Thursday, 4th o December 2003
More Amazing Olaia Insights
I was heading out after 5pm to replace the mail server for Lord Electric and took along Olaia as my little assistant. She's always such good company, so helpful and charming. This was probably going to be a long boring replacement, as it involved pulling the server (a 2U unit mounted in a rack), stripping out the 4 year old parts, and installing the new blazing fast processor, memory, motherboard, and RAID disks. It sounds simple, but it never really is. I am continually amazed at how long simple computer tasks end up taking sometimes. It's a simple transplant. Install a new and updated Linux system, and then copy over all the configuration files.
So here I am, heading out with Olaia. "Daddy, " she says, "People are always more important than flags."
"Huh, uh," I stammered, glancing out the window and noting what she saw, an American and a Puerto Rican flag on two flag poles. "Wow, little girl, you are so wise. Do you know that most people go their whole lives without realizing that? You are amazing. You know at the age of five what some people don't know at 85."
Olaia, grinned in the back seat. "Yeah, Daddy, am I smart?"
"Oh, yes, you are very smart, but more... you're wise and you care about people. Where did you learn that?"
"I dunno."
"Well, you're too much, sweetie. Did you know that people fight over those flags. Some people think one is better than the other and they try to fight about which one is bigger, higher, lower, or more important? And you know what they should know. They shouldn't fight over flags."
She continued grinning bashfully.
The server installation did not go as expected (it never does, so I should have expected it, right?). Olaia stayed with me, coloring, and handing me tools when I needed them.
Once, she brought me a cup of water from the water cooler. "Here Daddy, I brought you some water because maybe you're thirsty."
"Oh, thank you, " I absentmindedly say, engrossed in the guts of the computer and some board or cable that would not fit where it was supposed to.
"Daddy, aren'tcha gonna drink your water."
"Huh? Oh, yeah." I had forgotten I was holding it. "Hmmm, thank you Olaia. That was delicious.
Olaia grins, wrinkling up her face bashfully. She hung out with me until Laura came with dinner, a nice Wendy's triple cheeseburger, my favorite. I ended up getting to bed around 3am, and as I drove home, I smiled thinking about my little wise assistant.
Wednesday, 3rd o December 2003
Sun Tzu
Sun Tzu and his The Art of WAR
The Art of War, although often studied within the business world, is frequently misunderstood and incorrectly applied by those not versed in the language of war. I have read two different translations of Sun Tzu's The Art of War. It is a fascinating treatise of what is required to win when losing is not an option. As a military man, I have studied it not just for its lessons of the battlefield, but for its gems of wisdom on leadership and the true cost of war. I didn't stop there, however. General George S. Patton's writings have (after reading Sun Tzu) some amazing similarities. I don't know if Patton was a disciple of Sun Tzu or if he arrived at some of the same conclusions but nonetheless here are examples:
Sun Tzu: Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor damped, your strength exhausted and your treasure spent, other chieftains will spring up to take advantage of your extremity. Then no man, however wise, will be able to avert the consequences that must ensue. Thus, though we have heard of stupid haste in war, cleverness has never been seen associated with long delays.
Patton: A good solution applied with vigor now is better than a perfect solution applied ten minutes later.
Sun Tzu: Do not repeat the tactics which have gained you one victory, but let your methods be regulated by the infinite variety of circumstances.
Patton: Good tactics can save even the worst strategy. Bad tactics will destroy even the best strategy.
There are many similarities in the philosophies of each, and while Sun Tzu primarily wrote of battlefield tactics, he also has some to say about leadership and discipline, moving men, and accomplishing goals.
Patton's writings incorporate much of Sun Tzu, but diverge a bit from the minutia of battlefield tactics from the pithy "Go forward!" to the sublime "It's the unconquerable soul of man and not the nature of the weapon he uses, that ensures victory."
The modern William Edwards Demming and Walter A. Shewhart took these tenants and expanded upon then further, creating their revolution in quality control during WWII and beyond. "Create constancy of purpose toward improvement of product and service." "Cease dependence on mass inspection to achieve quality." "Drive out fear."
Then came another student, by the name of Jack Welch, CEO of GE. Almost, a modern day Patton in the boardroom, he transformed the culture of GE from bloated, bureaucratic, and slow moving to an empowering, nimble entity where every employee was an agent for change with responsibilities and authority.
