Rick Barry
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Journal
November 2, 2008
San Jose
As has been my custom in recent years, I ventured out early on the morning of November 1 for a brisk walk around my neighborhood, my annual celebration of All Hallows Day, the zenith of the fall season here in San Jose. Unlike in other regions, where winter has already begun to apply its icy grip, the first of November is the ideal date to enjoy the Santa Clara Valley in its full autumnal splendor. The season arrives late in our area, reaching its fullest expression upon the passage of Halloween.
A chill wind greets me as I begin my stroll about the neighborhood. Leaves of various hues dance a minuet in the occasional gusts, accompanied by a multitude of gaily colored candy wrappers: M&M's, with their rich chocolate brown envelopes bedecked with brightly colored images of the treasures contained within; Kit-Kats with their pumpkin-orange jackets, so in keeping with the spirit of the season; the soft pastels on the Sweet Tarts, evoking the promise of the spring to come after the darkness of winter. The breeze inspires a plastic shopping bag to take to the air, a ghostly apparition reminding the viewer of those whom this day is intended to honor, its sojourn to be abruptly ended snagged in a nearby tree or cyclone fence. My dog usually recoils in fear at such a sight, but is distracted by a half-eaten Twix bar lying in the gutter, and seems to be debating with himself whether the ants covering this morsel will be similarly delectable. He seems conflicted in outlook toward the ants: condiment or competition? Quicker in judgment than he, I urge him onward, knowing that he might have been far more decisive had he discovered the parcel left by some neighbor's cat on the lawn on the opposite side of the sidewalk.
In my All Saints' Day reverie, I consider some recent submissions to various orchid-related forums on the internet. I don't defend my participation in these forums, but I do find them sometimes informative and frequently amusing. Like all social settings, internet forums reveal a great deal about human nature. Like all human intercourse, they also inspire exchanges which range from the collegial to the defamatory, which, coincidentally, aptly describes my recent experiences with dating.
I consider online forums to be more entertaining than mailing lists. They provide the ease-of-use and sense of real-time conversation that previously was available only in those internet fonts of wisdom, chat rooms. Anyone who has ever entered a chat room, even if only out of curiosity, knows the level of discourse to be found there. Online forums, even if they come with more bells and whistles, are essentially chat rooms with referees (oftentimes, referees with agendas). Most submissions on orchid forums are little more than repetitions of cliches that could be applied to nearly any thread. Subscribers are able to customize their submissions by decorating their posts with emoticons or 'smilies', the Have-a-nice-day Happy Face (one of the few successful attempts by the Soviet-era KGB to undermine the American way of life) become computer animations. Emoticons are very useful to those incapable of expressing themselves in words, or are simply mesmerized by bright colors and movement. Some participants, who momentarily overlook the permanence of items submitted on the internet forums, occasionally say some very regrettable things. At times such as this these forums can revert to the level of orchid cage fights, but at least the rest of us have ringside seats, even if we do occasionally get caught in the crossfire.
I spot a wet-but-intact five-dollar bill in the rain gutter. Bending to pick it up, I notice a couple tiny zip-lock bags containing what looks like chunks of flour. I pocket the five-spot and kick the bags through the grate on the storm drain, satisfied that another crime had been prevented.
In comparison, orchid forums like Orchid Guide Digest (operated through e-mail listservers) offer a higher level of discourse, with occasional exceptions. The fact is that the OGD requires a certain amount of literacy and a willingness to 'go that extra step' in attempting to communicate via the internet. All those extra keystrokes required to send an e-mail may seem like more effort than it is worth if you don't really have anything to say. The problem with Orchid Guide is that it tends to lack submissions of original content and is chiefly comprised of orchid-related RSS feeds submitted by a single subscriber. I can't comment on the non-English articles, but what I can read appears to have been written by persons to whom orchids are a relatively new subject, articles written not out of any real interest in the subject matter, but written instead to satisfy the demands of a journalistic assignment, the equivalent of a high school book report. I do have to admit that I get some perverse sense of satisfaction at the occasional falsehoods perpetuated by some of these articles.
I gaze down the avenue towards the rising sun, basking in its warmth, the shards of broken glass shimmering like so many gems embedded in the asphalt. An empty fast-food soda cup rolls by, the straw through the top its broken axle. A glance into the goundcover on the park strip reminds me that while instruction in the use of condoms seems a necessary and worthwhile part of any sex education program, the proper post-coital disposal of such products must be more strongly emphasized.
