Moving stuff

Between meetings we looked outside and down at the traffic below. We saw workmen in big trucks working on the off ramp. One of my associates told me that they had watched the guys move dirt back and forth. Sometimes they moved it back to the same spot as before.

She drew the parallel to some of the projects we have been on. We begin building the software but then because of budget cuts or Business requests have to change the plans and re-build in some other direction.

We laughed and thought about our current project. Just about every possible complex feature has been added but the time lines haven't moved. We go one way for a month or so and then are buffeted toward the opposite way by more features and scope. It's a turbulent sea out here.

I left for lunch to clear my head and get some grub. As I drove out of the parking garage I concluded that:

The sum of most human endeavors is just moving stuff from one place to another.

We just collect stuff throughout our lives and then leave it behind for someone else to collect. The archeologist is the ultimate collector of other peoples stuff. Some people are in the business of selling dead people's stuff. They are called antique sellers.

Even when we go down to the store to buy something, say a necklace, we are really just moving the stuff from the store to our house (or in this case our neck).

Of course, as a software developer, my job is all about moving stuff. I design software to move data from the database to the screen to present to the users. After they type in data from stuff they've collected, I move the stuff into the database where I will move it out again.

That's just the way it is. We are all just moving stuff.

...dave
Try not to become a man of success, but rather a man of value. -Albert Einstein

Borders at 10:00 p.m.

books
Originally uploaded by daveterry.

Don't ask me why. I don't even know. I just know that at 10:00, in the middle of a thunder and lightning storm my wife said she wanted to go to the book store. She likes reading for free and of course the libraries are closed. She found out that Borders stays open until 11:00. That'll give her an hour.

So in the pouring rain and thunder claps we drive to the book store. It dumps fat drops that slap the windshield. The wipers fight them off courageously but in vain. More water cascades out of the sky like tumbling books from towering shelves. We hydroplane through rivers in the road. No one is out here. All the sane people are ensconced at home cowering under an angry heaven of thundering voices.

But we are fearless or foolish, same difference.

There are plenty of parking spaces. We slide into one and quickly dart inside.

I find a chair with impossibly narrow armrests. I type here on my iBook, my arms cramped, my elbows jammed in my sides. My coat is still on. I'm growing sleepy and dizzy. I'm hot. I yank my North Face waterproof jacket off. I throw it over the next chair. I lay back trying to fight the sleepiness.

The store is quiet. No music plays. I can hear nothing save a few pages shuffling in the next isle. I can just hear the store cashiers giggling in the distance. The air conditioner hums and whirrs above. I hear no thunder, I see no lightning. Has it stopped? Am I dreaming?

I don't know. I just want to get horizontal. I want to go to bed. This is one time I DON'T want to be at Borders. I close my eyes as I type these last few sentences. I'm not even looking at the screen or keyboard. I'm so sleepy. How did I get so tired?

I need sleep. Just a few minutes. I need to return home.

Where is she? How much longer? I can't hold on. I can't lay down here.

I stumble out of the book store into the rain, eyes half-closed. I find the keys and climb into the back seat. Alas, I lie here sleepily. Will anyone ever find me here? I feel as though I've become lost in a wilderness and there's a storm outside. I've crawled into a cave to sleep it off. I'll never be found again.

....dave
I reach for sleep and pull it like a blanket around me.

Funeral Procession

Why do cops stop traffic for funeral processions? What's the sense in that?

The other day a cop car suddenly appeared in my rearview mirror like T-Rex from a Jurassic Park movie. I swerved and ditched off to the side of the road. He sped past me and positioned himself out in the middle of the intersection. His lights flashing like a Christmas tree in a Macy's window.

But of course none of the funeral cars behind him were in much of a hurry. They lagged along each following a snail's trail. I waited and watched them trickle past me like grains of sand through the narrow neck of an hour glass. When will this end? Where IS the end?

Can't we speed it up folks? I have a few things to get done before I die. I'd kind of like to get them done today.

When I die just put me in the ground at your earliest convenience. No procession, no police escort, no pomp and circumstance is really necessary. In fact, cremation will work. Take me out to the woods, river, or sea and sprinkle me around. That'll be just fine. I don't need the flashing cop cars and funeral procession. It's so, how shall I say? Ostentatious.

And the headlights, what's with the headlights? They are really unnecessary as far as I'm concerned. I've never understood the need for the headlights in a funeral procession. It's daytime! And it's not like anyone is going to get lost on the way to the grave. They are following each other AND they have the police escort.

Did I mention the insanity of a police escort for a dead man's trip to the grave?

...dave
"After I'm dead, I'd rather have people ask why I have no monument than why I have one." - Cato the Elder (234-149 B.C.)