It's ALIVE!

"Imagine if every Thursday your shoes exploded if you tied them the usual way. This happens to us all the time with computers, and nobody thinks of complaining."

-- Jeff Raskin, interviewed in Doctor Dobb's Journal

Last weekend, I had a little "computer incident" that immediately reminded me of Mr. Raskin's observation. I climbed the stairs to my attic, as I usually do, pressed the power switch on my Dell Dimension 9200's console, and was rewarded with nothing but a blank text screen with a blinking cursor at the top left-hand corner. This is not abnormal, except that it normally lasts for only a second or so before the computer proceeds on to the usual BIOS startup blurb, memory test, etc. This time, this did not occur. The blank screen just sat there, impudently blinking its cursor at me.

I wasn't concerned. This sort of thing happens once in a while. Some part of the boot sequence doesn't quite kick in at the right time or in the right way and the whole thing just hangs. I call it a "hiccup". The normal solution is to just kill the power and try again, and that's just what I did. I pressed the power button, held it until the power was cut, waited about 30 seconds, then pressed the power button again.

The console lights came on, the hard disk indicator blinked briefly, I could hear the whirr of the cooling fan, but the monitor stayed black. This time, there wasn't even a cursor. You know how most monitors go into a sort of low-power "sleep" mode when they don't detect any signal coming from the computer? Mine does that. You can tell when it's in that mode because its power indicator light changes from green to orange. Well, the monitor's power indicator light stayed orange, which told me that the computer wasn't talking to it at all, in spite of the fact that it was running. Hmmm... curious.

I tried cycling the power again, with the same result. Now I was becoming concerned and just a bit frustrated as, without any kind of monitor display, diagnostic options become very limited...

...but not non-existent. The Dell Dimension 9200, like most desktop computers, has an array of diagnostic lights on its front console for when something is really out of whack with the hardware. In the case of the 9200, these lights consist of the numbers "1" through "4". When all is well, all four numbers are dark. When a problem is detected, different number combinations light up, depending on the problem of course.

That's why it's a very good idea to keep that owner's manual, folks! Oh, sure you could call Dell Support, but we all know what that's like, don't we? First of all, Dell usually publishes their call center number either on-line (to which one hardly has access if one's computer isn't working) or somewhere in the owner's manual which all too many people discard or lose.

Even if you do have the call center number, then you're going to "talk" to an automated attendant, press 113 buttons on your touch tone number pad before the automated attendant finally understands that you want tech support, then sit there on hold for at least 68 minutes listening to Mantovani's instrumental rendition of "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" while periodically being told (again by the automated attendant) that "we are experiencing a higher than usual volume of calls" (Really? You mean half of North America's Dells have decided not to boot this morning? Maybe it's sun spots or a big solar flare) and being assured that "your call is important to us" and heaven help you if you hang up in frustration because the next time you call back you're gonna have to do this all over again, bucko!

If and when you finally get a live tech on the line (most likely with an accent that convinces you that Mahatma Gandhi is alive and working at a Dell call center) and you explain to him that your computer won't boot and there's nothing on the monitor, he'll ask you probing questions that would never in a million years have occurred to a lay person such as yourself, such as "Is the computer turned on?" and "Is the power cord plugged into an electrical outlet?" Eventually, he'll finally get around to having you look at those diagnostic lights on the console and, if your lucky, he'll know what they mean (only because he still has his copy of the manual there in his cubicle). Trust me, it's a whole lot faster and easier to just keep that owner's manual and look it up yourself!

I don't mean to denigrate Dell's support staff. I'm sure that most of them are knowledgeable professionals with a sincere desire to help and a voracious appetite for curry. To be fair, being a computer-literate techie myself, I probably know at least as much as most of the people I'd get on the other end of that phone line. For those of you out there who think that a POST is something that holds up a fence, maybe you'll find it helpful to talk to these people. I'm usually better off looking into it myself.

Anyway, sure enough, two of the diagnostic numbers on my console were lit up; "3" and "4" to be precise, and I did happen to keep my Dell owner's manual. Unlike all too many owners' manuals, whose idea of in-depth technical information is to tell you where the power switch is, my Dell manual actually has a lot of good, useful information in it, including a trouble-shooting section that covers those diagnostic lights, what they mean, and even what to do about it when they light up. The "3,4" combination, as it turns out, means "Memory modules are detected, but a memory failure has occurred". Damn! It looked like one of my memory chips had died on me.

