much. We had a few backpacks that were actually repurposed book-bags. In each bag, we would stuff purchases from the night before like apples or water. We would dress appropriately, layered in the fall, always with shoes or boots agreeable to hiking. And always, just in case, we would bring Petes ant stuff medicine in a small case to combat his allergic reaction to insect bites. We never had to use it.

Our goals were simple. We had to get to the top of Lavender Mountain before daybreak, because the sunrise was worth seeing just that much. Or we had to find a new path to the Campus Reservoir and walk bravely through the dark and muddy tunnel that ran from the bank, under the lake and up into a standpipe at the center of the water. Or we had to find that old church again, the one with the broken piano and the collapsed pews that still kept an air of sanctuary.

Looking back, those little adventures, those weekend hikes through the woods of our campus, they became an integral part of my college experience. For all that I learned in the classroom about Shakespeare and theatre, I learned just as much about myself just walking with friends, climbing leaf-strewn hills and talking about anything and everything. And if anyone asked us why we did it, we told them:

Were grabbing sand.

Seriously. Where else but City of Heroes could you find a group of super heroes known as The Dairy Council.

Yes. I’m the guilty party. I’m the happy keeper of this pantry of parody. From left to right, we have Baby Swiss, Baroness Brie, The Cheddar Master, Muenster, Smoked Gouda, The Havarti Healer and Pepper Jack. Not pictured are CheesyPoof, Con Queso, Sharp Cheddar, ViciousVelveeta and The Ricotta Ranger.

Silly? Sure. Fun? You have no idea.

I’m filing this under “memories” — not “politics” — because Ronald Reagan was my President when I was too young to consider checks and balances, doctrine and dissention. I was almost 8 when he was inaugurated in 1980. I watched it on television. Two months later, I watched him frown and fall, shoved into a limousine with a bullet in his side. On television, I did. I was home from school, sick for one reason or another. During the chaos that followed, they reported he was dead, then quickly reversed and retracted. The frustration on the anchorman’s face and in his voice was painful.

He recovered, of course, and would return again and again to my television set. Sometimes he’d be walking from Air Force One, or sitting with Nancy, or standing in the Rose Garden with Margaret Thatcher. But I liked it best when he spoke just to me and the rest of us watching. The sunshine in the Garden was friendly to his lined face and slant hair, but television cameras loved him. And he had that voice, that timbred rumble with measured hesitation. Comedians used it to make him sound doddering, but the real thing was full of just what we needed at the time. Confidence. Optimism. And assurance.

When I heard the news on Saturday, one speech in particular came to mind. Six years into his life in the White House, President Reagan found himself delivering a speech of condolence and sympathy instead of the State of the Union he’d prepared.

We’ve grown used to wonders in this century. It’s hard to dazzle us. But for 25 years the United States space program has been doing just that. We’ve grown used to the idea of space, and perhaps we forget that we’ve only just begun. We’re still pioneers. They, the members of the Challenger crew, were pioneers.*

It’s shorter than I remember. Just under 700 words. But there he was, our television President, using a simple box to convey a much needed message. He knew, he understood, he was sad, but he still had hope. He even directed a portion of it just to us, to the kids that watched it unfold that morning. For all of the decisions made before and the controversy to be revealed after, I will always be grateful to him for that speech, if nothing else.

Goodnight, Mr President.

Pretty.

Now that the machine is built and the research has been done, it is time for me to put experience into action. So JIVE has released the first of three articles about and around my recent PC build. The series is called “Building the Almost Perfect Beast” — which could be construed as an unintential tribute to Don Henley.