If Sun Tzu could be summed up into one word it would be "deception."
Patton would be "action."
Demming is "purpose."
Welch is "transformation."
Each of these great leaders and tacticians built upon the last, grew, learned, adapted, bettered. They used the tools they had at hand to accomplish the mission. I would hope that humanity has learned something in over 2000 years, but all too often, today's upwardly mobile disciples of Sun Tzu's great meta-tactics of conquest and destruction apply his teaching of deception to the widest possible swath. The Art of War is a square peg in a round hole. The Art of War does not lead to victory in the corporate world, and I will tell you why.
You can see Sun Tzu at work all around in today's society. Business is war. Co-workers quietly focus their ambitions on upward mobility, concealing their movements within the company as they maneuver their way into an advantageous position. Whether intentional or not, much of reality TV draws on Sun Tzu's teachings of misdirection and deception. If you are weak, appear strong. If you are strong appear weak. More or less if you are on an episode of survivor, and you are strong, that is, if you have the advantage, hide it. Keep it secret. Do not let your enemy know you have such power. If you are weak, you must be careful not to let your enemy know. You must study your enemy and trick him into error. Get him reacting to you instead of seizing the advantage you know he has.
This works on reality TV. It is always the most deceptive person, the one who disguises his true intentions until the last possible instant. This is the person that convinces his adversaries up is down, black is white, and advantage is disadvantage. This is the person that wins, not the most likable, not the smartest, not the strongest. The person that wins is generally not the one with the obvious assets. In fact, it could be the fat weird abrasive gay guy. The winner is the one that most convincingly hides his true face, obfuscates his inner strategy, and conceals his movements with rigorous discipline.
Deception is fine, when the goal is victory in an adversarial arena. That is, there is really nothing collaborative about reality TV. Sure, the producers will give the group some common task in which they need to cooperate, but it's really just for the fun of the viewer. Make no bones about it, these shows are war, everybody looking for advantage at every possible moment. Reality it is not, at least no reality in which I would want to live.
The real shame is that we see that Sun Tzu thrives in this arena, and we attempt to apply it to the world in which we live and breath. We say to our young children, "What you see on TV is only make believe." And "Don't try this at home." As adults we should know that Coyote could never operate as he does and expect to succeed.
Yet we fail to see that Sun Tzu is ill-suited to the real world, in fact, as Gen Patton found out, not wanted either. Within the confines of business and society, we actually hurt society by focusing on "winning at all costs," deceiving our co-workers while we maneuver for position in the corporate structure, furthering our personal ambitions to the exclusion of others or the wellness of the company (think Enron, Worldcom).
They say, "Well, that's the real world, folks. If you can't handle it stay at home, and leave business to the big boys, " and they will puff themselves up like a little male lizard flaring its neck up for an appearance of formability. You play warrior, but warrior you are not. You would treat your fellows as adversaries, pretended foes upon whom to project your energies. You deceive, because you seek your prize. You seek your victory. You seek your fortune, like a great warrior predator strutting upon the grassy safari, beholden to no one, dependent upon no one, answering to no one.
Now, pardon me if I burst your bubble, but that is NOT "the real world." The little lizard world, I described is a world divorced of humanity, the savage world of the animal kingdom, the horrendous world of war and violence. Human beings have evolved to be cooperative creatures. We didn't get speed. We didn't get strength. We didn't get size, or a short gestation period, or quick maturation, or flight, or or or. We got shafted in every possible way according to the laws of nature as we see them, as Sun Tzu saw them. We need each other for even the most basic of necessities.
We did get one thing, though, that sets us apart, on the top, at the crest of the wave of life, the pinnacle. We got love. Love calls us to others' needs, love inspires us to help rather than hurt. Love is compassion, empathy. Love is what takes away personal fear and allows us to trust, allows us to work together for a common goal.
Reality TV is an perversion of our natural social order, an order where we should collaborate rather than compete, an order where our goals are mutual rather than individual. Love is not to be about individual satisfaction, gratification, or needs. It is not about you, just as people are not just put here on earth for you. The sooner you realize that Sun Tzu was the master of being successful in an aberrated world, the master of hell, guru of a perverted state, the less you will attempt to apply his principles to this world of creation and potential.
