[overhead shot of a table in an expensive modern-european restaurant. It's not a capital, but it's one of those cities on the thinktank/summit-circuit that treaties get named after. Two people are talking. A man in his fifties and a woman in her mid thirties. Both are understated in appearance, but obviously expensively dressed. Both of their smartphones are turned screen-down on the table. It's unclear to us who is the most important. And it's unclear which one is saying the following]
Governments and corporates know me as 'Switchboard', which is how I like to keep it.
I have an aptitude.
Well, a few aptitudes.
But, mainly - I'm very good at people.
Especially those who can't really be described as people anymore. I know what they're good for, what they want and - how to get hold of them.
I've never saved the world, but I've probably had lunch with someone who has.
I'm who you call if you have, y'know - a *really* big problem.
[ringtone]
Everyone in the world knows of my fascination with pneumatic tubes. Here's one from the US Postal Museum.
I like Vox. But I like my own domains better. So that's where I've gone.
- girlwonder, my personal site since 1997 (and in other forms since 1995)
- active social plastic, my blog about architecture, design, urbanism, music, literature and other more intellectual pursuits
Please visit me there!
While not having read that much Iain M. Banks, I find myself thinking in Culture Ship names an awful lot. Blip.fm seems to encourage it. I try and think up a culture ship name that sums up the song I'm going to blip. No idea why. I enjoy it greatly however.
The tragedy of the commons is a myth.
There is a vast conspiracy enacted by those who would steal the common off the goose.
A giant distributed clan of supervillainy: the free-riders.
They are sent across the globe and beyond - into our fictions and our factions to ensure that the tragedy plays out as prophesised.
They cannot be reasoned with, they cannot be bought (as they are freeriders) - the only way they can be stopped is by applying a sharp pinch to their left elbow and when they turn around on their hard heels, giving them an extremely disapproving, disappointed look.
Start now.
What part of your childhood do you miss the most?
Submitted by Maretta.
I miss the neighborhood where we lived: Macalester-Groveland in St. Paul, Minnesota. I grew up on Goodrich Avenue in St. Paul, which was walking and biking distance to all kinds of things. I had a best friend next door (Gretchen) and across the street (Krista), and other friends down the block (Krissi and Susan). The proximity to Macalester College was terrific, of course, but there was a soda fountain, good alleys for riding bikes through puddles, places to get candy and baked goods, two outstanding bookstores (Odegaard and my beloved Hungry Mind, both closed).
When we were 13, my family moved to a suburb. It was the right thing to do as far as space was concerned, but I lost all of my mobility: there was nowhere to bike, nowhere to visit, and for that matter, no friends in my neighborhood. The summer between 7th and 8th grade, I took "Acting, Music and Dance" at Macalester's TCITY (Twin Cities Institute for Talented Youth), and one day, sat down in front of my old house and just cried.
My brother Andy lives two blocks from this house now; my Dad still teaches a mile away from it at William Mitchell College of Law. Every time I visit home, without fail, I drive by it and wave. The crabtree we planted nearly dwarfs the house now; the skyline locust that replaced the elm tree after the Dutch elm disease outbreak is broad and mature. I still dream of that little house when I think of home.
I picked this up in January and it has become a favorite very quickly. It is simple recipes with great background for understanding the food.
I just got a call from my Mom that Guinness, our other dog, had to be put to sleep as well. He had a sudden liver problem and was going to need to go through far too much for an 11 year old dog in order to have a chance of recovery. So today at lunch, they let him go.
Guinness was my stepfather's dog, Skeeter was my mom's. The two lived together their entire lives. He was a Glen of Imaal Terrier, Skeeter was a PBGV: rare breeds that don't look -- or act -- at all dignified. Glens don't usually bark, PBGV's are verbal, Guinness picked up the habit. His bark was a clipped "Rrrrooo!" with a rolled R.
Guinness's job was to be alpha over Skeetie -- he shoulder-checked him into the pool, chased him from the couch, and tried without success to get Skeeter's rawhides. He was also very good at chasing raccoons up trees and keeping them there -- for hours.
My mom says that when Skeeter died, Guinness became an old man quickly. It's so sad to know that neither of them will greet me when I come home the next time. The house will be so quiet.
How old were you when you had your first "official" boyfriend or girlfriend? What was he/she like?
I guess it would have to be Bryan Iverson when I was 13, the summer between 7th and 8th grade. He was older than me -- he was 16, almost 17, and I met him at the TCITY summer school program at Macalester College. When I went to Rocky Horror for the first time, he came along and our knees touched. This was all very exciting. When I went away for a week, he wrote me letter after letter. It was great. One afternoon, I met up with him in South Minneapolis and he carried a little boom box that was playing Let It Be by the Replacements. It was the first time I heard it and it's still one of my very favorite albums today. My parents had no idea where I was and they so completely grounded me. They were ready to kill me. (I'm still sheepish writing about it 23 years later.) That was the day that I kissed him. It took about two hours before I had the guts to do it.
But for some reason, after two weeks or so, he dumped me. Maybe it was when I went to camp? He'd apparently been very into Sarah, my so-called best friend. I have some recollection that he was dating me to be around her. She and I, later that year, tricked him into coming over to her house and we both jumped out and laughed at him. He drove away. I still feel bad about that.
I burned every single one of the letters Bryan sent me using a pack of matches he gave me. I counted them off. 1. 2. 3. It's one of the biggest regrets I have: I wish I hadn't gotten rid of them.
There's a nice epilogue to the whole grading story for the semester. On Monday, I got email from the professor who taught my favorite class last semester -- a straight history class on Europe between the wars. I got an A- on the paper and an A in the class. (It made me cry.) This is all the more amazing to me because it's the first college level straight history class I've taken. I've taken history of any number of things, just not a strict history class. It was a lot of work -- sometimes 500+ pages of reading a week. But I loved it.
So I stopped by to visit the professor on Wednesday to say hello and thank you. He owns a little red terrier who comes to school with him. She and I like each other. I rub her ears, he and I discuss Germany history in the 20s and the 60s.
Anyway, another student tried to open the door and she ran over, barking. The student quickly shut the door.
"Very interesting," he said. "You know what she just did? She protected you."
I looked down and she was looking up at me, very pleased with herself. I told her she was a good dog and of course, rubbed her ears.
Things must be okay if my favorite professor's terrier is going to bat for me.