The manual went on to suggest, very sensibly in my opinion, that I should remove all the memory and then re-insert the modules, one by one, until I found the bad one. My PC has only two memory modules; each with a capacity of 1 gigabyte. So I shut down the computer, opened the case and pulled the second memory module, leaving only the first.

Here's where those less technically-adept and adventurous than myself might get a bit skittish and, indeed, I would not recommend ripping things out of your computer's motherboard without at least a rudimentary knowledge of how things are put together. It should go without saying that, if you're going to try this sort of thing, always kill the computer's power first. In fact, you may want to unplug the electrical cord, just to be safe. Unplugging and plugging componets into a powered circuit board may well fry the component, the circuit board or, in a worst-case scenario, you. Always remember the Seventh Commandment for Technicians:

Work thou not on energized equipment, for if thou dost, thy fellow workers will surely buy beers for thy widow and console her in other ways.

That having been said, removing and inserting memory modules on a motherboard is a relatively simple affair. They tend to be held in place by two plastic clips; one at each end. Just gently bend back the clips, firmly grasp the chip, either in the center or at both ends, and pull it straight out. To re-insert it, line it up carefully with its slot (there should be a notch that prevents you from accidentally inserting it "backwards") and, applying even pressure at both ends, press it straight down into the slot. The locking tabs should click into place on their own.

You should also know that memory slots need to be populated in a certain order and memory modules need to be paired in certain ways. I won't go into all that here. My owner's manual explained that very nicely. Hopefully yours does too, or you can look it up online. Again, if you're not sure what you're doing, it might be better to spend some quality time with Sandeep and the automated attendant after all.

Having removed my second memory module, I restarted my computer. The "3,4" diagnostic code remained and the computer still didn't boot. Okay, it looked as though the first module was the bad one. I'd have to replace it. Bummer. For now, though, a gigabyte of RAM should hopefully be sufficient to check my e-mail.

I shut down the computer again, pulled the first memory module and replaced it with the one that had occupied the second slot. Then I powered up the computer again ... and watched in dismay as the numbers "3" and "4" lit up yet again. This would suggest that the second memory module was also bad but I "knew" that the situation was actually much worse than it seemed. It's extremely unlikely that both memory modules would die at the same time. And there was this nagging question about why the computer wouldn't talk to my monitor. Even if the memory was bad, there's no reason why the BIOS shouldn't at least display an error or something to the screen. I concluded that the worst-case scenario had come to pass. The memory was probably fine. It was the motherboard that had fried. That's why it was unable to properly communicate with either memory module or the monitor. My computer was dead.

At this point, I could have acquiesced and called Dell support after all but I figured they'd just take me through the process of doing exactly what I had already done and reach the same conclusion in the end. My computer is well out of warranty. They might be able to refer me to a service depot but, if the motherboard is gone, you may as well just buy a new computer.

That's what I decided to do. I was happy enough with my Dell that I decided I'd order another one. I like ordering computers from Dell. You can configure them with exactly the hardware and options that you want and they custom-build your machine especially for you, only after you've ordered it. They're like the Harveys of computer retailers. The only problem is the inherent wait while Dell custom-builds and then delivers your system. It looked as though I was computer-less for at least a couple of weeks.

If you don't see how that's a big problem, then you obviously don't know me. I live on my computer! It's how I spend most of my leisure time. I seriously wondered what I would do with myself for the next couple of weeks. Pathetic, isn't it?

Then I got to thinking, maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Maybe "unplugging" for a while might actually do me good. Maybe I could, I don't know, go outside or something. Maybe I might wind up like the Springfield kids in that video that I put in a recent post. I wondered if anyone in my neighborhood would know who I was, or realized that I lived among them. Maybe they knew exactly who I was. Maybe I had become a local legend, like Boo Radley in "To Kill A Mockingbird". Maybe they'd all point at me and speak in hushed whispers as I walked by.