For if it is in this pit of fire where you reach your potential, where you find success, then it will spread, it will consume those not strong enough to resist its flames. If you become master of the flames, you damn humanity, your children, your fellows to the same torment. The weak shall be consumed, and you will say to them, "you were not strong enough." A thousand souls will lay scattered upon the landscape in various states of starvation and despair. A few tens will survive, wild-eyed fearless, standing defiant amidst the flames. To survive in this world they have had to give up their humanity, leave their compassion behind, to stand finally alone with nary a soul to raise a cup of water to their burning lips. In the end, they shall finish their days alone, kept from the banquet to writhe in the street wailing and gnashing their teeth.
Saturday, 29th o November 2003
I had trouble falling asleep last night, probably the late dinner and the excitement of Olaia's sleep-over with her cousins, Mariam and Robertito. Whatever it was, I tossed and turned before falling into a shallow slumber. I began to have a disquieting nightmare.
I find myself in a hospital, with rows of patients. It's strangely bright and open, almost as if it's in my house. Something is happening, something big, tragic. I must get my family out, I think to myself. Out of where and from what, I can't say, but there's this urgency to move or run or something. There is this hurried hopeful movement all around. Something is coming, but it can be dealt with, or so everyone believes.
I snap from the dream briefly and focus on my sleeping self. I'm asleep, I halfway realize, and then as if to make sense of the disconnect, my dream seizes upon the realization and weaves it into the plot.
You are asleep. You know who comes for you in your sleep. There is some realization that there is a Freddy Crouger, nightmare type scenario playing out, and even though I've never seen a single slasher movie in my life, I'm now in one. He's coming for you, and there is nowhere to hide. I choke, the realization coming over me. There is only a split second of angst for myself, as I realize that I am in control. But the rest? These people here don't know they are safe, that they are in control. I begin to run around, making tons of noise. "I know who you are!! You can't hurt these people. You can't hurt me. You'll all be okay," I shout. I'm getting mad now. I want to find this character and tear his head off.
Suddenly, I'm accompanied by a middle-aged Mia Sara, Ferris Bueller's girlfriend in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off." We're walking inside a plush carpeted hotel. The hallways are wide and tall, and everything looks like it's covered with various earth-toned crushed velvet. She is talking to me, in a sort of evil villain/philosopher tone. "You will have a choice," she says. She is communicating with me in some way beyond talking. I am filled with feelings, emotions, anxiousness at what is to come. I'm unsure why I am here or what I am to do.
"Answer me truthfully," I say to her, for some reason knowing she cannot lie, "am I in Hell?"
"Yes." And she dissappears. I follow the corridor and exit into a dark street. It still feels closed in, like a movie set of Las Vegas. I am drenched in seeminess. It's not unpleasant, just drenched in some sort of manifestation of selfishness, lust, greed. Women proposition me on the street in their high heels, fishnets, and bustieres. Street hustlers call my name, with gay grins and bejeweled hands. "Comeon, wanna try yer luck." It's tempting. Looks like it might be fun. Just for second, I think.... no feel, this isn't so bad. It's sad, but not evil as I had imagined it.
I am traveling now through the streets, flying, running, I don't know which. I absorb the scene before me with ever increasing ownership, and I keep accelerating until it is all so much blur or images, faces, seeminess, sex, greed, gluttony, envy, aimlessness, despair, and loneliness. I boldly shout to them, "Repent!! Repent!! Jesus - God loves you! You are all loved by God." I fix on myself, and how I sound. Repent, evil doers was not my intent. I hear in my head the cries of a fire and brimstone Baptist preacher, facing his congregation wagging his finger at the unworthy. My feeling as I fly through the wasteland and all the emptiness is not that they are evil, but that they are lost, worthy of love. "Repent!" is a call to reach out their hands, and to not let their despair keep them from redemption. I am aware I am in Hell, and I know with every fiber of my being that Hell cannot exist where there is a willingness to be redeemed. If the love of the Creator is infinite, there is no possible reason for these poor creatures to live in the dark unless they choose to. And no one, I know, would willingly choose to give up being loved. I will deliver the message, "Repent, and ye shall be saved!!" I am filled with such strength, force of will, to be saying such things. I want to save them all, share with them what I know. No matter how far you have fallen, you can still be saved. I know this.
