Here are the musings of a mind a bit off kilter from the norm,
but, that's what makes him interesting. Doesn't it?

One of the projects I have alluded to on this blog but haven't much spoken about is geared toward the interest of the old-style radio show format of dramatic presentation. I have always been fascinated by the in-the-ear only form of telling a story. It is most like the classic origins of storytelling, without the campfire smoke watering your eyes while you listen. I always thought it was a shame that just as the medium of radio drama was coming into its own, finding its unique voice, the rush of war and competition from films and especially television did it in as an art form. There have been, here and there, attempts at revivals of the old stories and story telling and whenever I would find an example my inner audience would smile a bit more wondering, "What if?"

Lamenting this untimely demise in a medium of expression recently at a group of screenwriters meeting I somewhat regularly attend I was struck by how popular that aural art form was amongst the others at the table. With a little more inquiry I found quite a few people from all walks of life that have found enjoyment from whenever they stumbled across a rebroadcast or re-enactment of an old radio show. There is still life in the medium yet.

So, I set about to create a venue to explore just how precious and unique the aural only medium can be. But this effort would not be one to dredge up old radio plays with their quaint, but, out-dated settings and dilemmas and try to re-stage them. No, I wanted to try to tell new stories using the radio-like form but using all of the modern techniques and technologies that are at our disposal to really explore the medium's potential.

I feel the time is ripe. With the advent of MP3 players dangling from nearly every ear, the popularity of books-on-tape and the ubiquity of the internet as a delivery medium, the limitations and cost prohibitions of the old forms of radio communication can be avoided and new ideas can take flight. Theater of the mind,  the world's most expensive special effects, the absense of limitations of time, space, populace, anything, really- all of these factors call to the unique character of a story that lives only in the imagination of the listener who hears the sounds. The potentials are ripe for exploration.

And so humbly, and a bit naively, I have set out to create a forum for audio theater. I have just recently completed the first stages of production. I have, as of yesterday, put up the web site where I hope the progress- and eventually the product of our efforts- can be seen. You can visit us and watch our evolution at ServedWithaTwist.com.

So I hope you can forgive me for not putting as much time in on the blog as I would have usually. Getting this project off the ground continues to take more time than I expected, but, I am thoroughly pleased with the results so far. I hope you will be too. Once I get the groundwork laid, I hope to be able to return to my nearly daily blogging here. I thank you for your patience while I am distracted.

In the mean time, keep listening...

This week has been a doozy. It's had extreme highs and devastating lows. And lots of question marks strewn in between. It will take a while for me to sort things out in the grand scheme of things to know how to talk about all that's going on. I apologize if the blog will suffer a bit during the figuring. I promise to make it up to you.

It's raining outside right now. At least I think it is. The blinds are closed and I can't see what's what out the window. But it sounds like rain. So I think I'll name it rain and be done with it. I kind of feel like the whale that has a short but pivotal role in the radio show/novels/tv movie/film Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. New experiences fascinated him, even if he was overwhelmed by them. Going through his short but poigniant life was a rush. I loved his attitude, even to the end. It was a much better way to go through life than that chosen by the bowl of petunias.

And that's where I find myself. Chosing attitude. I guess my life is currently at a turning point. It feels like it is, though I can't see out the window to know for sure. So I'm declaring it to be. And I don't yet know what my perspective will be when I move forward from here. I am nearly certain it will be changed from what I'm used to, from what I am comfortable with. But what it will be I haven't a clue.

That's not very accurate. I have lots of clues. I just don't know which ones I will take to heart and which I will ignore at the moment. There are lots of personal choices and decisions to be made, some exciting, others difficult. All important. At least to me. And that's how it should be for a personal perspective change.

I guess I'm approaching the door to the personal perspective vortex (see story reference above). I guess I'll have to push the button at some point and see exactly where I am in the universal scheme of things. 

But first I think I'll just take a sip of this lovely, hot cup of tea just over here. Once I remove the dangly bit.