The next day I was trying to think of something to do, but apparently really thinking about my computer, because the thought occurred to me, for no apparent reason, that I hadn't tried booting my PC with no memory modules at all. Now, I realize that this concept may seem a bit daft at first. Even if it boots, a computer "sans memory" is hardly going to do anything useful. It would be sort of like trying to drive a car whose engine runs perfectly but that has no wheels. However, it occurred to me that doing this might at least persuade the diagnostic console to display something other than "3,4". And so, because I had nothing to lose, and because, apparently, even tinkering with a dead computer is more enjoyable for me than, you know, getting a life or something, I went back into my attic, opened the computer, pulled both memory modules, and turned it on.

Sure enough, the diagnostic console had changed. Now, only the number "1" was lit up. Going back to my owner's manual, I looked up the code and, unsurprisingly, learned that "1" means "No memory modules are detected". Well. It had that one right, anyway. Now I began to second-guess my earlier conclusion that my motherboard must be dead. I mean, it remained "lucid" enough to know when it had no memory.

For no logical reason, I plugged one of my memory modules back into the first slot. I know, I know ... at this point even the not-so-computer-literate out there are thinking to yourselves "Well, wouldn't that just make the '3,4' code come back?" Yep. You'd think that, wouldn't you? But I tried it anyway, turned on the computer ... and it booted. The monitor came up, the computer went through its POST routine (which means "Power On Self Test", by the way; no, I didn't throw it through a fence) and then beeped a couple of times and displayed a message something to the effect of "Oh my! The amount of memory appears to have changed!". That's two it had got right. This machine was getting smarter by the minute. I, on the other hand, just stood there with my arms outstretched, shouting maniacally, "It's alive! It's ALIVE!!!"

I could have just pressed "Enter" at this point and let it boot with half of its former memory, but now a sort of inkling was growing in the back of my brain, like some kind of alien parasite, ready to burst through my skull like in that movie. Instead of continuing, I shut down the computer again and inserted the second memory module. I turned the computer back on, and now the code "3,4" returned. Normally, this would suggest to me that my second memory module was bad. However, my earlier diagnostic work had suggested that both memory modules were bad, and I now knew this to be untrue.

Growing ever more suspicious, I once again pulled both memory modules, rebooted the computer back to the "1" code, then shut down again and this time inserted the second memory module (the one that had caused the "3,4" code to reappear) in the first slot, leaving out the other module for now, and turned on the computer again. By this time, I wasn't even all that surprised when it booted.

Now it appeared that both memory modules were fine on their own, but caused problems together for some reason. Perhaps the second memory slot was faulty? That would actually be a reasonable hypothesis at this point, but I had another idea. I booted "sans memory" one last time, then shut down the computer and reinserted both memory modules before powering up again. Sure enough, the computer booted, and has been running completely normally ever since. I even ran a full hardware diagnostic scan on both the memory and the motherboard, using Dell's built-in diagnostic tools, and both checked out 100% error free. Go figure.

I don't know what caused the original failure. I suspect that my PC may have temporarily overheated, as it was warm up in my attic last weekend and I did notice, when opening my computer's case, that the air intakes had gotten clogged with dust (a situation which I quickly remedied, but which did not, in itself, revive the computer). Whatever the cause of the failure, it seems that the computer needed to be started without any memory in order to clear the problem before it would boot normally again. This makes very little sense but, then again, neither do shoes that explode every Thursday when you tie them in the usual way. Like Jeff Raskin says, computers are just like that.

One last thought; I don't want to seem blasphemous or anything, but I find some significance in the fact that my computer died, and then came back to life, over the Easter weekend.

Hallelujah!

Star Wars Art: Visions

I'm a big Star Wars fan. Says so right there in my profile. And, if that doesn't convince you, there are always my past posts about my Lego TIE Interceptor and my voice-command R2-D2. And I haven't even told you about my Star Wars Pez Dispensers, my Darth Vader coin banks (yes, that's plural), my voice changing Darth Vader helmet/mask, my Luke Skywalker Force FX lightsaber, My AT-AT "minature" game piece (which stands about 13 inches tall!) or my Darth Vader Mr. Potato Head yet!. I mean, I wouldn't want to give anyone the impression that I'm some kind of geek!

