Typing Out Loud

Legalize all drugs.

There, I said it.

I’ve wanted to say that for a long time.

We’ve been fighting drugs for, well, seems like forever.  We haven’t won.

We have various forms of incidental crime related to illegal drugs.  Of course those who CHOOSE to use these dangerous drugs face a variety of ill effects on their health and life.

I’d be willing to bet, however,  that more people get personally tripped up by abusing a LEGAL drug like alcohol.  Maybe we should try making alcohol illegal, too and save all those alcohol abusers.  Oh, wait, yeah, Prohibition….

I’m not going to vent today about legalizing drugs, though I think we should do so (we’ve had NyQuil for years now, what’s a little cocaine?).  My overall gripe today is with the government protecting us from ourselves.  It tries to protect us from what it perceives as the evils we might willfully or accidentally cause to rain down upon our poor selves.

I frequently hear about laws that irk me but one that recently passed in California really got my goat (fortunately for me, I didn’t have a goat to begin with).

Even though the headline, San Francisco bans Happy Meals, in the November 2, 2010 edition of the  Los Angeles Times, is not entirely accurate, the truth is that San Francisco has made a law to change the way we eat.

In summary the law says that if a restaurant wants to give away a toy with a meal, it must adhere to certain food content rules.  For example, if the meal doesn’t include fruit, then ankle-biters in that town won’t get some cross-promoted movie-based action figure to lose between the seats of the minivan.

The city council in San Francisco states that they want to improve the health of kids; keep them from becoming obese.  That’s probably not a bad goal.  But is it a problem government should try to fix? Isn’t it the job of parents to not fatten their children so that they become mistaken for some holiday bird, sans feathers?  I know that’s a big leap of logic.  Especially considering that I observe most parents yacking on their phones whilst their short people cavort in piles of razor blades.

Having a toy with a meal that isn’t primarily twigs and berries is not going to be some magic bullet against obesity.  I don’t believe even one child will be steered away from obesity because of this new law.

In a free society I think it is required that the citizens take responsibility for themselves and their actions.  If you stick your hand under a running lawn mower to clear wet grass and you lose a digit or five, that is entirely your fault.  Not the fault of the people who made the machine.  Not the fault of the government.  Not the fault of Bubba at the hardware store.  Not the fault of your dog.  Your fault.  And because you did something stupid does not mean we need a law requiring blade-stop devices on all lawnmowers.

I’ve often wondered how much that law has cost us.  Anyone who purchased a mower since the law went into effect had to pay extra to protect the masses.  And the country has lost the great convenience of being able to stop pushing the mower, go move a rock out of the way, and immediately come back to mowing.  Now I’m more likely to take my chances over the rock, perhaps busting out neighbor McCrotchet’s window in the process.  I’m more worried that I won’t be able to re-start the machine after the anti-finger-amputation-safety-device has killed the engine.

And of course there’s the example, also from the Golden Arches, of the hot coffee that burned a woman when it spilled on her.  Perhaps the lasting impact of this one is more trivial, but I sometimes chuckle, sometimes roll my eyes, when I see the warning “CONTENTS MAY BE HOT” on disposable beverage-ware.   But it’s rather sickening that such an episode took place, that courts, and judges and law firms allowed and encouraged it.  Now you can’t put out a beverage cup without warnings.   How far are we from a warning like “CONTENTS MAY BE YUMMY”, lest some errant consumer suffer a heart attack  due to immense palette pleasure.

This morning my wife and I were backing out of the garage, on our way to get groceries.  We waited in the driveway several seconds to make sure the bright sun didn’t fool the infrared safety sensors, causing the door to re-open.  This got me all peeved and annoyed anew.

Decades ago in my time upon this planet, I had a new house and new garage door opener.  This was before the government decided that it was a bad thing for children and other small animals to be severed by rogue garage doors…and thus made laws to make them safe for stupid people.  Back then I could start the door on its dance of opening or closing and press the button again, causing the door to stop in its tracks (that was a pun).

That made it nice to leave the door open a little bit for light or ventiliation, without having the door completely open for neighbors to see what debauchery was underway in my garage.

But now I don’t have the luxury of stopping the garage door partway.  Nor can I assume the door will close when I tell it to because the sun may be telling that safety beam that some rugrat is napping in the path of my garage guillotine.  And 37.9% of the time I have to go stand like a dork to block the sun so that I can get the door to close.

But this childless family has been so thoroughly and graciously protected by their government.  We can walk to and fro freely, without fear of being sliced into new shapes by the Genie overhead.

It just seems so totally absurd to me, yet it continues.  And the Happy Meal law is just the most amazing joke…but I’m not laughing.

In this wreckless writer’s view, if you do something dumb and stupid and something bad happens to you as a result, that’s unfortunate.  It’s sad.  I might cringe at the news, feel sorry for you or shed a tear.  But that doesn’t mean the government should step in and make a law to prevent it from ever happening again.  People will hurt themselves.  It happens.  Life is dangerous.

I can spend my entire life being protected from the evil Happy Meal only to die at the hand astronomic debris falling from the sky.  Either way I’m messed up.

So my dear government, of the people, by the people and for the people, pull back the reigns.  “Govern” less.  Do as little as possible.  Perhaps all government should follow the motto of physicians and “First, do no harm….”

Where did I put my C3PO toy…?

I love me some books.

Yes, I’m bookish.

I read about a book a week.

Almost exclusively it’s fiction.

It’s a pretty expensive pastime.  I almost never give it a thought because I absolutely enjoy reading and relaxing at night.  And I look forward to regular trips to Barnes and Noble to browse, drink a coffee and take in the atmosphere.  It makes me happy.

But it’s pricey and I’ve got a library just a couple of miles from my new house.  I’ve driven by a few times and it really looked like a kid-focused library.  And if you know me much at all, you know Aaron and kids are like oil and water…with a little TNT thrown in.

But I checked out the website for the library and they had a nice rotating banner showing the new books that had just arrived.  They were all adult-oriented books, including the latest from Clive Cussler, an author I often enjoy.

So after work yesterday I went to check it out.

The parking area was pretty full, but I was lucky to find a spot.

The library sits nearly in the center of an open, grassy square near the center of town, across from City Hall.  There is a water feature, a few small trees and some planting beds.