Ah. What's that noise?

Lots happening, nothing to report.

The term touching base has interesting possible derivations. I like to think it is derived from the old playground game of kick the can or some variant. Touching base is required every so often in order to reset things and keep the game going. As long as you can keep away from the "it" you can keep playing, touching base every so often in order to keep the game from turning into a boring round of hide-and-seek.

The term could also come from baseball. Since on a long fly ball, before a runner can advance even after the ball is caught in air causing the hitter to be out, the runner has to come back to the bag and touch it, standing there until the end of the catch. Only then can the runner attempt to make it to the next base. It's not technically a steal, but, has all the elements of one. One has to touch base to make the advance legal and more exciting.

Touching base can also derive from those computer games where every once in a while, as your supplies and fuel systems run low, you have to return to base and merely touch down for an instant back at base in order to reload and refuel. Touching base keeps the game interesting because it enforces a necessity to strategize, economize your resources or plan ahead to not over-extend. 

These all have the common theme of a necessity in order to not lose interest. So this is what this post is. There is a lot going on in my life at the moment, but, I am not ready to talk about most of it. But I don't want to lose touch with those who have been visiting here, looking for insights into who I am or what I am up to. So, I touch base, to keep the game interesting.

Tag, you're it.

Well, it's official. Summer has officially arrived. I know this for a fact because I have just seen my first firefly of the season. Or if you prefer, lightning bugs. I use either name interchangably. I used to be a staunch advocate for lightning bug, but, after Joss Wheadon's wonderful SF series, I'll gladly use either term.

This year the firefly was quite merrily buzzing along at twilight as I rounded the corner coming back home from a meeting. He buzzed along, nearly silently, down the middle of the sidewalk. I watched and appreciated his easy care way of welcoming in the summer season. He was waste level, or there abouts, and floating along completely at ease with being watched. As I peered, I cautiously stuck my hand out as if to shake his all too tiny hand and thank him for his duty. Surprisingly, he didn't flitter off. Even more surprisingly he actually landed on my thumb, as if to say, "Thank you," himself.

I have no idea what he might be thanking me for. I have no insight into the mindset of an insect such as he, nor have any hope of ever understanding his view of the world. but it might be that as I see him as a herald of all that is good with summer, he may somehow see me- or maybe humans in general, as a herald of something good within the bug culture. Whatever the reason, I was pleased to be so rewarded. 

I nodded to him. He seemed to wiggle, just a little, in acknowledgement. Then as the moment had passed, he flew off, back on his journey through life, blinking all the way.

I couldn't wipe the smile off my face as I continued the few steps to my front door. 

Nor would I have wanted to.

Welcome summer. What surprises have you in store?

Once purpose served,
No notice is given,
Unseen, unobserved,
Trash bin its prison,

What can be learned,
From a bag's destined fate?
Are all to be spurned,
Is it far too late?

What plea could rage,
What clarion would toll,
From a plain brown page,
That could reach your soul?

Somehow give pause,
To the bustling masses,
Take note of what was,
Note a life passes,

A nod of a head,
A mere slowing of pace,
Acknowledge the dead,
Those done with the race,

Restart once stalled,
Return to our own fate,
Hope we'll be recalled,
When we're ones who're late.

Don't worry. I'm not going to be quoting Shakespeare. At least, not much. It strikes me as odd that those three words are so well known and yet, not one of them is currently in vogue within the English language proper (or improper for that matter.) They are archaic colloquialisms. They were proper and even common in the days old Will put them on the stage. But now they've fallen out of favor, adrift for a while, then settled between the grates of the drains of language along with tons of other passe parts of speech.

 Shakespeare was a writer of his day. It is believed that the odd use of language preserved in his plays and poems were very approachable by the common man (and woman- though not on stage) of the day. He was a man of the streets, so to speak. So he was well understood by the street urchins and penniless (at least after paying the penny for the penny seats on the ground floor.) I'm sure the snooty theater reviewers of the day looked down upon Will's base use of gutter language and turns of phrase. It was not the upper crust of things as proper theater should be.

