Still Just a Rat in a Cage

Been a few weeks; figure I should say something. Neglecting my journal in lieu of posting quick status updates on Facebook. I hate that site, because I keep going back to it, clicking “Refresh”, hoping something good pops up. Psychologists have learned all about the strength of randomized rewards, and how it can best be used to illicit specific behaviors.

Essentially, you put a rat in a Skinner box — a training environment with a paddle, food dispenser (for rewards), and electrified floor (for punishment) — and set the food system to eject a pellet after a certain number of paddle presses. If you configure the system to eject a pellet every time the rat pushes the paddle, it’ll learn to push the paddle once, get its food, and move along. If you configure it to eject after a high number of pushes, the rat will lose interest because there’s probably easier food sources elsewhere. But, if you make it eject randomly, sometimes the rat will get the food quickly, sometimes it will have to work for it, and for that reason it keeps going at it, hoping that at some point soon it will get its food.

And so it is with Facebook. And so it is with email. And so it is with slot machines, lottery, chat rooms, coffeeshops, bars, blogs, anything where chance is a component of a quick reward. The chance that someone in my many groups will say something funny, drop an important piece of info, post a hilarious picture, or provide commentary on something I posted, that keeps me going back. Keeps me hitting “Refresh” to the detriment of the rest of my life. I don’t want to say I’m sick, but there it is; I get addicted more easily than I can resist. And that pisses me off.

On Father’s Day

In 1972, President Nixon signed into law the proclamation that the third Sunday of June would be designated “Father’s Day”, in honor of fathers across the country. The holiday, 50 years in the making, finally achieved acknowledgement and recognition.

By way of coincidence, that was the same year I was born the bastard son of a man who never acknowledged me. I have never been recognized as his only son. His firstborn, 38 years in the making.

So here’s to you, Clyde Denver Thomas. Fuck you.

Continue reading “On Father’s Day”

Nutshell

A season of reflection is underway. After languishing for several years in a lonely place of decay, little bits of wisdom concerning aspects of myself and my life have been cropping up. After slinging around at the bottom in the mud and muck of the tiny little problems that keep me bogged down, I’ve decided it’s time to pull myself up, take a macroscopic look at things. Instead of trying to deal with the small things, instead of wasting my time and energy on trying to explain every internal struggle and find an answer for that one struggle before grasping at the next, I’m seeing now that it might be a better tack to take a systemic approach to my problems. To pull back and look at the grand scheme.

This is the corollary to trying to help a yuppie play the blues; you can give him a guitar, teach him technique, critique his methods, tell him how to dress, give him a list of topics to sing about, maybe teach him some of the blues canon — or you can fire him from his job, introduce him to women who will break his heart, shove him into the blues club, and tell him that’s how it’s done. It is at that point, hopefully, that he will get it.

I am one man examining his life as objectively as subjectivity will allow. I’m trying to get it. This so far has led me to a set of understandings: Continue reading “Nutshell”

Good To the First Drop

I’ve been doing it all wrong for the past 10 years.

The coffeeshop is not the destination. It is the journey, the waystation, the pit stop. It is the refreshment break on the way to somewhere else where I’m actually doing something with my life. I should’ve picked up on this years ago, but I didn’t, and I’m a stupid dumbass for not seeing it. Most of the people I know through hanging out at coffeeshops have actually gone on to do great and interesting things. Yet I am still here, bored, alone, and unfulfilled. Continue reading “Good To the First Drop”

Sounds of the Earth

During my downtime the past few nights, I’ve been listening to and reading up on a pair of phenomena that involve strange radio transmissions.

Have you ever heard of Numbers Stations? These are radio stations on the shortwave band whose only job is to transmit a random-sounding series of numbers either by voice, Morse code, or noises. It is theorized that they are used by governments to send coded messages to their operatives out in the field, yet no single government will admit to using them. A Ham listener can use signal triangulation to locate the transmitting antenna, but there’s no clear way of knowing who the station serves and what its message is.

The use of Numbers Stations is actually growing even after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of the Cold War (some would argue that the Cold War never actually ended). Even in this day and age of high-speed communications and strong encryption, the fact that clandestine activities still happen with this antiquated technology bears testament to the fact that this is probably the only truely anonymous form of communication.

Since the last few decades of last century, there’s been growing public awareness and concern regarding Numbers Stations, and various researchers, Ham operators, and writers have taken to the cause of documenting these stations, logging their existence, writing down the patterns of numbers, and making audio recordings for a wider distribution outside the amateur radio realm. One such collection was compiled by the Irdial netlabel of England on a 4-CD set called the “The Conet Project – Recordings of Shortwave Numbers Stations“. Irdial has been kind enough to release this collection for public download at Archive.org. I suggest you read the Wikipedia article, grab the collection, and take a listen. It’s chilling, haunting, and a thrill to hear.

The next phenomenon, though not as clandestine, is still sharply related to the first. Mankind has been hearing strange noises ever since the first 20-mile telegraph line. Operators would hear clicks, pops, whistles and chirps coming out of their receiver sets in between all of the buzzer noises of the telegraph transmission. What they didn’t know at the time, and what we’ve discovered over the last century since the telegraph, is that they were hearing electromagnetic noises generated by the Earth. Every lightning strike, every Aurora Borealis, every solar particle, cosmic ray, burst of energy that strikes the Earth, emits a broad range of electromagnetic noise across the whole frequency spectrum, from DC current up to visible light.

But the electromagnetic frequencies clustered within our human range of hearing (called VLF, or Very Low Frequency) are the most interesting. With the right radio receiver — essentially a large antenna to pick up the noise, an amplifier, an audio filter, and an amp to power a speaker or headphones  — you can listen to these pops and whistles yourself. Researchers have been building these radios and studying the noises for decades, making years-worth of audio recordings. Irdial published a collection of recordings called “Electric Enigma: The VLF Recordings of Stephen P. McGreevy” (also found on Archive.org), gathered by McGreevy on his outings around the Northern hemisphere using equipment he built himself. I suggest you grab it too; the sounds are incredible.

These restore my faith that, even at my age, there still might be some wonder left in this world.

Three. One. Seven. Five. Nine.