The building, made of tan-colored brick, sits squat and low to the ground and has a flat roof.  The plaque on the side of the building indicates it was built in 1965.  It fits that time period.  But it looks, in terms of condition, like it was completed just a few years ago.

When I walked in my ears were assaulted with the sounds of crying, loud children.  Little feet, many with those irritating sneakers that have the flashing lights in them, were charging about.  Parents, standing nearby, in the modern tradition, were clueless and mindless to the chaos created by their seed.

My confidence was boosted by the belief that I could take most of them in a fair fight, I pressed through the milling short creatures and entered the facility.

What a nice place.  Again, it looks like it has been very well cared for.  There is a skylight in the center of the building with plenty of oak woodwork all around.  And the place is clean, uncluttered and just felt nice.

It’s a small town. It’s a small library.  But nice.

All of the “children’s” stuff is downstairs.  I didn’t learn that through the help of any signage.  No, I found it out by accident by actually going down the stairs.  To the children’s section.

Yeah.

I can only imagine what onlookers imagined as they saw this odd-looking, 43-year-old bald guy reach the bottom of the stairs and all but soar back the way he came.  It was a close call.

So back on the main level I milled about for a little bit to make a determination if this was a library that I could use.  I found books by familiar authors, a nice little collection of DVDs and magazines and such.  Plus I had already learned that by being a library patron, I could access a lot of nifty-looking sources online.  So I took a place in the queue at the counter to get my library card and associated privileges therewith bestowed.

“How may I help you?” the lady behind the counter inquired.

“I’d like to get a library card.” I replied.

“Have you ever had a card with us before?” She asked.

“No, I’ve recently moved here.” I said.

“Have you, or anyone in your family, filled out the paperwork already?” She queried.

“No.” I said.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“I’m sure.” I said.

“Okay, I just hate to see someone fill it out twice.”  She said.  “Okay, we’ll need a picture I.D. with your current Spanish Fork address and some other identification.” She said.

I handed her my driver’s license and asked “Do you need something else besides a driver’s license?”  I wondered what else they would possibly need.

“We need something with your address on it, like a magazine subscription or something.” She responded, taking my driver’s license in her hand.

My tired mind started to process the new data.  I had a government-issued I.D. that proved I was a resident of the city.  That wasn’t quite enough.  However, if I had a copy of my latest issue of Guns and Ammo or American Woodworker, that would clinch the deal.  I hesitated a second longer, pondering why they don’t have a list of addresses and taxpayers from which to check potential patron privileges.

“Oh, this is probably fine,” she said, making a sudden determination that I was not a bad guy (or at least not too bad a guy).  “Please fill out this application.” And she handed me a paper form…she kept my driver’s license under one of the feet of her computer keyboard.

The form asked for some pretty hard-hitting information that the library needs in order to bestow upon me the privilege of borrowing books and whatnot.  The complete list of fields included:

Last Name
First Name
Street Address
City
State
Zip Code
Date of Birth
Phone Number

As you might imagine, it took me quite some time to enter all of that information.  It would have been faster if she hadn’t taken possession of my driver’s license…from which I could have copied this information,  except for my phone number.  Information  vetted by the State of Utah.

Um, yeah.  I had to write it all out on this piece of paper.  The exact same information that was on my driver’s license.  On the driver’s license that was being held down by an HP keyboard.

Once I was done scribbling she returned my driver’s license and proceeded to enter the information from the paper form into the computer.  In the time it took me to hand-write all the information on the paper, in my finest printing, she could have entered the information directly from my driver’s license.  OR turned the keyboard to me and had me type it in myself.

But then perhaps the most comic part arrived.  After she has entered my information, she tossed the paper upon which I had so carefully entered my vital information into the recycle bin!  That form had a useful (and I’d debate the “useful” aspect) life of about 90 seconds.

The lady behind the counter then gave me a few pieces of paper to take with.  One was a bookmark that has all of the fines printed on it.  Very subtle.

The other dead tree product was a small, orange square of paper that told me that I now had massive online privileges and I just needed to go to a web address, enter my 14-digit library card number and use my last name, all lowercase, as my password, to access all the glories therein.

I thanked the lady for her help and turned to look for a book to bring home.  Unfortunately it was minutes until closing time and I didn’t find anything that pushed my buttons, so I left with my paws empty.

Upon getting settled in the cozy confines of my residence I went to the library’s website in order to prowl around.    The login screen repeated the information from the orange paper square:  “Enter your 14-digit library card number below.  Use your last name, in all lowercase, as your password.”

I did that.

I did that again.

And again.

One more time.

Let’s try nine times.

Each time it said that my login or password was not recognized.

Grrr….

So I called the library on that telephonic device which I dislike so much.

“Spanish Fork library, how may I help you?” A woman inquired.

“I got a new library card last night and I’m trying to access the online page, but it says my login or password are incorrect.” I replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  What’s your name?” She asked.

I recited my name, spelling my first and last name a few times (apparently she was totally uninterested in my 14 digits).

“Here we go…you didn’t sign up for online access.  Would you like to?” She asked.

“Yes, please.” I said, wondering what kind of operation this was.  Everything up until that point indicated that online access was free and automatic just for being a patron of the library.

“Okay, Mr. Kuehn, you’re all set up.  Your logon is your last name and your password is 1234.  Is there anything else I can help you with?” She asked.

“That’s it, thank you.” I said.

Whew, I don’t have to enter that blasted 14-digit code.

Like a giddy child with a new puppy, I went to the website to try it out.

Hurrah, I’m in!!!

Oh my, so many cool databases to explore!  Let’s see, maybe I’ll look for “woodworking plans” and see what kind of free stuff I can get….

That was 27 minutes ago.

Infinite grains of sand continue to drop through the little spinning hourglass.

If you need me, I’ll be at Barnes and Noble.

I recently attended my first Consumer Electronics Show (CES).

Several years ago I had a consulting gig at the Las Vegas Review-Journal newspaper and my hotel was right next to the CES.  Each night I saw see people pour in to the hotel lobby with bags of swag.  The swag was el-primo:  USB drives, mugs, music players, tiny pocket cameras and BMWs.

I made it my mission to find a way to attend that glorious giveaway event someday.

The CES is only open to people “in the bidness.”   I’ve worked in newspapers my entire life (in print production and I.T.) and probably could have scammed my way in by pretending to be a technology reporter.  I don’t have the nerve to pull off something like that.

