George Carlin would have a field day

Carlin had a perspective of humanity driven by the counter-culture zeitgeist of his era and probably assisted by the mind-altering effects of hallucinogens. His early material centered on nonsensical language–what words mean and don’t mean, which words are arbitrarily acceptable and which are not–how we use language to obfuscate, to appear erudite and smart.

Nowhere is such language more opaque, while at the same time impressive to the ear, than the jargon of business. Here is something I read this morning on my LinkedIn feed, related to artificial intelligence and its development as a tool for productivity in a business:

“It takes work to reimagine workflows, upskill and build capability, establish governance, and build a stable, scalable tech platform to see tangible outcomes and value creation gains. This cannot be done in sequential steps but rather constant parallel pathing, and this work is real, tangible and frankly hard.”

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The neighborhood

I walked into The Haven Pizzeria, as I fairly frequently do, to pick up some food to go.  Cheri and I alternate cooking at home with “shopping” for groceries at one of our local restaurants.  We live in a walkable neighborhood.  Smaller houses for the most part, closer together.  It’s about a mile from our door to The Haven.

As I’m sipping my Pinot Noir, awaiting my order, the manager and I chat.  Arturo is a father and husband, as well as a good leader of the team at the pizzeria.  His wife and very young boy attended one of our monthly gigs at The Haven.  I’m in a trio called Blue Hooz.  We do gigs around San Diego county, mostly at family-friendly locations.  Our fan base includes kids and dogs.  I’ll never forget our gig a couple months ago at The Haven when Arturo’s son stood on a booth seat for every song, pumping up and down with a permanent grin on his face, transfixed by the live music in front of him, for two solid hours.

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Reflections of unity and war

It was July 16th, 1969. The summer before my senior year in high school. I had been enthralled with space, science fiction and John F. Kennedy’s audacious commitment to putting people on the moon before the end of that decade. I thought I might be able to join NASA and become an astronaut.

I had gotten up before sunrise to experience the countdown and to see the 6:32 a.m. launch. When the rocket lifted from the launch pad, my heart was full of amazement, pride in our country and high expectations for my own future in space. I was 16 years old.

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Why history matters

A fairly large portion of the population in the U.S. apparently thinks that highlighting the horrible parts of our country’s past is somehow unpatriotic, unnecessary or shameful. To me, the only shame would be not illuminating the periodic darkness that our nation has gone through. To learn from the past and be better people because of that knowledge is to pursue the “more perfect union” described in our Constitution. Thus, learning from our mistakes is the operational definition of “patriotic”.

In that spirit, I’d like to share a posting about the history of a specific time and region of northern California. I received this from my cousin Doozy. She was born and raised in the Klamath River area, near the Oregon border. Her mom, my aunt Evelyn, is a direct descendant of the native people described in this historical account. The only reason I had an aunt Evelyn and still have my cousin Doozy, is because their ancestors were among the few survivors of one such terrible period of our country.

(Credit for the original posting shown below goes to: The Hidden Historian, Facebook Group. I checked the information. It’s accurate.)

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