SFO

Interviews in San Francisco...

Email

Email trickles into my blackberry throughout the night. Sometimes from Pune, sometimes Bangalore. Sometimes about a project or company announcement, an update, a question. My work day was a monolithic chunk of eight hours but now it revolves around transition points; early morning because Indians are still awake as Americans begin their workday... and late night because Americans are still awake as Indians start their workday.

At night I drive past nine skycranes by Microsoft, their arc lights bright against dark sky as I skim over the wet sheen of black asphalt. I run over two thousand cell phone minutes per month on more than thirty conference calls, sometimes doing four in a single night.

I fly into Fremont. The airport is crowded and I sit quietly, feet perched over my travel bag, laptop in my lap. I type and read, now I coordinate instead of code, I demonstrate instead of debug. Then I fly home.

Tonight I joined a sex club.
We shall see what we shall see.

The Long Wave

The Long Wave exists for a reason. Theoretically, money is a symbolic representation of goods, services and the ability to produce more goods & services. But money & production live within the context of cultural values. And money influences reality just as reality defines money.

The Long Wave is a reflection of the shifting delta between old culture and new culture. On the downslope, the investment horizon of the average person shrinks, resulting in behavior geared towards immediate, short-term satisfaction. As a result, long-term investments run below their long-term cost. To mainain profibility, companies and individuals plunder the past to pay for the present... until the present quits working.

Governments will not be able to reverse the direction of long-term interest rates. They can delay and buffer and mask the inflection. But they can not stop it because interest rates are a fundamental reflection of investment.

Nothing is free.

The #1 mistake of system analysis is not understanding why the legacy system works as it does. This is also the #1 mistake of each incoming generation.

Pax Americana

Drawing to a close.
Founded on fake money and flawed ideology.

Various governments are trying desperately to keep interest rates down but nobody wants to cooperate.
Perhaps that ocean of fake fiat money is responsible.

Food riots.
Rising rates and costs going into a recession.
History will label this time as an era of madness.

Building massive transportation channels of steel and oil to move raw materials all over the earth, so they can be processed into intermediate goods which are shipped all over the earth, then assembled into final goods and shipped all over the earth for final sale, often back at the point of origin of the raw materials.

Madness.
And the most amazing part is how ignorant the great majority of Americans are.
How completely clueless.

Diogenes

I am the Diogenes Of Love.

That's who I was before I married, too. Over and over, I ask what I did wrong. How could I have made better decisions? I wonder why it had to be this way. What is so wrong with me? Why is everyone else seem mediocre? How much of it was my fault?

So many things were wrong.
Year after year.
So much wasted effort and money.

The Diogenes Of Love. A 3-sigma misfit. Of course, 3-sigma misfits founded the movie industry, music industry, even the computer industry. But those were the 3-sigmas of the 3-sigmas.

I should start a club.
The 3-sigma NOTs of 3-sigmaville.

Slowly the tide turns. She was blonde and preppy, brazen, with large breasts accentuated by a wide belt around her upper-waist. This blonde gave the performance of being blonde but a crafty intelligence peered out behind her wide, mascara-stained eyes. She tottered on four-inch heels in a short black and white summer dress but what I first noticed was her tattoo. It occupied most of her right shoulder, its pattern revealed by broad, strapless shoulders.

"I was seventeen and drunk and stupid", she grimaced.

The wrong question. Attention on something she considered un-attractive. I thought it was an interesting design, though. And it sent out silent warning about her belligerent attitude before she'd spoken a word.

The tide turns slowly. She was sexy and interesting, tanned and fit with an attitude to match. So I held up my lantern and looked her over. But she wasn't the one.

Hungry Hawk

I descended into the desert city like a hungry hawk, snatched up my evidence and then fled back to the water.

My Wiccan friends believe in magic, which spans a wide variety of circumstances. Most things have a price and as I sped through the desert, I came upon magic of my own making. I saw the pricetag and it depressed me.

I still believe the majority of Americans can think but choose not to; a natural inclination to minimize mental transaction costs. Read through blogs and comments and you find the material is simple, easy, based on current events and banter. There's a second, amaller group who sense deficiencies in their fellow man; who try to expand mental horizons with thought-provoking material. We call them "artists". Still, most of them also succumb to banal stereotypes.

A third group analyzes that lack of thought in the first group and the failure of artistic provocateurs. We call them "philosophers" and "politicians".

If magic is the symbolic manipulation of reality, then memzymes could be a form of magic.