That's why a book entitled "Star Wars Art: Visions" (© 2010, Lucasfilm Ltd., published by Abrams, New York) caught my attention at a nearby Chapters book store last Christmas. This book is the realization of one of George Lucas' many "Star Wars" money-making merchandising schemes, er, that is, "projects". In this case, he decided to commission some of the world's most recognized artists, including names such as Syd Mead, H.R. Giger and Aoi Mishimata, to render their visions of the Star Wars universe. They were given a wide leeway to create whatever they wanted, the only stipulation being that their work had to be in "the spirit of the movies". The book showcases their work and it is indeed fascinating. The renderings range from straightforward homages to the poignant, bizarre and just plain off the wall.

As I leafed through the pages last Christmas, I smiled, I chuckled, I raised an eyebrow and rubbed my chin thinking "Interesting" but I didn't think I was quite interested enough to justify the book's $48 price tag, so I finally set it down and moved on. Unfortunately, it was too late. The images that I had browsed had gotten under my skin and continued to tug at my mental sleeves. Every time I've returned to Chapters since then, I've caught myself looking for the book once again, unsuccessfully (as there was only one copy when I first found it) ... until yesterday. Yesterday I once again found myself at that same Chapters bookstore and, this time, the Star Wars art book that simply refused to leave me alone since last December, was once again in stock. What could I do but to finally acquiesce and purchase a copy?

While some of the artwork therein depicts scenes straight out of the movies, such as this...

DAVID PALUMBO - "Escape"

...and this...

JACOB A. PFEIFFER - "Luke's Lesson"

...my favorite works are some of the more whimsical and avant-garde offerings. Here are a few samples.

When Darth Vader saw the Batmobile, he must have said to himself "That is SO cool! I need a car like that!" So he set his Imperial designers to work and they finally came up with this:

DOUGLAS FRASER - "1/24th Scale"

Wookiees have an undeserved reputation as brutish barbarians who can't even get through a friendly game of holographic chess without pulling somebody's arms out of their sockets. The truth is, they're among the most gentle, domesticated creatures in the galaxy, as evidenced by the charming family portrait below:

MAYA GOHILL - "Wookiee Family Portrait"

Our next exhibit depicts a tribe of frontier-era American Indians paying homage to Seythreepaya, the Sun Spirit:

GARY CARTER - "Untitled"

Why are there so many songs about Sith Lords and what's on the darker side?
Sith Lords are fearsome, but Jedi are heroes and Jedi have nothing to hide.
They crave not glory, adventure, excitement, serious their ponderings must be.
Some day we'll find it, the great Force connection, the Sith Lords, the Jedi and me.

PETER DE SÈVE - "Easy Being Green, It's Not"

This next one looks like something that Norman Rockwell might have painted. I'm certain that it must once have adorned the cover of the Naboo Evening Post:

ALLAN R. BANKS - "Freedom Day"

Dave Nestler apparently thought about what would happen if someone were to cross "Star Wars" with George Lucas' earlier film, "American Graffiti", and came up with this:

DAVE NESTLER - "Double Cheeseburger with a Side of Crumb"

Even Darth Maul was somebody's baby once as this next painting, which has almost religious undertones, proves. I've often wondered whether more than just his head was tattooed. I guess now we know:

WILL WILSON - "Dawn of Maul"

This somewhat (ahem) "erotic" painting of a Twi'lek dancing girl looks like something out of some Star Wars geek's wet dream. If this painting turns you on, seek help! (And don't infer anything from the fact that I happen to know that the race is called "Twi'lek" even though it's never actually mentioned in any of the movies).

JEREMY LIPKING - "Yobana"

Didn't Toto have a hit song about her?
All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is see your eyes
Yobana, Yobana...

But my personal favorite from the entire collection is the one that was chosen to adorn the book's cover. I think this cuts through Darth Vader's cold, unfeeling facade and poignantly depicts his inner sadness and loneliness. He may have shown no visible reaction when Obi-wan called him "More machine than man ... twisted and evil" but deep down inside it hurt, friend; it hurt.

MASEY - "Regrets"

Finally, I wonder if George Lucas, watching Chuck Yeager make his cameo appearance as the bartender at Pancho's in "The Right Stuff", thought to himself "Hey! I wish I'd thought of that! I could have made an appearance in the Tatooine Cantina; you know, like Hitchcock used to do in his movies..."