Now that I sit behind a desk at a software company, it was easier to get credentials to attend the show.  I applied last summer and was approved.  The anticipation and excitement bubbled until show day.

I attended with my buddy and co-worker, Blaine.  We were most interested in looking at digital photography gear and ways to embed GPS coordinates in photos that newspaper journalists shoot.  The systems that we sell can then use that GPS data to create maps and help researchers find data specific to a location.

We wanted to see cool new stuff.

Oh, and by the way, we wanted swag.  Lots of it.  We drove to Las Vegas from Provo, Utah in Blaine’s Camry.  We went with the bare essentials in order to have plenty of room for the giveaways that undoubtedly would be thrown at us.  We stopped just short of removing the back seat.

On show day we started at the hearty $29 breakfast buffet at our hotel.  We stoked our furnaces with piles of their very excellent hash browns.  Then we got on the shuttle to the show.

I’ll cut to the chase.  At least one chase.  There was no swag.

I know, I know.  It’s the economy.  But this is THE biggest show for technology, gadgets and fun stuff in the world!  If not here, then where?  And what better way to drum up business, build enthusiasm, brand or product awareness than to give away cool stuff?

So you’re selling website design?  Give me a 200 GB USB drive with sample websites on it!  Give me a big fancy mug!  Give me a music player loaded with your jingle or a podcast or something!!  Give me a camera with your logo on it!  Give me stuff!   I have come for stuff!

So, after about nine hours on the floors of two of the 36 buildings with CES content on hand, I came away with three ink pens.  One doesn’t write.  I also have several bags.  Bags like you get at the grocery store to reduce the number of regular plastic grocery bags that end up along the roadside or wrapped around bird beaks.

Several of the bags shed the ink used to print the logo on the bag.   That created a real mess in my suitcase.

Yes, I joke about wanting free stuff, but the real message here is that I left with nothing to show my cronies back at the office.  I saw 14,325 vendors and I don’t remember #349 because they weren’t’ giving away anything to help me remember their product or message.

But the misses don’t end there.  I totally understand that a business could spend huge sums on giveaways and most of them would not yield any benefits.  I’m sad, but I get it.

However, this is the biggest show for the industry.  The heavy hitters and newbies are there for this one chance to make an impact and build sales momentum for the coming year.  And in so many, many instances, they totally botched it.

WHO ARE YOU?

Many vendors had very elaborate displays with great graphics, blinding lights, booming music and sexy models prowling around.  Okay, I see you, but who are you?  I see your name on the $50,000 banner…but what does “Superdohicky” do?

Display after display left me thinking “Okay, here you are, but what do you do?”  “What do you sell?”  “Do I want to step in or keep walking?”

So much money and effort apparently went into the production of booths, why didn’t they include something that would tell a passerby what product or service is offered there?

I was interested in anything about digital imaging.  If you sell retrofit home wiring systems, I’m not the least bit interested in you.  And you don’t want me in your booth because you’ll be wasting time and effort on a dude who is going to throw you zero business.

Another impact of not having a good visual message is that the salespeople on the floor feel compelled to latch on to every warm body to try to TELL them why they should be interested in them.

“Do you wish you could do your job better?” one sales kid asked of every ear canal in range.  Well sure, the obvious answer is that most of us probably wish we could do our jobs better.  But what an ineffective, slow and plodding way to try to get people into your booth!!  Imagine if they just added the words “We Do Process Analysis To Improve Your Workflow” to their signage!

Since I’m after digital imaging I’m going to walk right by and I won’t waste my time or yours.  On the other hand, Freddie is frustrated by all the steps it takes to make his widgets, so he’d be interested in hiring a third set of eyes to review his processes and maybe shave off some hours in his manufacturing process.  He’s the guy you want, not me.  A few words would have made these types of displays far more effective.

DO YOU WORK HERE?

Maybe I’ve said it before, but CES is the biggest thing in the world for these people.  They plan all year (at least you’d think they would).  They put a lot of eggs in this basket.  You’d think they’d carefully select the people they put out in public.  No, I’m not saying that people with horns, three eyes or antennae should be banned from the show.  But those chosen to work the show should be coached, prepped and ready!

This usually was not the case.

I like radios.  I have several old radios and have spent years looking for the perfect floor model from the 1930s.  I’m also an amateur woodworker.  So when I saw the Pure radio display of cool tabletop radios made with lots of wood, I was interested.  No, I’m not going to buy 10,000 units for my chain of electronics stores.  But I might want one for my desk at work.  But you don’t know that yet.  And you really shouldn’t care — a sale, interest, consumer enthusiasm, word of mouth:  all of it should be like gold to you!

So I started to fondle and drool over the radios.  They’re very cool.  They look retro.  They’re well-made.  They have built-in rechargeable batteries.  They have jacks for external players.  They have a USB port.  So I was ready to buy!!  I was very interested.

I wanted to hear it play.  Doh!  It wasn’t plugged in!  The battery wasn’t charged!  They must have had 50 radios on display but most of them weren’t even set up to work.

A sales dude came over and started to tell me all the great features about the radio in my hands.  He told me all the same stuff that was on the printed placard beside the radio.  But of course I wanted to know how much the thing costs.

“What’s the price on this one?”  I asked.

“Ummmmm….” the dude responded.  He actually looked panicked.  You’d think I had just yelled “Fire!”

“Let me see if I can find a price sheet somewhere.” He said and scurried off.

Excuse me?  You don’t know how much it sells for?  Isn’t that why you’re here…to sell stuff?

He walked around, conferred with associates and pointed at me like I had  just insulted his mother.

I hung around for about five more minutes while various Pure People huddled and pointed.

To this day I don’t know how much it costs.  Or where to buy it.

By contrast, I stopped at a teeny, tiny booth.  One of those tucked around on the back side of a row.  The CES low rent district.

This guy was selling radios very similar to what Pure had on display.  I have to think Pure’s booth costs six figures.  This guy was by himself and had set his products up on folding tables.   Maybe he financed his entire display by collecting empty soda cans littered around the nearest state park.  But his radios looked just as cool as Pure’s.

I generally think twice or five times before entering the tiny booths because you’re really trapped.  They can put the sales spiel on you or start asking probing questions about you, your business, your Dun and Bradstreet listing and your shoe size.  Often the only way to leave is to be downright anti-social and walk away.

