SILICON SOAPWARE wafting your way along the slipstreams of the Info Highway from Bubbles = Tom Digby = bubbles@well.sf.ca.us = tgdigby@netcom.com http://www.well.com/user/bubbles/ Issue #34 New Moon of October 1, 1997 Contents copyright 1997 by Thomas G. Digby, with a liberal definition of "fair use". In other words, feel free to quote excerpts elsewhere (with proper attribution), post the entire zine (verbatim, including this notice) on other boards that don't charge specifically for reading the zine, link my Web page, and so on, but if something from here forms a substantial part of something you make money from, it's only fair that I get a cut of the profits. For more background info, details of how the mailing list works, etc., ask for a copy of issue #Zero. If you email me a reply or comment, please make clear whether or not it's for publication. ********************* I've moved again, this time completely out of the L.A. area to Silicon Valley near San Francisco. And it looks like things are going to work out better here. I'm currently with friends I've known through science fiction fandom, and other such friends are keeping their eyes out for job openings I would be especially well suited for. And it looks like the job market is much better here, at least for the types of things I would fit into best. And I've been told that I'll like the culture, or the general vibes of the place, better than Los Angeles. That remains to be seen, but I do feel optimistic about being at least as happy here as there. ********************* October 4, the Saturday after this comes out, will be the 40th anniversary of Sputnik, man's first artificial space satellite. I've tended to associate the words "forty years ago" with things much earlier than the 1950's, perhaps because I associate that phrase with being a little kid at my grandfather's knee in the 1940's when he spoke of things forty years before I was born. So for part of me, "forty years ago" conjures up images of the first years of the Twentieth Century, even though a look at the calendar shows forty years ago as actually being the dawn of the Space Age. ********************* And speaking of Sputnik, here's something from SS around this time last year. I think it bears repeating: Left Behind at the Starting Gate In the fall of 1957 I was a senior in high school. October 4 was a Friday, and there was a dance that night. As usual, my ride to the dance had the car radio on. But what was unusual was one item on the news: The Russians, or maybe the Soviets, since practically nobody made the distinction then, had launched an artificial satellite: Sputnik. It wasn't much, by today's standards: Just a radio transmitter that went "Beep, Beep, Beep". Some local ham operator claimed to have picked up the signal. I tried, using an old shortwave radio we had, but to no avail. Perhaps I wasn't trying at the right times, or perhaps the radio, which was older than I was, wasn't sensitive enough. Whatever the reason, I had no luck with it. I had mixed feelings. Even then I was heavily into science fiction, and this was science fiction made real. But it wasn't ours. The Bad Guys had beat us to it. We had lost the race. Even though it wasn't much by practical standards, it was an important symbolic achievement. We played frantic catch-up. We'd been working on a similar program called "Vanguard". Launch day finally came. More disappointment. The rocket blew up on the pad, or maybe got a few feet into the air and then blew up. Whatever the details, it didn't get anywhere near orbit. A few months later, around the spring of 1958, a program called "Explorer" that used converted military ICBM-type rockets finally got us onto the playing field. We also played catch-up in other ways. More money went into education, to produce more scientists and engineers. Our own space program expanded. The Space Race was on, and as the increased educational effort began to bear fruit we eventually pulled into the lead. We crossed the finish line first with the Moon landing in July of 1969. Some of us wanted our runners to keep going, but most of the crowd want home. We'd "won", and that was enough for them. As evening came sales at the concession stands were hardly enough to pay for the floodlights. Yes, there were occasional minor events after that: The Mars lander, flybys of the outer planets, and so on, to this day. But with no opponent to challenge us on the field, there is no race to draw the cheering crowds. The shouts of the faithful few echo off of mostly-empty grandstands. ********************* The Solipsists' Convention is in town. The local merchants like the money, although it does annoy them to have all those people constantly asking them what it feels like to not exist during the rest of the year between Solipsists' Conventions. ********************* The previous place I lived in was near a lake, and I would often walk around it for exercise. There were houses and condos just across the walkway from the water, and I would now and then encounter people who lived there. Someone I got into a conversation with mentioned fish in the lake, including some koi dumped there years ago by some lakeside homeowner who didn't want them in his pond. They've supposedly grown to two or three feet long by now. I haven't seen them, though. Maybe they don't come to the surface often? Or maybe they only show up at times of day I generally don't go out there? But anyway, we got to talking about dumping unwanted fish and such into the lake, and somehow the idea of pirate treasure came up. Maybe somebody had a chest full of gold pieces they didn't want the IRS to know about, so one dark night they tossed it in, ker-SPLASH! Maybe they'll come back for it some day? Or maybe they've died or forgotten all about it or something, and it's up for grabs? And maybe there's a secret trapdoor down there somewhere that leads to a hidden underwater grotto full of mermaids (and mermen). They have secret pipes leading into a few buildings where they meet with trusted land people, but mostly they stay hidden. And all this stuff with Handicapped access the last few years is working to their advantage. If you see someone in a wheelchair with a blanket over their legs, you don't normally check to see if maybe it's not legs at all under there, but a fish tail. So a few of them are venturing out into our world. But mostly they stay in their own underwater kingdom, and come up at night to play. The lake area is officially closed from 11 at night to 5 in the morning, and the west end is sort of park-like with no nearby houses. And there are enough fish jumping that an occasional distant splash is likely to be disregarded, as long as it's not big enough to be a treasure chest full of gold coins being given the heave-ho. So the merpeople can frolic in relative safety. The roving security guards on the night shift are in on the secret