Cut Off and Alone

I actually do want to start writing more. There is still a lot to say.

The problem, as I have mentioned in in the past, is time. Only this time it's slightly more legit than usual.

As some of you maybe don't know I now have a job that, while not space related, is still pretty cool and at the very least actual engineering. However this not space related but still pretty cool job requires me to work in a facility where I cannot have a phone (because it has a camera), external email or internet access. As a result when I walk through the door it's almost as if the rest of the world disappears. I didn't know about Boston until almost six hours later, and if I hadn't been moving Flower's car I might not have for even longer.

Needless to say my connectivitness and internet consumption has decreased dramatically since I started here. I do have a desk phone. So there is that. Except who the hell remembers phone numbers anymore?! I did have a sudden burst of inspiration one day and picked up the phone to call The Cheese Puff (one of the few non-childhood numbers I ever memorized) and then realized that she changed her number in order to get me to stop calling and texting her all the time, but then felt guilty about it and gave me the number anyway utterly defeating the purpose of the two days of torment she spent trying to get a cell carrier to do...well...anything.

It has created some interesting developments in the little connectivity and internet consumption I do participate in now. As an example: in the 6.02(10^23) RSS feeds I have stuck in Google Reader over the years I used to, at the very least, read through the headlines of just about all of them because I would do it over the course of a day. Now I'm A: lucky if I even bother to read more then a couple of the comic strips or key feeds and 2: flip through just about all of it stopping only if a picture or keyword catches my eye.

It's not just the internet though. Video games are suffering as well. Though I think that's less to do with a sudden lack of free time and more to do with the ever increasing infinite queue of games to play. It really did take a while, but the day I came to accept that I would never get to play all the games I wanted to play was simultaneously heart breaking and wonderfully freeing.

Though I did finally start that petition...







We crave connection. If we loose that, they will fill it.

Wrong Number

I understand wrong numbers. Believe me I do. Back in the days before cell phones, when you had to actually remember someones number it wasn't too uncommon to dial a wrong number, or remember a number wrong, or what have you. Hell, even with the fancy newfangled gadgets of today it can still happen if you're not paying attention when you dial, or when you store the number. Here's what I don't understand though: people who persist in consistently dialing, and these days texting, the wrong number over and over again and not understanding that they're not getting the person they want.

Back in the 2005ish days, I got a phone call, but I wasn't there so what I actually got was a voicemail. This voicemail was from some guy who was either Dave or trying to reach Dave, I don't quite remember, to discuss buying a truck. Well I ignored it. Whatever. I got another voicemail a couple days later, from this same fellow, sounding a little irritated that Dave had not gotten back to him. Then the next day I got a call while I had the phone. I considered answering it but chose not to. The voicemail that was left sounded very annoyed. For about two months, every couple of days I would get a call from this guy asking about this damn truck. I learned to recognize the number because the voicemails were actually quite amusing. And what makes it even odder is that he was obviously talking to this Dave fellow in person, because he would reference conversations that they had had the previous day.

At one point the voicemail left was this guy saying that he was at the end of the street because Dave had told him to come over. Which is creepy...because why didn't he just drive up and knock on the door like a normal person? Eventually the calls stopped coming and I was left to assume that something sinister had happened.

I'm pretty sure that a drug dealer has my same number with a different area code.

For a couple of years I would get texts and phone calls from men and women looking for someone named Angel. Pretty sure it was a dude because the texts/calls from the ladies would be flirty and business like from the guys. Hence the thinking this fellow was a drug dealer. Also one time when I answered the girl thought I was him and would hear no argument against it. Just told me that she had to see me now. So I told her to come over and hung up. Again, something sinister no doubt.

I wouldn't be surprised if my number was on some list of numbers that girls give to guys who are pissing them off so they can't actually get them. It's hilarious to get texts from these guys who think they're macking on some sweetie and to find out I'm not some sweetie, or at the very least, not the kind of sweetie they'd be into. The vast majority of them get all offended and ask why I'm texting them or what the hell I want. Wannabe ghetto thugs piss me off.

This one time Rowen and I were at the Boston Science Museum and this guy refused to believe I was a dude. First he said he was the guy I met at the BK drive through, then at some club, then at some party, refusing to believe I did not have breasts. I alternated between flirty texts and telling him I was a dude. The latter of which would get more of a "? haha" or equally idiotic response.

Some woman named Sue thinks I'm someone that belongs to her. Every couple of months I'll get a text with a pick-up time or something like that. I continue to ignore her. Once she left an angry text asking why I didn't pick her up. That was the only time though.

