There’s a word for that

You know that feeling where you say a word so often that it stops — for a few seconds — having any meaning? It’s just a sound your lips and tongue make? I’ll bet there’s a word for that but I don’t know what it is.

I’ve been thinking about the word “computer.” I use that word a lot. But it really doesn’t have much meaning (for me) any more. The earliest computers were big old room-size monsters that… computed numbers. Add, subtract, multiply, divide (and probably some other math stuff). So we called the machines computers.

And I guess there are lot of folks still computing on their computers but doesn’t it seem like there could be a better name? We’ve got “desktop” and “laptop” but those are more about where and how we use the machine.

Our phones are computers now but I’m not all that happy with the term “smart phone.” Better than “device” but still not great. Shoot, “digital assistant” was a better term than most of these but that won’t be back. And why didn’t “communicator” catch on? Good enough for the Star Trek crew.

In a few weeks I’ll be talking to Siri via AirPods. And god only knows what we’ll call the glasses we’ll one day be wearing.

Would a bot ask you to show it your underpants?

Since retiring, I’m occasionally asked if I’d consider working part-time. Uh, no. But this afternoon I thought of a job that I might find interesting. If such a job exists. If some company/business/service was doing one of those “is it human or is it a bot?” things, that might be fun. Sort of a half-assed Turing Test kind of thing? But I’d want total freedom in my responses.

Q: You’re in a desert, walking along in the sand when all of a sudden you look down and see a…
Me: Did you think Ernest Borgnine was better in Airwolf or Escape from New York?

Yeah, I think I might do that for an hour a day. My friend David Brazeal had a similar gig for a while. He was the human behind the Barrel Bob Twitter account for the Missouri Department of Transportation. I think he lost the account when the suits couldn’t handle his insanely humorous tweets.

Japanese Boutique Sells Jeans That Have Been Worn for at Least a Year

“While used denim is generally sold at a discount, these particular jeans (The Onomichi Denim Project) actually get about twice as a expensive after being worn by somebody almost daily, for at least a year. […] They hand-pick the wearers from the local community and closely monitor their transformation over the course of one year. Wearers rotate through two pairs of jeans that they promise to wear almost every day for the entire period, and bring them to the shop every week, to be laundered at a special denim processing facility, which ensures that every pair retains the evidence of each wearer’s life and work. […] When the pre-wearing period ends, each pair of jeans is washed according to color, hang-dried or tumbled, checked for individuality, tagged with detailed descriptions and put on sale at the minimalist Onomichi Denim Project boutique for anywhere between ¥25,000 ($215) and ¥48,000 (415). That’s about twice as they usually cost when new, but these are not just any jeans, they are cultural artifacts.” 

Yesterday I forced myself to toss the Levis below. The denim is so thin and soft you can poke your finger through the fabric. I keep thinking they’ll dissolve the next time I run them through the wash. Easily 10 or 15 years old. I think we’ll keep them a while longer. They are cultural artifacts, after all.

Jefferson City: 1920’s

The two photos below are hanging (with 8 or 10 others) on the wall of a little cafe in Jefferson City, MO. I’ve noticed them before and recall thinking I’d like to scan them but they’re framed and (probably) bolted to the wall. This morning I remembered the PhotoScan app I recently added decided to give it a try. No bad. No glare from the glass. I’ll get some more when the place is less busy.

High Street is where the Coffee Zone is located (not on the block shown). The interior shot is the cafe.

The Last Cigarette

“I’ve smoked well over a hundred thousand cigarettes in my life, and each one of those cigarettes meant something to me. I even enjoyed a few of them.”

Smokers will get this essay (an excerpt from an upcoming book: “Nicotine,” by Gregor Hens). Not sure the rest of will/can.

The Hard Stuff

Liquor

I never developed a taste for “spirits” but have a hard-to-explain fascination with the endless variety of hooch I see in supermarkets and convenience stores. If there’s no one in line behind me I will sometimes quiz the clerk.

Q: Do all of these sell?
A: Yes. This is primo, point-of-purchase shelf space so they wouldn’t stock it if it didn’t sell. (Even Fireball?!)
Q: Who buys those little “airplane” bottles? And why?
A: Lots of folks. For the drive home. One clerk said she’s seen customers drink on on the way out the door.

In my naive, never-been-a-drinker way, these suggest a “lower class” of drinker than the guy with a bottle of single malt in his wet bar in the den. Maybe there’s danger implicit in this photo that holds my gaze.