PAUL G. OXBOROUGH - "The Mos Eisley Cantina with George Lucas as the Bartender"

Paddle To The Sea

One of Canada's cultural treasures, in this Canadian's humble opinion, is the National Film Board (or, for those francophone Canadians out there, the Office National du Film). The NFB/ONF was first established in 1939, its goal being “….to make and distribute films across the country that were designed to help Canadians everywhere in Canada understand the problems and way of life of Canadians in other parts of the country.” Since that time, the NFB/ONF has made over 13,000 films, most of them short (running for 30 minutes or less) including documentaries, educational films, animated shorts and their famous "vignettes". NFB/ONF films tend to have a uniquely Canadian flavour and perspective.

I recently discovered that the NFB/ONF hosts its own web site, where one can view (for free) and download or purchase (relatively cheaply) most of the titles in the prodigious NFB/ONF collection. Among my personal favorites are "The Sweater", Sheldon Cohen's animated version of Roche Carrier's classic short story about his boyhood idolization of the Montreal Canadiens and Maurice "The Rocket" Richard in particular (charmingly narrated by Carrier himself in his heavy francophone accent) and "Paddle To The Sea".

I first saw "Paddle To The Sea" in elementary school, when my teacher played it for the class as an educational film intended to teach us about the great lakes and the St. Lawrence seaway. Paddle To The Sea is the name given to a wooden carving of an aboriginal Canadian in a traditional birch canoe. He is hand-whittled by a young boy who lives in the Nipigon country on the northern shore of Lake Superior. This talented young boy wants to see the ocean, but can't, so he carves "Paddle" to make the journey in his stead. Paddle does eventually reach the ocean, but not before evading or overcoming a number of obstacles, as one might imagine, including being beached, beset by seagulls, a snake and all manner of aquatic wildlife including a young child who fancies him an excellent toy, getting frozen in an ice-covered lake and almost being puréed by the propeller screws of several very large ships.

This film appealed to my boyhood self on several levels and therefore made an indelible impression and sparked a lasting fondness that finally resulted in my happily paying to download it and add it to my personal video collection these many years later. For one thing, I was filled with admiration at the craftsmanship with which Paddle was carved and painted, since making miniatures (albeit plastic model kits in my case) was a favorite hobby of my own in those days. Oh how I would have loved to add something like Paddle to my collection of display pieces! And herein lay the second source of my fascination with the story. Had I actually the talent to create such a carving myself, I'm sure that I could never have parted with it, consigning my long hours of painstaking work to the whims of the currents and the tides, never to know for certain whatever became of it or, indeed, whether it actually reached its destination.

The whole concept of tossing a canoe into the water and then simply following its progress to see what becomes of it without actually intervening in any manner was equally intriguing to me. I've noted before in this blog that I seem to have this unusual fascination with just sitting and watching things unfold of their own accord.

A small creek ran parallel to the street where I lived during my pre-adolescent years and, after watching "Paddle To The Sea", I'd often go there and toss all manner of items into the water, wondering how far or to where they would drift. I'd often see them snag on a tree branch or clump of grass or stone before travelling even ten yards. Oh well. "A thousand mile journey begins with a single step" someone once said. A pity they didn't mention that it often ends there as well.

This leads me to the one thing about this film that really sparked my incredulity. When I tossed things into the creek, I would at least watch the start of their journeys, wanting some idea as to whether they got anywhere at all. However, the young boy who made Paddle To The Sea doesn't do that. He doesn't even put him in the water! He simply perches him at the top of a snow bank, and leaves him to sit there until the spring thaw sends him into the river. In other words, he can't even be sure whether Paddle's journey ever began! Oh, certainly he could return in the springtime to find Paddle gone, but this doesn't necessarily mean that he made it to the river. Some other person or animal might have come upon him and simply carried him away. To summarize, then, this young boy spent countless hours, painstakingly carving and painting this beautiful miniature brave in a birch canoe, then took it to the river bank, set it in the snow and walked away, hoping that it might somehow find its way to the ocean.

And I thought that I was an optimist!

A Royal FUBAR

I'm not a big fan of the Royals. Heck, I'm not even a little fan of the Royals! So, for the most part, I really can't care less about the upcoming wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton, and I wish the press would find something more interesting to write about. I must admit, though, that news link that I recently glimpsed while browsing through online news stories that read something to the effect of "Major Gaffe With Royal Wedding Souvenir" aroused my curiosity enough that I had to click it to find out more.