(end Part 1)
November 2, 2008
San Jose
As has been my custom in recent years, I ventured out early on the morning of November 1 for a brisk walk around my neighborhood, my annual celebration of All Hallows Day, the zenith of the fall season here in San Jose. Unlike in other regions, where winter has already begun to apply its icy grip, the first of November is the ideal date to enjoy the Santa Clara Valley in its full autumnal splendor. The season arrives late in our area, reaching its fullest expression upon the passage of Halloween.
A chill wind greets me as I begin my stroll about the neighborhood. Leaves of various hues dance a minuet in the occasional gusts, accompanied by a multitude of gaily colored candy wrappers: M&M's, with their rich chocolate brown envelopes bedecked with brightly colored images of the treasures contained within; Kit-Kats with their pumpkin-orange jackets, so in keeping with the spirit of the season; the soft pastels on the Sweet Tarts, evoking the promise of the spring to come after the darkness of winter. The breeze inspires a plastic shopping bag to take to the air, a ghostly apparition reminding the viewer of those whom this day is intended to honor, its sojourn to be abruptly ended snagged in a nearby tree or cyclone fence. My dog usually recoils in fear at such a sight, but is distracted by a half-eaten Twix bar lying in the gutter, and seems to be debating with himself whether the ants covering this morsel will be similarly delectable. He seems conflicted in outlook toward the ants: condiment or competition? Quicker in judgment than he, I urge him onward, knowing that he might have been far more decisive had he discovered the parcel left by some neighbor's cat on the lawn on the opposite side of the sidewalk.
In my All Saints' Day reverie, I consider some recent submissions to various orchid-related forums on the internet. I don't defend my participation in these forums, but I do find them sometimes informative and frequently amusing. Like all social settings, internet forums reveal a great deal about human nature. Like all human intercourse, they also inspire exchanges which range from the collegial to the defamatory, which, coincidentally, aptly describes my recent experiences with dating.
I consider online forums to be more entertaining than mailing lists. They provide the ease-of-use and sense of real-time conversation that previously was available only in those internet fonts of wisdom, chat rooms. Anyone who has ever entered a chat room, even if only out of curiosity, knows the level of discourse to be found there. Online forums, even if they come with more bells and whistles, are essentially chat rooms with referees (oftentimes, referees with agendas). Most submissions on orchid forums are little more than repetitions of cliches that could be applied to nearly any thread. Subscribers are able to customize their submissions by decorating their posts with emoticons or 'smilies', the Have-a-nice-day Happy Face (one of the few successful attempts by the Soviet-era KGB to undermine the American way of life) become computer animations. Emoticons are very useful to those incapable of expressing themselves in words, or are simply mesmerized by bright colors and movement. Some participants, who momentarily overlook the permanence of items submitted on the internet forums, occasionally say some very regrettable things. At times such as this these forums can revert to the level of orchid cage fights, but at least the rest of us have ringside seats, even if we do occasionally get caught in the crossfire.
I spot a wet-but-intact five-dollar bill in the rain gutter. Bending to pick it up, I notice a couple tiny zip-lock bags containing what looks like chunks of flour. I pocket the five-spot and kick the bags through the grate on the storm drain, satisfied that another crime had been prevented.
In comparison, orchid forums like Orchid Guide Digest (operated through e-mail listservers) offer a higher level of discourse, with occasional exceptions. The fact is that the OGD requires a certain amount of literacy and a willingness to 'go that extra step' in attempting to communicate via the internet. All those extra keystrokes required to send an e-mail may seem like more effort than it is worth if you don't really have anything to say. The problem with Orchid Guide is that it tends to lack submissions of original content and is chiefly comprised of orchid-related RSS feeds submitted by a single subscriber. I can't comment on the non-English articles, but what I can read appears to have been written by persons to whom orchids are a relatively new subject, articles written not out of any real interest in the subject matter, but written instead to satisfy the demands of a journalistic assignment, the equivalent of a high school book report. I do have to admit that I get some perverse sense of satisfaction at the occasional falsehoods perpetuated by some of these articles.
I gaze down the avenue towards the rising sun, basking in its warmth, the shards of broken glass shimmering like so many gems embedded in the asphalt. An empty fast-food soda cup rolls by, the straw through the top its broken axle. A glance into the goundcover on the park strip reminds me that while instruction in the use of condoms seems a necessary and worthwhile part of any sex education program, the proper post-coital disposal of such products must be more strongly emphasized.
(end Part 1)
