jumpingfish

It’s that time of day—when the organizations call.

 

“Hello?” I say.

There’s a delay on the other end as their auto-dialing software rings up some poor drone.  I sit silently, waiting for them to speak.

“Hello?” says the drone, evidently puzzled by the silence.

“Yes?” I say, stepping out of the darkness.

“Oh hello. May I speak to Trudy, please?”

“She’s not here.  May I take a message?”

“Oh that’s ok.  This is an organization she supports.  We’ll get something out of her later.”

Um, my bet is that you won’t.  Not if you keep calling while she’s at work, and not if you word your ask like that.

I gotta go: the phone’s ringing again.

Cleaning up some papers sitting atop my dresser this afternoon, I found a sheet that had the following three things on it.

1. In the center of the page was a statement of the eigenvalue problem: Lf = λ f, residue of a project that never got off the ground.

2. On the right side was the phone number of a friend I call when I have programming questions—the telecommuter’s equivalent of walking down the hall.

3. And then in the lower righthand corner was a list entitled, “externalities”:

• bags in the bushes
• oil spills
• pacific gyre (awash in plastics)
• Chernobyl
• non-union mines
• unregulated finance
• global warming
• nuclear waste
• highways instead of trains
• soda pop
• cutting down the trees on Easter Island

The eigenvalue problem and phone number sat on the page with this long curling list wrapping around the bottom of the page, threatening to overwhelm them with foul complaint.  I don’t think I was in a good mood that day.

1. Bun Run

A good day for a taco.  The sky was grey but not ominous.  The temperature was comfortable.  A slight breeze blew as I put a book under my arm and walked out the door to go to Torchy’s.

A mile into the walk, I came to the big street and waited for the light to turn.  On the other side, there were police cars with flashing lights and barricades blocking some of the traffic and police officers standing around. And there were people walking in one lane of the big street that was cordoned off.

I had forgotten about the Bun Run; these were the walkers at the end of the race.  I crossed the street quickly, hoping to beat the crowd for a migas taco.

2. Fluffy Dogs

I sat outside with my cup of coffee and a hot taco with more migas on it than would stay contained between the corn tortillas.  My eyes rolled back in my head with pleasure as I set down my book and used two hands to make sure the eggs and cheese and tomatoes and avacado and onion and peppers stayed put.

Some ladies sitting next to me tried to get their dogs to behave.  Five ladies and four dogs.  One of the dogs seemed to think the small, fluffy ones were breakfast.  He snarled and growled and lunged, but his owner had him on a short leash and pulled him back.

The fluffy ones were Pomeranians — a white one and a brown one.  Nothing but balls of fluff.  And they barked their non-bark bark trying to meet that nice dog on the other side of the table who was now on a very short leash facing in the other direction yawning from the stress of it all.

The ladies’ tacos arrived as I finished mine. The restaurant was now quite full of runners and walkers, and it didn’t seem right to fill up a table just to read, so I gulped down my coffee, tucked my book under my arm and got up to walk home.

3. Good Morning for a Hello

Back at the big street, I waited at the light again.  The race was done, all the straggling walkers evidently finished. The cordons on the street had already been removed. Across the street a man was waiting to cross. The light changed, and he and I waited for all the left turn traffic to turn.  The walk light came on, and we both stepped out into the street.

He was wearing a black sweather with grey hounds-toothing on the front.  It was windy but not cold, so that caught my attention.  I watched him as we approached each other.  And he watched me.

As we got closer to each other, I smiled and nodded. He scowled.  The sun was coming out; maybe it was in his eyes.

As we passed each other, I said, “Hello.”  It really was a perfect morning for a hello, I thought.  I smiled again, but his scowl turned sour.  He squinted his eyes and seemed to say something to me, and he returned my gaze and then spat at my feet.

Good morning for a hello, indeed.

In 2000, the US government issued said a backup system to turn off deepwater drilling systems was an essential safety component. In 2001, the industry complained that there were significant doubts about such systems. In 2003, the government decided that, what do you know, more study was required.  And the Minerals Management Service reported that the devices are not recommended because they tend to be costly.

The devices tend to be costly.

The device cost about a half-million dollars.  Well that’s costly, isn’t it?  Well…

Cost: The Deepwater Horizon replacement cost is approximately $550 million.  BP is spending more than $5 million per day on the clean up right now, and the costs could grow horrifically if the gusher keeps spewing oil unchecked for months. You tell me: Was that a costly device?

Benefits (risks): Risk is defined as the probability of a failure multiplied by the severity of the consequences should the failure occur. So what is your estimate on the severity of the consequences of filling the Gulf with oil?  Now, you tell me: Was that a costly device?

Poor Gordon Brown. He got caught calling Gillian Duffy a bigot when he forgot to take off a microphone as he drove down the road in his fancy limousine. It was televised live. And now it’s all over the web. You have to feel for the man.

Or not. Because it turns out he is incapable of admitting his own mistakes — incapable of apologizing.

“I apologize if I said anything like that,” he later said.

Excuse me? You didn’t say something like that; you said exactly that. You called her a bigoted woman.

“Of course I apologize if I said anything offensive.”

If indeed. If he said anything that might perchance to be offensive, I say.

“I would never put myself in a position where I would want to say something like that about a woman I’ve met.”

For god’s sake, man, you were caught on tape. You’ve heard it yourself. Just fess up and apologize!

But you see, he can’t. He’s a politician. They don’t know how. It’s not in their DNA.