The link took me to a story about a souvenir mug, commemorating the upcoming Royal Nuptials. The mug, which is pictured in the news story, is a very handsome, ornate-looking bit of memorabilia, if you like that kind of thing, featuring colour portraits (British spelling purposely used as it seemed appropriate in this context) of the Happy Couple along with the sorts of flourishes and embellishments normally associated with the Royals. Just one little problem, though. The portrait of the groom-to-be is not that of William, but of his brother Harry! Oops. Somebody is so fired! Actually whoever designed the mug was probably somebody as disinterested in the Royal Family as myself, who therefore wouldn't know Prince William from Harry or even Andrew. It would have been even funnier if they'd accidentally posted Charles' mug (pun intended) next to Kate's!

The story makes no mention of any plans to pull these erroneous cups from the market, though. Too bad. If only a few of them got out, they might even become an expensive collector's item; you know, like those stamps with the upside-down airplane on them. (Incidentally, thank you to the Philatelic Tidbits blog for wrecking my attempt at appearing knowledgeable and well-informed by telling the world that just about everybody knows about the infamous "Upside-down Jenny" stamp - even boorish, low-brow Simpsons fans, like myself.)

Well, at least I can amuse myself with imaginings of Prince William grabbing his little brother by the scruff of the neck whilst snarling "Oy! Wha's all this then that I 'eres about you and me missus, eh?"

At risk of going off on something of a tangent in the interest of inserting just one more cheap joke before wrapping up this post, I got a huge laugh out of a one-liner attributed to actor/comedian Jimmy Fallon recently, who mused aloud, with regard to the upcoming Royal Wedding or, more specifically, Prince William's bachelor party, that "It's got to be weird stuffing money into some stripper's bikini when every bill has a picture of your grandmother on it!"

Ronald McDonald: Would You Like To Downsize That?

I heard this past week that McDonald's is looking to change their image, shifting to "healthier" foods, such as salads and smoothies over hamburgers and soft drinks. This also means targeting the older crowd rather than kids, as has been their strategy thus far. They're even talking about phasing out Ronald McDonald as their official spokesperson!

It makes a certain amount of sense. Let's face it, the general demographic is aging. Smart marketers have to pay attention to the older generation. But I'm a little worried about Ronald. What's he going to do after McDonald's hands him his pink slip? Let's face it; it's a tough economy out there these days. Jobs are scarce and, as I commented in a recent post, a clown's career options in particular are somewhat limited. I'd sure hate to see Ronald McDonald, sitting on some street corner selling pencils from a (recyclable) paper cup five years down the road! That'd just be sad!

Worse yet, what if he becomes embittered about being put out to pasture after so many years of faithful service and, being unable to find any legitimate sources of income, turns to a life of crime? Suppose he joins forces with his old nemesis, the Hamburgler, and the two embark upon a crime spree unprecedented in the annals of fast food? Think it couldn't happen? Just remember, Ronald McDonald wouldn't be the first clown in history to turn to crime!

War and Peace

Some time ago, I wrote in this blog about my thoughts on the book "Moby Dick" and I mentioned, too, that I had planned to tackle "War and Peace" next. In fact, I'm still reading it. I'm about half way through. I could have finished it by now, in spite of its notorious length but, like many substantial literary works, it starts out slowly, setting the stage and establishing the characters, and it can take a while before it really begins to capture the reader's interest. Consequently, I had set it aside for a while after starting it and, even now, I read only a chapter each day, and the chapters are short, though numerous.

Even so, I must say that I'm enjoying the book considerably more than I did "Moby Dick". Leo Tolstoy, the author, has woven a fascinating tapestry of aristocratic families made up of interesting characters whose lives and fates are interwoven against the backdrop of Imperial Russia's war with Napoleon. Tolstoy also displays a keen understanding of the human condition, as evidenced by the following paragraph.

At the approach of danger there are always two voices that speak with equal power in the human soul: one very reasonably tells a man to consider the nature of the danger and the means of escaping it; the other, still more reasonably, says that it is too depressing and painful to think of the danger, since it is not in man's power to foresee everything and avert the general course of events, and it is therefore better to disregard what is painful till it comes, and to think about what is pleasant. In solitude a man generally listens to the first voice, but in society to the second.