And on a dark street I come to an instant stop. In front of me are three figures ready to accost me. I take a bold step toward them to deliver my message. They immediately transform into monsters dripping blood, fingers stretched out in contorted razor sharp claws, eyes rolled back, all night of the living dead-like. They had been normal human figures a moment earlier, but suddenly turn hideously grotesque.
I shrink for a millisecond. I am startled, and fear for a brief instant, but it isn't fear of dying or being attacked, it is a point of infinite revulsion, like all possible nausea compacted into an impossibly short period of time. Get away from me, I think.
And as quickly as it had come, the next moments fill me with ever increasing compassion and I say, "fill me" because I don't get the sense that I was the one doing it. I become bolder and bolder. My speed picks up again, and I race toward the figure on my right at an impossible rate. I embrace his torso and speed off, my arms wrapped as tightly as I can possibly imagine around his breast, him facing away from me, my chin on his shoulder. "Don't worry, He loves you." And my embrace strengthens like my life depends on it. I will hold onto you.
I ask him how his life had been in this place. Had it been tough. He tells me at first it wasn't so hard, but then there were those that beat him. He had been kicked down and bloodied, living on the street, in the cold for so long. "It's not so bad." I ask him what it was like before, in life. "The same," he says.
The night fades, replaced by a brightly lit plaza of intricate stone work. I come to a stop and release this person to whom I had clung to tightly.
"Sorry, about that," I say wiping spittle off his shoulder.
And I awake in a sweat, hot as hell, my pillow wet from drool. Yeech. I adjust my covers and sigh. "Hon, I just had the weirdest dream. I don't even know if I can call it a dream."
Friday, 28th o November 2003
Parenting in the Digital Age
With technology has come a multitude of conveniences, time savers, and capabilities of which our primitive ancestors could never have conceived. Take for example, the instant message. It is instantaneous, travels at the speed of light to its intended recipient, delivering important potentially critical information at the click of a button. It can be sent across the world, around the block, or to the next room.
Laura at 15:01:18: Jaimito is poopie
Jim at 15:01:43: Roger, I'll change him.
Toxic waste disposal emergencies such as the one above could have not been addressed with such efficiency before the days of IM. Thank the Lord!
Tuesday, 25th o November 2003
This morning I did my two mile walk with Jaimito in his jogger stroller. He usually sings to me, babbling and carrying on with a musical tune. He likes music. He's always dancing and singing. The Wiggles, an Australian kids troupe, on the Disney channel are his favorite characters. or the "-ggles" as he says. Today, though he didn't sing, just happily sucked his bottle of juice, pulling it from his mouth to point out sights of interest along the way. We saw trees, palm trees, a cement truck and an airplane. Jaimito loves airplanes, or "a-bi" as he says. I think it's a cross between airplane and avión, in spanish. "A-bo, a-bo," he says turning his head up to me, pointing to a tree. I assume "a-bo" is arbol or "tree" in spanish. Wow, kids sure are good on the economy of language. Such clever creatures. Yeah, Daddy, why do you have all these distinct words. All I need to do is make a sound and point. See? Easy as pie.
Jaimito and I got back from our little walk, and had some breakfast. He loves fruit Kixs cereal. I don't complain, because he can't make a mess with it, and after all, it is "Kid tested, Mother approved." He loves to share with me, digging into the little cup of cereal with his dexterous deditos and feeding me the purple ones. Why purple? I have asked him the same question myself - perhaps when he can talk, he will reveal to me his hidden agenda.
Yogurt is his other favorite. Cereal and yogurt... ah, the stuff of which dreams are made, ahh, but, Daddy, I need some of your cereal too, or actually just the milk.
Daddy likes to eat Honey Bunches of Oats, with chocolate chips sprinkled on top. I'm bad, I know, but little Mr. So-and-so likes to mooch the milk from me. He makes his dramatic "mmmmmmp" sounds and smiles at me after each successful raid into my zone, pushing his pushy wiggle-puss into my bowl. I call him my "Moochie" or "Cachetero" (cheeky-one) on account of his bulging cheeks.
This has become our morning ritual.
After coffee, I checked my email, morning geek news (slashdot.org), world news (www.msnbc.com), and settled into work on Altabox 4.0.
This afternoon, we had a lunch date with a local state senator to build a strategy to communicate our vision for the tech sector with what will be, most assuredly the next governor of Puerto Rico. The rest of the morning was uneventful, and we headed out for our lunch.
