New iPhone camera flatters

When I look back at photos of my father, they tend to fall into two categories: solemn and goofy. His smiles often looked more like a grimace. The best photos of him are the the serious poses. Like pop, I’ve tended to mug for the camera for most of my adult life. I’m not one of those people who hate having their photo taken and readily concede that every one of them was “me” at that moment.

At 70, the camera shows me an old man that cannot possibly be me. The imaginary me that looks out of these eyes is a young guy. Who is that geezer in the mirror?! But maybe that will pass and the inner me will get comfortable with the guy walking around in this skin. Barb took this photo (with her iPhone X).

Stickers

I had some folks in China make me some stickers. I wasn’t sure what I’d do with them when I placed the order but I’ve found a couple of spots. I put one on the back of my phone case with the thought that if I misplaced the phone, a finder wouldn’t have anyway of contacting me (assuming they wanted to return the phone). I could have put an email address on the case but I figured I’d just give the website a plug.

I stuck another one on the “Smoker’s Friend” on the sidewalk outside my local coffee shop. Inevitably I’m sitting down wind of the smokers taking those last few desperate tokes before ditching their smoke. Sort of a 21st century Kilroy Was Here.

Renz Prison Farm

You can see what’s left of the Renz Prison Farm just across the river from Jefferson City, Missouri. I’ve been meaning to take a closer look for years and yesterday my friend George poked around for a a few minutes but there wasn’t much left to see. (There’s a bit of the history in this Vox article from 2015.)

The building is too far gone to get much of an idea what it was once like. I didn’t see many individual cells and assume the large open rooms were dormitories. This four minute video (not mine!) offers some different views:

Thought Switch

I’m imagining a technology that doesn’t exist. Yet. A lightweight set of electrodes that monitors my brainwaves and transcribes (transmitted via Bluetooth to my mobile device, let’s say) my thoughts. An advanced version of today’s voice-to-text apps. We get to read that “stream of consciousness” at long last.

I imagine printing out a hour’s worth of this mind noise and using a red pencil to circle anything interesting or profound. Alas, there is almost nothing worth noting. Hour after hour after hour. I’ll program an intelligent algorithm to scan a week’s worth of my thoughts. What the hell, let’s to a month! Scanning for something worth saving. Not much, it seems. All that miraculous brain power wasted on “monkey chatter.”

Since I’m imagining yet-to-be-invented tech, how about a drug (or an implant, perhaps?) that will quiet that mind noise, leaving only the input from my senses. (I’m thinking we’ll need a timer switch to re-engage the thought process.)

Click.

I feel the morning sun coming through the hundred foot oak trees that shade my deck. I hear birds — near and far — singing to whomever birds sing to. There’s the sound of the water feature gurgling in the middle of the flower bed. A cool breeze gets a sigh from the Golden Retriever at my feet (say ‘hello’ Hattie). I take a sip of coffee and experience the slightly bitter taste on my tongue. Somehow I know this is a good thing without an accompanying thought. I still have 10 minutes before the noise returns.