But that’s not how this was.  This guy, I think he was from India, was on his game.  Here’s about how it went:

Radio Dude:  “Hello.  I have here a line of very high quality tabletop radios.  We use beautiful woods for the case, internal antennas and have great sound quality.  Inside is a rechargeable battery that lasts about 10 hours.  We support USB and auxiliary connections.”

Quick.  To the point.  Told me what he had.  My choice to stay or move on.

I stayed.

I went to a radio and turned it on.  It worked.  In fact, every radio he had was plugged in.  Even those that were turned off were pre-tuned to an actual station.  They were ready to try.  The radio sounded great.  It was heavy.  It was solid.

Radio Dude:  “If you have any questions, please just ask.”

He didn’t hound me.  He was there if I needed him.  He had good signs that told me all the details about each model…except price.

Me:  “What’s the price on this one?” I asked, thinking the good experience was about to fall apart.

Radio Dude:  “Are you interested in bulk wholesale pricing or individual pricing?”

Me:  “I’m not a reseller, I’m just interested for myself.”

Radio Dude:  “The one you’re looking at is listed at $279.  The range of our models goes from $225 to $500.”  He reached behind his table and pulled out a small card.  “This web address will show you a list of current resellers where you can buy one.”

Perfection!

The guy was nice, knew his product, and didn’t try to “sell” me.  The big Pure kids could have learned a lot from him.

DO NOT LIE TO ME

You shouldn’t lie.  It’s a bad thing.  It’s naughty.  If I had a five-year-old, he’d know better.

But it’s especially bad when you lie to me about your competitor’s product when I can walk down the aisle and see your competitor’s product and instantly know you’re a weasel

This happened when we stopped at the booth of a company that makes hard-sided foam-filled cases for schlepping fragile gear around the world.   These cases are made for shipping cameras, computers and the like.

We liked this particular vendor it had many cases out on display and were happy to let us play with them.  They also had these clever spring-loaded latches that looked really cool.

The representative told us that “no other manufacturer” had “any kind of latch” like it.  He added that “all other manufacturers” used latches that could be bumped open.  Wow, we were impressed.  We sure didn’t want our case being “bumped open” to let our netbooks, cameras and Ming vases fall out onto the pavement.

Then we asked about a handle and wheels, which the case in question did not have.  He said that “nobody puts handles and wheels on these very large cases” because they just don’t hold up.

Still, the case was very impressive and we took a flyer and thought about stopping back to buy a case for our workplace needs.

But lo and behold, not 30 minutes later, we were at the booth of one his competitors.  Not only did they have latches that were all but identical to his, but they had pull-out handles and wheels.

Now maybe the guy just didn’t know his market (though he should), but I think he was telling tales in an attempt to get us to give him business on the spot.  At best he should have said “I’m not aware of any other company out there doing this.”  But to say with such authority that he was alone in the marketplace, essentially without competition, was a really ugly way to do business.

HANDS ON

One of the benefits of a big show like this is to touch and feel.  I’ve been to tons of car shows, gun shows and woodworking shows in my time.  They let you touch, try, feel and see.

I have an expensive scrollsaw in my shop that I bought years ago at a woodworking show in Ann Arbor, Michigan.  The DeWalt booth had a bunch of them set up, with piles of wood on hand, so you could actually MAKE THINGS!  I fell in love with the saw.  It was so much better than the Ryobi I already had that I bought it on the spot and hauled it out to my truck!  Seeing it on static display in a store, or written about in magazines would not have made a sale.  It was three times the price of my old saw.  But USING it made me NEED it!

At the CES I was stunned by how many items were under glass and protected lest anyone might actually want to use it/

You may remember that I was interested in digital imaging and photography gear.   I own Canon equipment, so I gravitated toward their display.  I thought maybe they’d be giving away tiny, pocket cameras.  Or maybe they were giving away memory cards or cleaning kits or SOMETHING.

Not only did they have no swag but the cameras were under glass!  Only the very cheap consumer cameras were “out.”  And not very many of them.  And they had no power.  You couldn’t see how images displayed.  You couldn’t take a shot or two.  You couldn’t try out the controls.

What was the point!?  Maybe I’m trying to decide whether I want to get Canon or Nikon and what better place to COMPARE?

Such a wasted opportunity.

By contrast Kodak was loaded for bear in this regard.  They had multiple kiosks with seemingly every camera they make on display.  Plugged in.  In working order.  With a Kodak Person at each kiosk to explain, help and answer questions.  In fact, I spent some time with the very cool Kodak Zi8 video camera.  The lady at the kiosk explained how it worked, compared features to the other market leader Flip (without bad-mouthing that Flip was a garbage camera made by child labor in a torture camp in some Asian swamp).  Just facts.  And I was able to take movies and see them and really give the device a test.

If you’re going to try to sell something this is the place to let me touch it and use it and try it.

There weren’t very many computer vendors in the buildings we visited, but those that were didn’t even have their computers turned on.  And those that were had a password on the screensaver.

Do they expect to sell based only on the pretty case?  I want to try the keyboard, see what the display looks like, and see how responsive it is.  But so many vendors didn’t allow this.

COMMUNICATION

The CES is an international show.  It’s held in America.  I’m an American snob I suppose, I do know that not “everyone” speaks English.  But I would suggest at a show like this that English is the predominant language spoken.  And maybe Spanish.  Maybe some of the languages from Japan, China, Vietnam.

But when I stop at your booth because you have a very cool looking box on display, with flashing lights and buttons that just beg to be pushed and I ask “What is it?” your Booth Boy should not say “Rugged!” with a thick unidentifiable accent.

I thought of course he didn’t understand me.  So I asked again, more slowly, “What is this, what does it do?”

“Rugged!”

Another Booth Boy walked over and I figured this one must speak English so he’s coming over to help out his friend.

“What is this, what does it do?” I repeat.

“We case metal.” he says.

Uh, yeah, okay.

Bye.

THE HIGHLIGHT

Clearly the highlight of our visit to CES was the Eye-Fi booth.  Photography is my biggest hobby.  And the software company where I work sells content-management databases for newspapers.  We’re all about saving, finding, routing, manipulating and displaying pictures.

I was particularly interested in the Eye-Fi product that automatically transmits pictures from a camera to your computer and/or the web.  And it can embed GPS data.  It’s absolute magic.