Ballet Followup

Who would have guessed that ballet could be erotic? Surely not me. Now I wonder how many women concur. Perhaps regular ballet would bore me but this performance was interesting. Each of the nine performances was choreographed in a distinctive color scheme... aqua, red, white, black & white, etc. I'm not sure if it was purposeful. I need the program guide to write more, dang it.

The past few weeks have been... fun.
The most fun I've had in... years.

I leave for the airport in about an hour.
What a strange period of my life.

Ballet

I'm going to the ballet.
How very strange.

I wouldn't have thought of it but... it may be interesting.

The Cauldron Of Lost And Confused Souls

Amidst the sea of confused identities, I plodded along, untouched and unimpeded. I arrived late as an unwanted guest. I sampled the atmosphere then wondered over the dichotomy of their fear and bravado. But they'd never admit it, even to themselves. Perhaps I don't belong in the Cauldron, after all. Or perhaps I've completed my finals.

This is a new state. Not new, exactly, but a refinement of an aborted state. A strange turn of events turned stranger and I transcended it. I don't understand why there are such different levels of perception. The nature of Nature shifted. Or so it seemed.

Heigh ho
Off to fetishwear I go?

White Picket Fence

My singles profiles are constructed to filter out most women. I don't want to spent time on dead ends but I also don't want to mislead. I've discovered that most women seek a "male provider", regardless of their claims of independence. Often they don't even know it themselves, particularly the younger ones.

I had doubts that this approach is too harsh, too pessimistic. Acquaintances suggest that I broaden my scope, skirt the truth, accentuate the positive. But the past few weeks have validated my approach.

Sometimes it's good to revisit the past, to see what was right about it and why it changed. I'm glad I went to Vogue Night at the CHAC but I'm also glad I didn't stay long. None of us knows why we walk the path we do. I surely don't.

Inflection Points

I spent five hours on methodology & development this morning. My motivation has declined steadily for the past few years, this week is my first flash of interest and excitement in quite awhile. Perhaps I really am back on track doing something worthwhile.

I've probably passed through my own "Life" inflection point. I measure things in terms of time, uniqueness, annoyance. I chased after geegaws but their value declined, a mirage in the desert, an empty cup.

The turnover on The Stranger personals is higher than I'd have imagined. Of twelve profiles I tagged to follow, nine were discontinued after six months. Of the remaining three, I wonder if at least one is a permanent single. Of course, I'm probably a permanent single now, too. Well, at least I'm finally have some good sex for once in my life. Damn, it really is good for once.

I suppose I'll dump a few hours into The Stanger Personals, almost certainly a waste of time.
Maybe I'll stomp around Capitol Hill tonight.

Age

Age is the real source of eccentricity; money is just an accellerant.

My first artwalk through Seattle was different than I expected. Less structured, broader and diverse and it was surprisingly easy to meet people. At Sake, the monsignor sat alone on the stage, an unusual state for him, I think. Agents of the Hands of Kali stalked me from room to room, I couldn't stop chuckling and my partner wondered why.

Quotes

"We don't understand [the meme theory on] your website" - facetious banter from a vendor.
"Then you're only reading the personal entries" - my retort.

A backhanded compliment but it's a nice validation from experts.

What do honey, velcro, duct tape and ice have in common?
They were in my bedsheets last weekend!

Q: What's more amusing than being branded "crazy" by myopic software perfectionists?
A: Being branded as "crazy" by manic-depressive, love-starved Wiccan witches!

I'm busy. The change in clothes and glasses made a difference. Flirtations are more frequent and more direct. Two women in their twenties asked me to dance and when I declined (with a smile), they gyrated against each other to motivate me. Tonight, a shy gaggle of girls sent an envoy to buy me a drink. Early tonight I met Kelly. Normally, I ignore the young ones but Kelly is a Kirkland waitress with an unusual spark, a poise or attitude, I'm not quite sure.

Yes, there's been quite a few. Sometimes it's a strategy of proximity, placing themselves into my line of sight, engaging in attention-seeking antics. Sometimes it's direct conversation. Sometimes it's a smile and a wave. Last Friday it was another Kelly and a Sara Lynn.

Damn.
I just realized how many women I've talked with in the past two weeks.
About a dozen.

Probability

Most women aren't worth goofing with.

I'd reached that conclusion several months ago but the more dating I do, the more it's validated. The vast majority are afflicted with "white picket fence syndrome".

I'm having the best sex of my life at the moment.
But I can't see that I'll get married again.

The River

"And like the rain, I have been carried here to where the river flows"

I am alive, in the here and now.
I don't understand the how or why of it.

2008 is starting out okay.