The absolute weirdest, and actually most disturbing, happened a couple months ago. Some guy was trying to get in touch with some girl name Clare as they were working on some project, it sounded a lot like some kind of law suit for some activist group. But he kept texting me all these names of people they could talk to and people who they could go after. Then he called and when I answered he sounded all confused and asked to speak to Claire. When I told him I wasn't Claire he got really quiet, mutter "Oh shit..." and hung up.

Five minutes later he texted me saying that he had just talked to so and so and she was going to crack their whole case open.

Lesson unlearned.

When communication is obsolete they will control us that much more efficiently.

The Notebook

I am often plagued with good ideas. They come, they formulate, then they go. They are never written down. They are forgotten, only fragments remain. To small to reformulate. They just sit there and annoy. Pop in from time to time to remind you of the idea that you've forgotten. Like a dream, so vivid whilst you're dreaming, but hours after you've woken only a faint memory, if it even lasts that long. Whether they're good, bad, it doesn't matter. They all fade with time. There are those, from time to time, that do not. Those that stick with us long after we've woken. They stay there. Lurking in the back of your mind. As strong as ever. You try to shake them, but you can't.

I have often considered getting an notebook, or even just a pad, to keep on hand to write these things down. To maintain some form of record. Perhaps to even use one of them in the future. This, however, never happens. I have yet to discern why. It is almost as if I have some sort of subconscious aversion to remembering these things. Though I am occasionally maddened by my inability to remember an idea or theme, could it be that madness over the loss of an idea is somehow better, safer than the idea itself? Could it be that these ideas are of such pure and immense quality that the mere thought of them would drive a sane person mad? A mad person madder? A madder person sane?

It's not even as if it's an idle thought. I have tried on various occasions to procure the requisite materials such that I can keep track of these ideas. Sadly though, I have failed on every attempt. I have been through Paperclips and Bulls-Eye and Break-Room Minimum and countless stationary stores yet I cannot seem to find the right one. This one to big, that one too small. This one too hipster, that one not hipster enough. Too brown, too green, to think, to thin. To ruled, not ruled enough. Too blank, not blank enough. And the writing implements. Oh the writing implements. More terrifying then I care to think about at this point. Then, standing there amongst the shelves of incorrect notebooks and inadequate  writing implements, I am left to wonder if it is even out there. Is the idea of this supposed proper notebook just that? An idea? Could it be that writing these epic ideas in an equally epic notebook could result in some sort of  epic critical mass collapsing into some sort of epic singularity which then becomes an epic black hole which spawns some other epic universe of epicness? Could we even detect such an epic occurrence?

Could it be that these ideas exist only because they cannot be remembered?





It is a struggle to remember even fragments but we must fight on. Somewhere therein lies the question...

A Smashing Success!

So as those of you in the Cleveland area know (and those others of you who ignored the instructions in the previous post) this past weekend we had our Salon and boy was it a success. In fact even the first night blew away our expectations. Right from the start we had a full crowd and tonnes of constructive conversation. It's something we will definitely be bringing back next year, if not sooner. The best part of all was that we had almost no issues with keeping it civil. Not everyone agreed all the time, but everyone was there with the same goal in mind so that helped.

In the next couple weeks we're going to take a step back and digest what happened, what worked, what didn't and figure out what the next steps are. In the mean time if you want to continue the conversation head on over to The Civic Commons and keep it going.

Special thanks go out to Mark from The Cleveland Hostel for providing us with some awesome wooden chairs that fit the mood just right, my mother, Emily Lucas, for letting us have her old couch and my brother, Brendan Lucas for helping us move it to and from and last, Peter Paras for covering our floors and Don Pavlish for providing us with a much needed sound system.

Don't worry, we're going somewhere with this. There's still plenty left to do.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled uncertainty.

Shameless Plug

Those of you not in the Cleveland area can feel free to stop reading at the beginning of this sentence.

Those of you who ARE in the Cleveland area are hereby compelled to continue reading.

As some of you already know I have been working on a project with Andrew Samtoy (of Cash Mob and Booker fame). With him covering the logistical aspects and I the technical ones we have put together what we have dubbed The Cleveland Salon at this years Ingenuity Fest. It's three days of discussion leaders well versed on their individual subjects leading discussions and actually talking WITH people about everything from development and planning of the Cleveland area and how to inspire new leaders all the way to alternative sexualities and robots.

So get yourself down to Pier 30 & 32 (down by the Browns stadium and Science Center for those who don't know). We'll be in the Pier 32 warehouse. Along with all the other interesting activities at this year's festival it promises to be a fantastic weekend.




If we're ingenious enough perhaps there is hope?