Before the show I’d done some research but simply didn’t believe it could work.  It would have been easier to get me to buy into the idea of a functional Invisibility Cloak than it would be to convince me that I could take a picture and have it move from camera to web without me doing anything.

But the Eye-Fi people were masters of the CES in my opinion.  We stepped up to the display and even if we didn’t already know about them, their display clearly communicated what they were up to.  There were quite a few people standing around with their jaw hinges in the full-open position.  Clearly something very cool was going on.

One of the Eye-Fi People was sort of saying to nobody in particular what they do…and if you’d like to give it a try for yourself, please step right up.

I stepped.

I met Berend Ozceri, a Systems Architect at Eye-Fi.  He had a digital camera and a laptop.  He took my picture while he was explaining what their product did.  While he was talking, my ugly mug appeared on the website that was open on his computer.

His basic spiel answered all of the obvious questions one might have about the product and left me as one of the jaw-dropped ones who couldn’t believe what they just saw.

He then handed the camera to me and said “Give it a try.”

Excuse me!  You’re going to let me actually try it?  Use it?  See how it works?  What if it does something bad and embarrasses you?

He didn’t care.

He wasn’t embarrassed.  It worked.  I took pictures and they flew through the ethers and showed up on his computer.

So then I started to ask the hard questions.  I got technical.  I explained the business I’m in and how we’d be interested in sports photographers for newspapers being able to shoot a football game on deadline and have their shots immediately available to a newsroom for print production while at the same time be on the newspaper’s website immediately.

He was un-phased.   He jumped right in with enthusiasm about the product, explained various workflows that would answer the need.

I asked more questions and he was totally honest when I asked about features that didn’t exist.  He told me what they planned to do in future versions and was honest about things they did NOT plan to do.  I trusted this guy.  He wasn’t blowing smoke.

I made it clear that apart from buying a single card for my own hobbyist shooting, I wasn’t going to buy anything.  I told him the best I could do was maybe demonstrate, recommend or suggest the technology to our newspaper customers.

That didn’t matter to Berend.  He stuck with me.  He didn’t get distracted by other potential customers.  He had engaged with me and he was going to make sure I had taken all the pictures I wanted, asked all my “What if?” questions and was now a walking and talking expert on Eye-Fi technology.

When I was done he handed me his card and said “Email or call me with any other questions that might come up.  If I can’t help you directly, I’ll get you the help you need.”

Clearly this guy believed in his product (which is easy to do because it’s so freakin’ brilliant).  He knew his product and he was expert at helping someone understand it.

At the same time, he wasn’t trying to get me to write a big check on the spot.  Though if I worked for a big-box store, I’d be buying tons of these things and selling them just like Berend was demonstrating them.  (And, shhh, I wouldn’t be selling them for $149, either.  I’d double the price still sell bucket loads).

And Eye-Fi  understood that I wanted to touch it!  I wanted to use it!  I wanted to see behind the smoke and mirrors and look up the sleeve.

This should have been the rule rather than the exception.  But I’m so glad I found these folks because they have a great product and understood how to interact with people.

I won’t go to CES again.

Even if I had walked out with one of those cool $500 radios made with aircraft-style dials and deluxe wooden cabinets.

I literally can get the same information by searching online or visiting BestBuy.

I’m no marketing genius, I’m just a guy.  But if any CES vendors want me to review your display ideas and presentation plans for CES 2011 I’m available.  My consultation rates are very reasonable.  I’m sure I have a price list around here somewhere….

I came into the world towards the end of all the hype about how computers and other technology would remove the mundane and tedious from our lives.  We would be left with a small amount of work to do and an abundance of time for leisure.

Oh, and we’d become a paperless society, too, because we’d get and share all the world’s information on “tubes.”  I stopped holding my breath on that one in 1987.

But where’s my leisure?  I want my leisure!

I know, I know…I spend more time sitting on my big cheeks than most people.  And I puzzle over those around me who are in constant motion and all the time busy, busy, busy.  But as a society, where’s all this leisure “they” said we would have?

I was just pondering activities that people used to do in the early 1970s and how Progress has dramatically shortened the amount of time required for those tasks.  Progress has in many cases totally eliminated the need to do many tasks.

ATMs and debit cards might be good examples.  I remember trips with my dad when he’d go to the bank for cash.  We’d drive from home to the bank which was a 20-minute drive, each way.  (Oh, and we’d make the trip in a Ford truck with a 390 cubic-inch V8 that, with a good Michigan tailwind, would get a stunning 10 miles to the 75¢ gallon of leaded gasoline).  Once at the bank we’d find a place to park.  Then we’d get out.  Then we’d walk into the bank.  We’d go to the glass-topped table to fill out a withdrawal slip.  Then we’d get in line.  We’d wait a little bit.  Then we’d get to the teller who would do some stuff behind the window and then give dad his money.

It seems so archaic and backwards now!   Today’s world has all but eliminated the need to even have cash.  Now with a debit card we have access to all of our money all the time — we don’t have to anticipate or guess what we’ll need.  So that entire 50-minute ritual no longer needs to be undertaken.  It’s gone.  Poof!

So let’s say we did that once a week:  that’s 50 minutes of time available for…?  For what?   Leisure?

Well, I suppose.  In reality I think other “work” sneaks in and eats up that time.  It’s subtle and takes place over time and we don’t even realize we’ve saved time on one hand while the other hand is creating more work that craves its own time.

Leisure seems to be a dirty word.  We look down our noses with some envy, but mostly disdain, at those countries where workers get what we perceive to be huge amounts of paid time off.  How can they compete, we wonder?  They must not be very smart or ambitious.  But we envy them and their time.

But if some magical new administration made it so for us, would we leisure-ize the time or just fill it with more busy-ness?

Some Type-A personalities thrive on being busy and filling every minute with work.  That’s just the way they’re wired I suppose.  I’m more of a slow and plodding person I guess.  I love my job and get very geeked up over a tech challenge that gets the juices flowing.  But I also look forward to those quiet hours at night when I watch some TV, read a book and am at leisure.

I don’t think leisure time, whether it be a few hours at night or a few weeks a year to travel, bake bread, take pictures or get back to nature, is a bad thing.  No matter how much we might love (or hate) our jobs and the day-to-day “work” required to stay alive and not be eaten by wolves, it is a necessary evil I think.  I mean, in the Garden of Eden do we ever hear about Adam going off to work or Eve toiling for hours picking up Adam’s socks?