A most astute observation, and I paused to think about why this is. I think that it's because our individual problems are our own. Since they affect only ourselves, we know that it's up to us to solve them. When a larger problem threatens society as a whole, everyone hopes that someone else will solve it. I think that's what's happening with the issue of global warming. If the climate is really changing, we may be witnessing the genesis of an unprecedented disaster; one that threatens not only all of mankind, but every living thing on this planet. At the very least, it would mean starvation, famine, war and death on a scale never before seen. So some choose to deny that the problem exists, and even the majority of those who do accept that there is a threat leave it to others to deal with the problem. I would argue that this was at the heart of the failure of the Kyoto and Copenhagen conferences on climate change. Every participating nation felt that the problem was the responsibility of the others. None were willing to stand up and declare "The buck stops here!". Meanwhile, the problem continues and no meaningful action is taken. I can almost hear Tolstoy muttering "Я сказал вас так!" (or, since French was apparently very much in vogue in Imperial Russia, at least among the aristocracy, "Je vous ai dit ainsi!"

Tolstoy also presents us with this second insightful bit of analysis:

On the twelfth of June, 1812, the forces of Western Europe crossed the Russian frontier and war began, that is, an event took place opposed to human reason and to human nature. Millions of men perpetrated against one another such innumerable crimes, frauds, treacheries, thefts, forgeries, issues of false money, burglaries, incendiarisms, and murders as in whole centuries are not recorded in the annals of all the law courts of the world, but which those who committed them did not at the time regard as being crimes.

What produced this extraordinary occurrence? What were its causes? The historians tell us with naive assurance that its causes were the wrongs inflicted on the Duke of Oldenburg, the nonobservance of the Continental System, the ambition of Napoleon, the firmness of Alexander, the mistakes of the diplomatists, and so on.

Consequently, it would only have been necessary for Metternich, Rumyantsev, or Talleyrand, between a levee and an evening party, to have taken proper pains and written a more adroit note, or for Napoleon to have written to Alexander: "My respected Brother, I consent to restore the duchy to the Duke of Oldenburg"- and there would have been no war.

We can understand that the matter seemed like that to contemporaries. It naturally seemed to Napoleon that the war was caused by England's intrigues (as in fact he said on the island of St. Helena). It naturally seemed to members of the English Parliament that the cause of the war was Napoleon's ambition; to the Duke of Oldenburg, that the cause of the war was the violence done to him; to businessmen that the cause of the war was the Continental System which was ruining Europe; to the generals and old soldiers that the chief reason for the war was the necessity of giving them employment; to the legitimists of that day that it was the need of re-establishing les bons principes, and to the diplomatists of that time that it all resulted from the fact that the alliance between Russia and Austria in 1809 had not been sufficiently well concealed from Napoleon, and from the awkward wording of Memorandum No. 178. It is natural that these and a countless and infinite quantity of other reasons, the number depending on the endless diversity of points of view, presented themselves to the men of that day; but to us, to posterity who view the thing that happened in all its magnitude and perceive its plain and terrible meaning, these causes seem insufficient. To us it is incomprehensible that millions of Christian men killed and tortured each other either because Napoleon was ambitious or Alexander was firm, or because England's policy was astute or the Duke of Oldenburg wronged. We cannot grasp what connection such circumstances have with the actual fact of slaughter and violence: why because the Duke was wronged, thousands of men from the other side of Europe killed and ruined the people of Smolensk and Moscow and were killed by them.

I wonder what this world will be like 100 years hence, and what the historians of that time, if indeed there still be any historians, will have to say about the actions and motives of those who steer the course of history today?

Social Networking ... Old School

"We had social networking when I was a kid. I think it was called 'Outside'".

This witty comment, which I came across recently, has inspired this week's post. Ironically, the term "Social Networking", meaning FaceBook, MySpace and any number of other internet chat forums is, in a sense, an oxymoron. It might be argued that those who spend a significant amount of time "networking" with others via this medium are actually losing the ability to network in person. Put some of these people in a room with other flesh-and-blood human beings and it becomes painfully apparent that they have no idea how to interact with others who are standing right in front of them. Perhaps a more appropriate term might be "Anti-social Networking".