of course, as are the two or three homeowners nearest that end. But hardly anybody else living around the lake knows. Does the secret mer-kingdom under this lake connect to others under other lakes, or under the sea? Possibly. Even if the local geology isn't the sort you'd find natural caves in, they've had thousands of years to dig tunnels. And they may have had help. My confidential unnamed sources tell me that they have friends in high places, and the new MTA subway system will have mermaid pipes along many of the regular tunnels. Passengers don't usually look too closely at the insides of the tunnels between stations, and there are usually a number of pipes and conduits and things whose function isn't obvious, so one more pipe, even if it's several feet wide, can go unnoticed if it's drab enough and surrounded by other pipes. And you know those new oil pipelines and sewer pipes and water mains they're always digging up streets for somewhere or other around town? Not all of them are what they seem. What do they want with us? Mainly cooperation and trade. Their environment isn't well suited for manufacturing, and their appetite for tools and sculpture and other things has been whetted by stuff we've lost at sea over the years. And they're also concerned about the environment, especially the condition of the oceans, so they'd like to exert some influence there. In return they'd help us with scientific research, weather forecasts, fisheries management, sea rescue, and other useful endeavors. And they'd even throw in some sunken treasure. And they're fascinated by our computer technology. All we have to do is figure out a way to make it waterproof. Once we do that we'll have another major trading partner, albeit one most people won't be aware of. Remember: On the Internet, nobody knows if you're a mermaid. ********************* No matter how big a celebrity you are, you don't have to let the paparazzi into your hotel room if they don't have a search warrant. ********************* I went to see the movie Wishmaster last night. "Be careful what you wish for." MINOR SPOILERS It was about an evil djinn, an actively hostile wish-giver. He (?) would often suggest a wish to somebody, then fulfill it in a way that brought grief or ruin. When he was caught cutting up a body in a morgue, he asked the witness "Do you wish not to have to see this?" Note that nobody mentioned anything either way about seeing anything else. So he granted the suggested wish by taking out the person's eyes. He asked a woman "Do you wish your beauty would never fade?" When she said yes he turned her into a statue. And so on. That's the kind of hostile wish-giver that is best handled by staying away from it. Period. You can't win (See also a short story titled "The Monkey's Paw"). END SPOILERS Neutral wish-givers can be useful, but you have to be very careful. One common non-magical example of a neutral wish-giver is the computer. It'll do whatever you tell it to (within its limits) but you have to be careful about what you tell it to do. And you have to know how it will interpret your commands, as opposed to how you would interpret them. A neutral genie with a bunch of programmers might make an interesting story. Friendly wish-givers are the kind most of us daydream about. Do what I mean, even if I don't phrase it perfectly. And the wish-giver should be competent and as nearly omniscient as possible. Be right about what I want, and don't goof up the execution. If I had an unlimited number of wishes from a wish-giver, I think the first few would be standing orders about asking for confirmation if a wish would have major consequences I haven't anticipated, and asking for clarification if there's doubt about what I meant. I would definitely want to do this with a neutral wish-giver, but even with a friendly one I'd like the extra safety net. The main difference would be in how much detail I might go into. (After I first-drafted this a friend suggested "Do what I should have meant." That would cover things you aren't aware of that would make a major difference in what you would want to wish for.) ********************* While lying in bed a few mornings ago, half-awake, half-dreaming, I got part of a haiku: The tree just sits there. Enigmatically, you climb. But that isn't the right syllable count. Assuming it's 5-7-5, I reworked it to: The tree just stands there. Wrapped in mystery, you climb, Letting it wonder. Or something like that. I'll probably rework it some more later. Maybe something like: The tree can feel you. Wrapped in mystery, you climb, Letting it wonder. Or The tree can't see you. Wrapped in mystery, you climb, Letting it wonder. Decisions, decisions. ********************* My high school had a football team. What did I play? Saxophone in the band. I was reminded of this at a party recently when people brought guitars and a banjo and a violin and played music together. I didn't participate, but I did sense a strong emotional bond between the musicians, through the shared music. For some reason I don't get that feeling in sing-along situations. I think it requires people playing different parts for harmony and counterpoint instead of the more-or-less unison you get in sing-alongs, and it requires a small enough group for each individual part to be identifiable. And it requires the skill to be able to play your part with confidence even though others around you are doing something different. I used to play the saxophone well enough back in high school and college, but I've never been good enough vocally. But I could feel it strongly among the musicians at the party, even though I wasn't part of it. So if you ever want to give me a pep talk about teamwork on the job, that's the analogy that works for me. I've never been much for sports, but I've had what could be called teamwork feelings when playing music. ********************* The place I'm living now is much closer to wine country than the old place, so I'm reminded of this: Quality vs Quantity "Everybody knows that small wineries make the best wine," Said a little old winemaker up Selenaloma way to himself, "So I will make the best wine possible: Every year I will harvest, crush, ferment, and bottle One Perfect Grape. Chosen from the vine most favored by sun, wind, and rain, And given the greatest concentration of loving attention, It will grow to greatness Just as tinder, under sunlight concentrated by a lens Glows into flame. True, the fruits of my labor will not be for the masses But then great art never is, And surely there are a fortunate few Ready, willing, and able to pay the price And to fully appreciate the result." So saying, he began to make ready. Unfortunately, however, word leaked out And three of his competitors, Not to be outdone in the matter of small wineries, Went one better By producing No wine at all. Tom Digby written 0035 hr 11/24/76 entered 2/16/88 -- END --