Gotta go now, need to move laundry from the washer to the dryer….

The media has a new top-line story to chew on following the shooting spree at Ft. Hood yesterday.  It’s a big story, there’s no doubt about that.  Because of where the shooting took place, the ethnic background of the suspect, his faith and a country focused on war, there’s a lot to try to understand.

It’s obvious to think that it must have been terrifying for the people involved.  They likely will be scarred by the experience in a way very different from whatever may happen to them in wartime combat.

There will be investigations, studies, finger-pointing, analysis, what-ifs, blame, calls for action.  This is what happens after situations like this.  Unfortunately we know that because crap like this has happened before and I suspect will in the future.

But while I’ve listened to the reporting on the incident I’ve had thoughts that maybe aren’t so obvious.

What must it have been like to hear the gunfire?  It’s a military base, populated at the time by people who shoot guns.  Granted, when you’re at a graduation ceremony you probably don’t expect to hear gunfire.  But I have to think loud noises are not uncommon to soldiers.  If you were in a formal situation at a place like that would you have thought “Something is wrong.  I must run out of this ceremony, with all of these people watching, and go see what’s happening?”  I know I would have stood frozen wondering “Is that gunfire or some other loud noise?”  “Is someone taking care of the situation?”  “If I run out of here now and it’s some other ceremony or equipment noise or something else, I’m going to look really stupid and will have ruined this for everyone.”  I can tell you that my first (and second through fifth) thought would certainly not have been to run out into the fray to investigate.

What if you had been one of the people being shot at?  Again, keep in mind where you are.  You’re at a military base.  You may even know the shooter, or at least recognize him from the chow line, the parking lot or any number of other places.  I would have doubted myself.  I would have thought “He’s not really shooting at people.  Those must be blanks.  This must be an exercise or a test.”  If I had those kinds of thoughts I probably wouldn’t be afraid, I’d be surprised and curious.  But I’d still not be acting in the best interest of my own safety nor of those around me who needed help.  I have to think it was surreal.  Until the reality took hold after, well, after how long?

In my job I have access to a wealth of wire service images and video from around the world.  I have seen an awful lot of photos taken right after the incident.  The thing that really struck me  was the number of images of cellular phones.  Phones gripped by terrified hands, held up to faces soaked in tears.  Most captions indicated that the person in the photo was trying to make contact with someone on the base.  Can you imagine the fear of the unknown at that point?  Think about not knowing where someone you care about is.  Are they alive, dead, injured or maimed for life?  Were they a long distance from the mayhem and don’t even know what’s going on?  Were they off-base on an errand and perfectly safe?  Why can’t I get in contact with…?

What if you’re the family watching it on TV and not even having a number to call; waiting for someone to reach out with information? It’s the fear of the unknown, thinking the absolute worst and thinking various degrees of horrific outcomes.  I know it must have been terror on the minds of those people holding those phones, but I also am smart enough to know that while I can empathize with them, I cannot truly feel that kind of pain and fear.

Now imagine you’re a survivor.  You need to go back to your routine.  You’ll be processing the experience for quite some time, but you still have your life to live, your work to do and in the case of some, a war to fight.   Think of those who tended to the wounded and dying.  Think of the officer who shot the suspect.  How do they get up in the morning?  How do they drive to work?  How do they get groceries?  How do they talk with their friends and loved ones?

The memory, the thoughts, the “Why not me?” questions move to the front of the mind, you push them back, they re-surface, you push them down again.  They won’t go away.  They’ll be with you forever, always knocking.

I don’t think about the shooter, his motivation, what will happen to him, what his history is.  I don’t care about the shooter, he’s nothing. My thoughts are of the hundreds of people involved and the ways in which this devastates and will continue to hurt them for a lifetime.

Forty years ago today (October 29, 1969) the first electronic connection was made over ARPANET, the foundation and predecessor of today’s internet.

On that date the intention was for one programmer in one city to make a connection to a computer at a different location. It was accomplished by sending the message/command “login.”

Not very exotic nor sexy I assure you. But I was listening to NPR on the way home tonight and they were talking to the gents who shared that first transmission forty years ago. It brought to mind yet another thing that bugs your ole Uncle Aaron: the misuse of the word “login” or “logon.”

My first logon experience was at Western Michigan University where I connected to the DEC/VAX mainframe for my BASIC programming course. I remember the 100-year-old building that housed one of the computer labs (the following year it was leveled to make way for the new library complex). I remember dozens of very loud, foundation-rattling, tractor-fed, 9-pin dot-matrix printers. I also remember the filthy keyboard (with missing and mis-labeled keys) and the bright-amber display that almost immediately induced a headache.

I couldn’t do any computing task without successfully logging in. And that was a task in itself. Once logged in I was equally lost as to what to do next.

So I remember the dark old days when logging in meant something! In MY day I had to LOG IN to a computer before I could ask the computer the age-old question of ‘what is the sum of two and two?’.

Of course, many of us log in to company computers and networks now. We are accustomed to the “first-initial-last-name” or “firstnameDOTlastname” drill. And most losers out there probably understand that going through the logon process is what grants them access to the amazing secrets inside that mysterious box. Yes, I’m talking about Solitaire.

So what has got Uncle Aaron’s sneakers full of bubble gum? The fact that so many adverts suggest that potential customers “log on” to such-and-such a website.

“If you want to make stock trades for thirty-seven cents, log on today to www.WeWillCheatYou.com.”

When was the last time you ever “logged on” to a website?!?! You “navigate” to a website. Maybe you “go to” a website. But you do NOT “log on.” You aren’t asked for your name, rank and blood type. You aren’t asked for a secret code like “rover” or “betty” in order to see the latest video of cats diving for goldfish.

Now maybe after you visit a website you might be asked to provide user credentials in order to access your banking account, your charge card details or your fantasy poker league. But you do NOT log on to a website.

So all of you Madison Avenue types who are hanging on to my every keystroke, please stop doing this. Invite people to “visit” your very fine website…but don’t ask them to logon. They don’t know the difference, but I do and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

Logging off now….

Arsenio Hall used to have a schtick on his late-night program where he would talk about things that struck him as odd. He’d precede each bit with: “Things that make you go hmmmm….”