And of course the Globe Theater was a popular place specifically because of the approachability of the language spoken on that stage. It is only through the passage of time and distance from the changes in the language that has put Shakespearian dialog on a pedestal, only to be understood by the learned and astute. Ironic, that. William would not be please, I would think.

But that is the rub of language. It is to change the very nature of our understanding of the world. Given time we will no longer be able to comprehend what is common to even the babes in the bassinets of today. Except for lingering vestiges of tongue stuck upon a accidental life boat, the common terms and phrases today will soon be lost to the speakers of our descendants' tongues. I doubt very much if "I googled their MySpace, but, didn't find squat," will mean much to anyone in the distant future. It will be as archain to them as "Wherefore art thou?" is to us today. And unless Tom Stoppard puts it in a play that survives the ages, I doubt googling will be one of those preserved words.

Wherefore art thou? I'm over here. But you can't understand me anymore. More's the pity. 

I have always been leery of absolutes. Limits, restrictions for restrictions sake, always seem to me to be boundaries set by an arbitrary board of closed minded thinkers. For every respectable group that states a boundary exists there are those similarly seeming respectable groups that have just as seriously proposed boundaries that are laughable today.

I recall with a smile the quotes of that military expert who, on the dawn of the early days of building sized computers speculated that the entire world would only need at most a dozen or so computers. Or Bill Gates who I am certain was sincere when he stated that no one would need to store more than 640k of data in any one disk. From what I've heard, even he's embarrassed by the statement and denies that he said it, but, it made sense at the time that he would have said it. 

That's the saving grace of all those who've stated such mandated and completely logical at the time limits on reality. It made sense at the time, from their understanding of the universe. It is only after development in unexpected directions that there occur the breakthroughs that make such limitations meaningless. Just think of those who stated that the human body could not sustain itself at speeds above 35 miles an hour. It didn't seem illogical at the time since the rickety automobiles of the time were likely to blow up or lose all four wheels just standing at the curb, let alone rolling forward at speed. But now pilots are constantly tested for endurance above and beyond mach 5 on a regular basis.

Times and perspectives change.

And now there are physicists who are finding evidence that time itself is not bound by the boundaries set by physicists before them. (The article reported by the BBC here , and others, talks about finding evidence of a universe that existed before our Big Bang, a progenitor universe, so to speak. It gave our universe an ordered starting point neatly explaining- at least to other physicists- why clocks run forward.) I feel it is fitting. Time shouldn't be bottled up to just our universe. Let the genie out.

Of course, as a philosopher, I've always had a sense of time, in a metaphysical plane. I understand that time cannot exist without change. And so, in a very real sense, time as we know it cannot be stretched back beyond the big bang. There can be something before the big bang, but, our sense of time cannot be tied to it. Change must have a previous state from which to occur, in our simple concept of the concept. With that conception comes the necessity that there be a beginning. We've given that beginning the name "big bang" but we just of easily have called it "Fred". Since all things that we can now measure had to come from Fred and by definition Fred could not come from anything that we can measure, then Fred quite literally is a man of his time and no other.

That's not to say that there can't be other Fred's out there. And that Fred couldn't have started along the path of a Barney in mid stride along his own path. It's just that we'll never be able to measure time back through that connection and get any continuity. That is until someone conceives of a time structure that takes all the potential intersections and occurrances of these starting point concepts and integrates them into a grand unified theory of time that I hereby dub "Flintstone time." 

This is bigger, but, not really different than the idea that there are parallel universes "out there". It's a great concept which will serve as fodder for a lot of good and bad science fiction stories, but, few will lose sleep at night over it. Those that do will become great thinkers, in time- our time.

The rest of us will clutch at the door handles in white knuckled fear when riding in a car driving over 35 miles an hour. Especially with a teen aged driver who just got her permit last week behind the wheel.

Will you slow down already!?