I usually drive, because although Laura is a good and competent driver, she's got a lead foot. The new and improved phlegmatic Jim, has become a passive slowpoke, as it is the only way I can feel sane. Thanks Dad. I was pulling out of our sub-division when the car in front of me just stopped. A woman got out and ran across the street. Huh? I honked, what the hell is she doing? And just as I honked, I saw a crumpled shape lying in a ditch on the other side of the street. I pulled to the side, and leaped from the car to screams and clamor.
Apparently there was a slight accident, two cars had hit each other, but caught up in it was an old woman, a pedestrian who was walking along the side of the road. As the two idiots drivers fought and fretted about their situation, the poor woman lay bleeding in a drainage ditch, water flowing freely around her.
I raced over to her, fixated on this poor figure laying in the blood. Is she dead? I didn't see the accident, so I didn't know how severe it was. It wasn't clear exactly what had happened. Did she fall? Was she hit? I reached her limp form, and checked immediately to see if she was alive, breathing. I felt awkward. This stuff only happens in the movies, doesn't it? I was shaking, the adrenaline had kicked in. I couldn't help it. I was mentally calm and in control, but my body had other ideas as it decided to go into crisis mode. The people standing around me are all offered "helpful" suggestions. Don't move her, was pretty much all they could say, I guess they were content to just stand there and gawk while this bleeding woman lay in a ditch.
I touched her shoulder and gave her upper torso a little tug. First thing you do in a crisis is talk to the patient. Find out if they are okay, if they can tell you where it hurts or where they are hurt. First aid is trained frequently in the Army, repetitively, so that in the moment you don't have to think.
Say there's an explosion, your buddy goes down, and you immediately start first aid, checking limbs, tearing open clothes, thinking about tourniquets. "Hey dumbass, I'm fine. Just stunned, check out the rest of the guys." If the patient can talk, they can help you out. Basic stuff, but you'd be amazed how often people forget.
So this woman, was stunned, a little groggy. I recognized her from the first. She's who, growing up in N. Country, St. Louis, we all knew as the "Walking Lady," a woman seen at all hours of the day, in all seasons walking around, going shopping, running all her errands on foot. Here, lying in a drainage ditch was our very own, "Walking Lady," Paquita as she is called. Laura and I wondered if she was homeless, her weathered and somewhat tattered appearance fit the bill. She lives in our neighborhood, however. I see her most mornings as I head out on my morning bike rides. We usually exchange smiles.
I checked her head. Looks okay, she's got a cut across her eyebrow. That's where ALL the blood was coming from. Yeah, I remember those injuries all too well. Cut above the eye bleeds like crazy. You look like Carrie. I check around her head, talking to her. "Does it hurt any where else?" She's still groggy, I can't hear her. "You know me," I say to her, "It's me, from the bicycle. We meet each other every morning when I go out on my bicycle."
She smiled. I smiled back, and imagined myself, this huge gringo covered in blood crouched in a ditch holding this ninety pound little old lady, stroking her head.
I enlisted the aid of a by-stander to move her from the ditch into the shade. I was amazed at how hard it was to lift her small frame out of the ditch. I stumbled and stepped on her hand. I felt terrible about that. Poor thing. A limp weight is hard to lift. Jeez. A worker from the Energy Authority, trained in first aid arrived at the scene. He had his complete first aid kit, oxygen, bandages, blood pressure device, etc. He went to work, while I told her jokes and held her hand. I made her smile as her blood pressure and pulse came back normal. "Ah, as healthy as a twenty year old," I said.
It was super hot in the noon day, equatorial sun. I was dressed for a business lunch, and not only was I drenched in blood, I was pouring sweat like a thoroughbred. A man began to fan me with a piece of cardboard he found on the road. Ah, that felt good.
The ambulance arrived finally, and I got out of the way. They rolled her onto the stretcher and hoisted her up. I stayed with her to see her off. "Paquita, may you get better soon. We'll see each other next week, you walking, me on my bicycle." She smiled and we parted ways.
In the end, I didn't do anything really. I would have been more prepared to do CPR or mouth to mouth, but I felt good for having reacted so quickly and taking charge while everybody else fretted and stood idle, especially the two idiots in the cars that caused the accident in the first place. Like I said, though, I didn't really do anything, but today, the 25th of November 2003, I eased someone's pain and made a new friend.