Well kids, that’s me tonight. The past several weeks have been very busy for this sedentary one. I bought a house and have been busy doing my preliminary move-in (that means getting my meager apartment stuff into the house) and preparing for the primary move (that being the one where a Mayflower big-rig pulls up and disgorges itself of my life’s treasures).

Dealing with lots of people, agencies, situations and entities these past many weeks has generated many a “Hmmm…” moment.

STUCK ON YOU

Adhesives are good. They hold stuff together. I’m a woodworker so most of my work relies on a good glue to hold Part A to Part B. This is especially important if Aunt Nellie is going to sit on the bench I just made. But there should be levels of adhesion, and well-understood rules about when to use each level.

For example, if you’re going to stash some very volatile radioactive waste in something, please use some really strong, permanent, impervious adhesive to affix the “WARNING — THIS STUFF COULD MESS YOU UP” warning sticker. But on the other hand, if you are the bank that owns a foreclosed house and you want to winterize the plumbing, do NOT, I repeat do NOT use that same adhesive to affix warning labels to every faucet and toilet in the house. It is not necessary.  A simple sign that says “The plumbing in this house has been winterized. Please call us before using any plumbing fixture.” would do the job.  Simple. Easy. And that sign should be attached to the front door with an adhesive that comes off very easily. Otherwise you risk making Aaron really extra-special ornery when he wastes money and time trying to de-stick these very important porcelain pots.  His level of frustration only grows as the urgency of his need to return his India Pale Ale to Mother Nature grows.

And to those of you who make windows…same rule applies to you. I (or the builder) bought your glorious glass gateways. You got your money. You win no extra sales by having a PERMANENT sticker of your logo on MY windows. I will try to pull them off and will fail, leaving a fuzzy, ugly, sticky piece of paper on the glass. Nobody likes that. And it isn’t getting anyone else to stop in to the Andersen Window Showroom. It is not.

And can someone at Oven Central ‘splain to me why the energy-use label has to be permanently stuck to the oven door? I mean, I want an efficient appliance, sure. But I don’t see the need to advertise my oven’s 2009 energy score for the next 25 years. I’ve tried to remove it and short of breaking the glass and ordering a new panel…I think it’s going to be there through turkeys, cookies and casseroles.

CUSTOMERS FIRST

The customer isn’t always right. The customer is not king. I know that. But the customer is the one paying the bills. But a couple of recent experiences have made my brain twist in its bucket.

The first incident was with a local plumbing contractor. The water here isn’t as bad as it was in Virginia, but I still wanted a water softener and water purification system in my kitchen. I contacted the company that provides drinking water in my office. I called on a day to schedule an appointment and surprise, surprise, they could be at my new house the very next day! Now that is service, indeed!

I met the sales dude at the house and talked about what I wanted and made my selection from several options. He called to the office to get me on the schedule. Guess what? No, I am not wearing a cowboy hat right now, be serious! No, they were able to be out at my place the very next day to install the system! Isn’t that something? My level of satisfaction was quite high before I even spent a dime.

So they came and they installed. The plumber dude said the softener would run for a few hours after he left then it would shut off. After that it would run every third day at 2 a.m. Cool. I wrote a very large check and was quickly distracted by the 2,744 other chores that I was neglecting.

Several days later the softener had not stopped running. The water was great, but hundreds of gallons were going down the drain…plus the thing made noise in my basement. And even at my age, I’m still afraid of things that make noise in a dark basement. (He’s down there. With an axe. I just know it!). So I called the fine folks at the plumbing place to let them know I had a problem.

“Oh, Mr. Kuehn, I am so sorry you did not experience a perfect result from our visit!” the distraught lady on the other end of the line cried. “We need to get that fixed! Did the installer show you how to bypass the system?”

“Yes.” I said. “I have it bypassed and turned off.”

“Oh, goooood!” she gushed. “Let me get our service calendar here. Hmmm…. Uh, huh. Well. Yes. Okay, we can have someone out there in two weeks, Thursday the 22nd between 8 a.m. and 8 p.m. Would that be convenient?”

I paused, counted my fingers and toes a couple of times, then replied, “That’s a long time to wait…especially after just having this installed.”

She didn’t have to count her digits before making her reply “Well, sir, we are very, very busy. That’s the first appointment I have. Of course if someone cancels, I’ll give you the first opportunity at that appointment.”

So, only days before they were able to hop-to and take my money. Now that something is wrong and they have to come back on their own dime, they’re suddenly “awfully busy.”

Another “Hmmmm…” moment involved my temporary apartment. I accepted a new job in Utah back in November of 2008. While still in Virginia I was trying to find a Utah apartment to live in until I sold my Virginia house and found something out here. I knew the area fairly well having made business trips out here for the past 10 years. I found an apartment complex that fit my desires so after clicking the “Contact Us” link on their website, I made known my wish to become a tenant.

Well, they were unable to “process my application” until I had paid them an up-front processing fee. That fee would be deducted from my initial deposit if I chose to sign a lease. I paid. I applied. I was accepted. I signed a lease. In late January I moved in.

Yesterday I moved out. My lease stated that I needed to give them 30 days’ written notice that I was leaving. I did that…wrote it up nicely, printed it more nicely and nicely hand-delivered it to the lady in the office. It was all very nice and cordial and stuff.

Yesterday, with a different lady on duty, I went to tell her that I was finished cleaning and to return the key. She said I needed to fill out a “Tenant Departure Notice Form.” It was three pages long. It had a lot of writing reminding me of my “duty” to give them notice, to clean the apartment, to leave it as I found it, that if they found dead bodies in the under-sink cabinet they might deduct monies from my security deposit and etcetera. It also asked of me all the same information I had included in my letter: my name, my apartment address, my social security number, my lease number, the date of the notice, the date I planned to vacate and my shoe size. Okay…so I copied the information from my letter onto their forms.

I sorta thought the lady would walk-through the apartment immediately to make sure it looked okay and then give me my security deposit. Nope. Someone else does that, she told me. Okay, I was fine with that. Maybe sometime next week I’d get my money. But she tickled my “Hmmm….” nerve by saying that I would have my security deposit back “…within six to eight weeks…”

I know, my math isn’t very good But I think that’s something like TWO MONTHS!!! Not that long ago they wouldn’t even give me the time of day until I paid them to “process my application.” Now after eight months of rent, fees and other extortions, they need two months to give me back money that is mine to begin with.