I once saw an episode of "60 Minutes" which examined why young children nowadays seem to have lost the ability to create their own fun. To be fair, the feature wasn't talking about FaceBook or even computers in general. It was talking more about modern parenting styles. Many parents enroll their children in any number of recreational programs; anything from pee-wee sports to dance to general fitness to French immersion to computer camp. These programs, while well-meaning, are so structured and controlled by adults that the kids who participate in them need not exercise any kind of spontaneity. They simply follow the schedules and participate in the routines. Put one of these kids outside by themselves and simply say to them "Go play" (you know, the way parents used to do back in the seventies and earlier) and they (the kids) are at a complete loss. They have no idea how to begin.

Admittedly, this is slightly beside my original point, but electronic media only exacerbates the situation. Many kids have gotten to the point where they're practically incapable of amusing themselves without the aid of some type of electronic gadget. There was an episode of "The Simpsons" (a television show which is widely acclaimed for its thought-provoking social commentary) in which Marge Simpson managed to eliminate all violence from "The Itchy and Scratchy" cartoon show. The result was a cartoon that was so bland and boring that the kids didn't enjoy it any longer and, consequently, they stopped enjoying television in general. Without the medium of TV, they suddenly had to find an alternate form of entertainment, and this happened...

(c) Twentieth Century Fox, 2001

Hard though it may be for the younger generation to believe, this is what childhood used to be like (although I admit that the May Pole may have been a bit over the top). I lived in a neighborhood with lots of other kids when I was a boy, and most of those kids played together outdoors. Of course, there were the usual matches of sandlot baseball and street hockey, but I was never much of an athlete even in my tender (and thinner) years.

I recall one of the rare times that a few of the older boys let me join in a game of street hockey with them. There was one particularly stocky kid by the name of Nicky who had a notoriously wicked slap shot (for his age, at least). Every goalie within a six block perimeter knew and feared Nicky. He happened to be playing on this particular occasion. At one point, I happened to be standing between Nicky and my team's hapless goaltender when he (Nicky) wound up and let loose one of his infamous canons. I was unable to move out of the line of fire in time and so the Indian rubber ball smacked the blade of my stick with full force and ricocheted off to Scranton, PA or some equally obscure location.

You'd think I'd have been fine, having blocked the shot with my stick the way one is supposed to, albeit completely by accident, but the impact sent a tremor up the shaft of my stick and through my forearms that made me feel like Warner Brothers' Wile E. Coyote after whacking a petrified rock (that was meant to be a Road Runner) with a club. In the cartoon, I believe he disappeared down the road, still vibrating as he went. That's how I felt.

Because of experiences like this one, I preferred to participate in less sports-oriented games; the kind of games that kids used to invent on their own back in the old days. Games like "Mother May I", "Red Light/Green Light" and "Red Rover". Remember those?

For the benefit of the under-forty crowd who may not, in fact, remember those, let me give you some idea of what I'm talking about. "Red Rover" was always a favorite in my neighborhood. You needed a minimum of six kids to play it; ten or more was better. The kids would form two teams with the same number of kids on each side (if there was an odd number of kids participating, it was okay for one side to have an extra member). Both teams would form a line abreast, each facing the other, join hands and take turns calling a member from the other team with a sing-song chant that went, for example, "Red Rover, Red Rover we call Johnny over!" The kid whom the other team had summoned would then have to run full-speed at what he perceived to be the weakest link in the chain of joined hands and try to break through it. The calling team, on the other hand, would try to stop the summoned kid without him breaking the chain. If the runner managed to break the chain, he could return to his or her team. If not, he had to join the other team. The game ended when one team had acquired all but one player (yes, you could have a "chain" consisting of only two kids).

Needless to say, the smallest, slowest, lightest kids tended to be called first but, eventually, there was no choice but to call the "canonball" kids; you know, the big, burly kids who looked like the Tasmanian Devil as they approached; nothing more than a whirling dust-cloud with the occasional arm or leg appearing and disappearing around the perimeter, while each kid in the chain hoped that he wasn't heading for one of their hands.

These were the types of games that kids used to invent when they had no electronic gadgets to keep them entertained. Don't get me wrong. I'm not vilifying electronic amusements. I enjoy a good computer game as much as the next person, and I realize that criticizing social networking may come off as a tad hypocritical coming from someone who's busily posting on his blog. However, it's hard to deny that all this technology has robbed kids of the opportunity to create their own fun through sheer imagination, and it has greatly reduced face-to-face social interaction. The sad result, I think, is that kids have lost one of the real joys of childhood without even realizing it.