That seems odd.

YOU SUCK

Throughout my life I have had a love-hate relationship with vacuum cleaners (Linda, you know what I’m talking about!). One of the last things I did before leaving the Norfolk newspaper was to write a review of a new vacuum cleaner. The freelance assignment didn’t pay by the inch…I simply got to keep the model that I reviewed. I gave it a good review because I was really impressed with the device.

Well, after moving it from the apartment to the house (a treacherous journey of some 15 miles over the freshly-paved Interstate-15), the vacuum started to be very finicky about when it would vac and when it would not. Over the past few days, it was of the opinion that it would much rather “not.”

In addition, I recently purchased the smallest, least-expensive Shop-Vac for use inside the house. Somewhere in the Mayflower Storage Abyss is a larger Shop-Vac Wet/Dry for the shop. But I wanted one for in the house. So I bought one. Yes I did. So there!

Friday night I was using the Shop-Vac and flipped the power switch and it made a noise, blue flame shot out of the switch, and there was no motory action. She, too, had decided to not suck.

Now, the upright vacuum for which I wrote the review owed me nothing…so I had little heartache about tossing it (shhh, I threw it in the Dumpster at the apartment!). But the Shop-Vac was nearly new…but I had no receipt. And I almost NEVER return stuff. I just hate doing that. But I was peeved. Blue flames shooting out near my fingers tends to do that to me. I have a short fuse, I know.

So I went back to my friendly local Home Depot. The lady behind the counter was very nice. Because I’d used my debit card she was quickly able to produce a duplicate receipt. So I was all ready to return or exchange it but she educated me that I would in fact NOT be doing so. Nope. Vacuum cleaners and sweepers get returned to the manufacturer…not the store. Hmmmm…? That’s right. That’s the policy with Shop-Vac and many others she said. She felt really awful about this. But she happened to have a photocopied form ready for me to fill out that I should include with the vac upon return. I took the form and the vacuum back to the truck. I then went back inside to buy a new upright vacuum. The purchase of the new vacuum (one of those clever models with a cyclone) went off swimmingly.

Then I went to the United States Postal service in order to send the Shop-Vac back to the place from whence it came (I still had the box…can you believe that?)

The Shop-Vac was on sale when I bought it. I paid $24.99 (I told you it was the cheapest model they sell). Shop-Vac requires that returns be sent “First Class.” Want to take a guess at the postage costs? $19.99.

Hmmmm….

Part of my daily web-surfing routine involves browsing a site called Neatorama (www.neatorama.com).  It has all kinds of “neat” things from the internet.  This week the headline Normandy Photos:  World War II and Today got my attention.  I’m a photography enthusiast but it was the contrasting photos they chose that pulled me in.  On the left is a 1944 photo depicting a scene of horrific and traumatic war-time destruction.  On the right is a modern-day shot of the same location:  rebuilt, clean, enticing.

I followed the link and took my time examining the 100+ photos that contrast the aftermath of war with scenes of today.  It was humbling and sad and encouraging.

Picture after picture I was more and more impressed that it had been rebuilt.  The buildings and the lives.  Out of that hopelessness and despair and devastation, it was rebuilt.   It made me think that as long as we, as a people, have hope, what can we not do?

I have to think that many of the people living in the rubble did not have hope.  Or they only scraped together the fragments and dust of hope.  But it was enough to drive them forward.

Tom Brokaw wrote an amazing book entitled No Greater Generation, which I strongly recommend.  He makes the case that the generation of World War II is the greatest generation not only because of what they accomplished, but what they survived.  And what they built after the war was over.  I grew up surrounded by people of that generation and there certainly was something different about them that I understood without reading a book.  It was their strength.  And I think before the strength, came the hope…the belief that no matter what today is…tomorrow will be different.  Better?  Who knows?  But we won’t know unless we press forward into tomorrow to find out.  And it certainly doesn’t stand a chance of being better if we don’t work at making it so.

I have never been through a war nor anything comparable to what those folks went through when their homes, towns, regions, nations and lives were destroyed.  The closest was when Kalamazoo, Michigan was devastated by one of the worst tornados on record (http://www.vanishedkalamazoo.com/tornado/tornado.htm).  I remember thinking, after the tornado, that “life was over”.  I could not see the way back to “normal”.  Being a worrier by nature, the tornado had a huge and lasting impact on me.

Kalamazoo was rebuilt.  Just six years after the tornado I started a 13-year stint working in the downtown that had been wiped out by the storm.

Our ability to use hope as a fuel to move on, survive and rebuild amazes me.  Of course while the storm is beating against the walls, hope and strength are difficult to muster.  But history can teach us that life “after” is possible.  Better.  Worse.  Different.  Life.

While I write this, it is raining.

Not a hard rain.

Not a stormy rain.

Just water dripping, dropping, splatting from the sky.

I like a good rain.

I like storms, too.  A good rainstorm, thunderstorm or snowstorm makes me feel good.  Judging by the fact that most people I know do NOT share this feeling, I am left to assume that my internal barometer was installed upside down and backwards.  But whatever the reason, a rainy day puts me in an “up” kind of mood.

Right now for example I have the patio door open and I can hear the water hitting objects.  There’s almost no traffic.  The temperature is just right.  And there’s a slight movement of air through the door.

Rainy days put me in a creative mood.  Today I could write a bestseller, build an awe-inspiring bookcase or throw a most incredible pot.  Rain raises my spirit.  I think it’s a reminder that God and nature are in control.  It is nature replenishing the earth and cleaning off of the dust of everyday life.

Snowfall has a similar effect on me.  Everything gets a fresh, white covering.  Made clean and brand-new.

It doesn’t matter if you are man or beast, tree or brick, you get the same treatment.  Equality like none other.

I also like the fragrance that rain puts into the air.  No matter where in the world I’ve been, rain tickles the same buttons in my nose.  And they are good buttons indeed.

During a rain like this my day-to-day concerns and preoccupations seem lessened in their importance.  They’re still there, but the rain is a good drug that moves them to the side and helps me to see around them and ponder the goodness in life.  And there’s plenty of it.  There is plenty of badness, I’m not arguing against that, but there is goodness, too.

The non-human creatures out there seem to approve as well.  The birds are singing and a few stop by the shrubs near my window to give me a song and to bathe in the cascade.

I like a good rain.