.comment: Cold Turkey

By: Dennis E. Powell
Thursday, July 5, 2001 09:26:16 AM EST
URL: http://www.linuxplanet.com/linuxplanet/opinions/3570/1/

Holiday Paradise -- Day One

I'm writing this while sitting on a green plastic chair in front of Suite 1 at a small inn in Lake Placid, New York, a town that provides to my mind prima facie evidence that the Olympic bribery scandal extends far earlier than Salt Lake City. The Winter Olympics of 1932 and 1980 were at Lake Placid. Here, amid the Adirondack Mountains, which are what the Rockies would be if the Rockies were tired and eroded, one may, for $125 a night, stay in the kind of place normally associated with the finer Black Sea resorts circa 1985. (Okay, I may be exaggerating a little. But I'm very cranky.)

We are on vacation. We are on vacation here because of a horse show, where skilled riders take their horses around in circles in the dirt and jump over things (if they're successful) and knock those things down (if they're not successful). That part is interesting enough, though the whole business would be a lot more enjoyable if the temperature were not in the 90s -- nearly 2,000 sweaty horses, as well as the products exuded by those horses, combined with a hot day, do not make for the kind of fresh air one normally associates with the mountains, even puny mountains.

But these things would all be acceptable. Even the absence of good coffee would be acceptable. Even the absence of a place where one may enjoy a cup of bad coffee with a morning cigarette would be acceptable.

One thing is not acceptable: There is no Internet access available to me here.

Which makes me wonder if I, and maybe some others, have become too reliant on being connected.

My friend William F. Buckley Jr. would not dream of making an ocean crossing in a sailboat unless the boat offered air conditioning below deck. I would not dream of taking a vacation unless I thought I'd be able to go online a time or two a day, just to check things out. Yet here I've done it.

My ISP is Earthlink, and one of the things that led to our adopting the cable modem was the claim that with it would come dialup service from practically anywhere. Closer examination, though, and experience, belie this. I've tried for months to find for download a listing of local access numbers -- a good thing to have when one takes longish trips that involve driving until one is weary, then stopping. I've yet to get online via Earthlink dialup, despite many attempts. There is not even the claim of a local access number here. (When, not long ago, I read that Earthlink's founder was in some sort of trouble involving investors who allege they were defrauded and, oddly, the Scientologists, I was neither surprised nor saddened. Having tried various ISPs over the years, I've concluded that maybe the only really good one is WestNet, a small operation in Southern New York.)

Anyway, here I am, in this strange little town, surrounded by horsey folk and cut off from what has become my day-to-day commerce.

Day Two

Well, at least there's food here. In my estimation the best television series in the history of that medium was "Northern Exposure." Yes, my favorite character was Adam, though right now I feel more like Fleischman. So when we find a restaurant of that name, Northern Exposure, we stop in for a bite to eat. It is excellent. From what we hear in talking to others, most of the eateries here are both good and inexpensive. I may starve for connection with the outside world, but I'll not go unnourished.

Note to self: Look around -- there is surely an Internet cafe or something of the kind around here someplace.

The horse show this year seems to be two weeks long, but it's actually two horse shows, back-to-back, each a week long and differing chiefly in their sponsorship. Many of the really big names in show jumping are here, and each week is capped by a Grand Prix, the first of which will be televised on July 14 on ESPN. What's cool about it all is that in many classes the amateurs and the professionals compete against each other. This is because many of the pros are, in addition to showing their Grand Prix horses, trying out up-and-coming critters owned by people who want to see how they'll do when shown by a really good rider. In this respect, horse showing is unlike most other sports -- the lone exception that comes to mind is sailboat racing, my sport of choice -- with the top people and the amateurs often competing in the same class. It makes it more interesting and builds a community that is on a first-name basis. (Though heaven help the poor woman who happens to be named Margie, in that that name is now and forever owned by Margie Goldstein Engle, perennial rider of the year and a delightfully nice lady. It would be like a second Miguel joining Gnome development, or a second Stephan or Matthias joining the KDE . . . oops. Never mind that second example.)

Still in withdrawal, I notice that there is a netiquette-like set of informal rules in the horse world: for instance, the comment, "pretty horse," is always welcome -- no one will respond with "are you nuts? I'm taking him up to the Alpo truck right now." However, you need to have watched a horse before you may properly describe it as "cute," and that word is used to describe a particular characteristic, as in "that horse is cute with his knees over the fences." This usage is nearly universal. If you find it hard to imagine John Wayne saying, "Well, pilgrim, your horse is cute on the flat," you're not alone. It takes a little getting used to.

Likewise, there are all sorts of intrigues and whispers in the horse world, all kind of people who are either wound way too tightly or not wound tightly enough. There's more than a little crookedness in the industry, more than a little raising of money for questionable things, often syndicating a horse that may or may not show promise; there have been cases in which horses have mysteriously cast off their mortal lead lines not long after being insured through the roof. In short, the horse world and the computer world have a lot in common.

By day's end, I'm scarcely missing the Internet at all. I'm having a good time using the little Sony camera to photograph my wife and friends as they compete -- more difficult than it is with a regular camera, because one has to set up on a particular jump and then wait for the horse, and the Sony does not capture what's in the finder the instant the shutter is pressed, so one has to anticipate what will happen and hope to capture that instant instead. Weird, but there's a kind of Zen to it, and I'm becoming attuned to that little corner of the Universe. It's neat to be able to see, instantly, the pictures I've taken, and there is an additional computer aspect: getting the email addresses of people so I can send them the pictures. I'll have to remember to include a little text file explaining how to make the picture into a Windows desktop; I'm wearing my Progeny Linux teeshirt in hope of finding a kindred spirit, but I think that most people here suppose that Progeny Linux is a product for treating joint ailments in horses, as are the things advertised on the shirts worn by most other people here.

Day Three

I get back from the show to learn that the Federal appellate court has, seems to me, disemboweled the Microsoft antitrust ruling, and I'm desperate to write something about it. Absent a way to do so, I am forced to reflect, and the results are satisfying: The remedy imposed by Judge Thomas Penfield Jackson wouldn't have done any good, anyway. The case had a goofy premise -- Microsoft bundling a browser -- because the government's one shot at doing any real good died when it folded like a cheap horse show chair in its1994 case against the company and agreed to a consent decree that did nothing at all. (For the historians among us, the Justice Department had gone after Microsoft for anti-competitive practices having to do with preloads, per-processor licenses to original equipment manufacturers, marketing of vaporware, and torpedoing of independent application developers. Bill Gates went to the White House and met with Bill Clinton. Bill Gates went to China, where Windows was declared the official operating system. Money began to flow from China to Clinton. The case against Microsoft was dropped. Probably all coincidence, but it is an interesting set of facts.)

The current case was weird, in that while Microsoft is guilty of lots of things that in my view justify prosecution (probably under the RICO statutes), it was not in this case charged with any of them. Nor would it do any good at all to split up Microsoft. If leveling the playing field and promoting competition in an essential industry were the goals, the way to do it would be to prohibit preloads of Microsoft software and including the price of Microsoft software in the cost of a new machine. Were people forced to choose their software separately, they'd look at alternatives.

That didn't happen, and it's not likely to happen. And in any case, Linux would thereby only be given a chance. Power and ease of use would be necessary to close the deal.

Day Four

Stand out in the sun long enough and your face and other exposed parts will come to feel as if they had been plunged into boiling water. I'm so sunburned that next week my face will be peeling in much the fashion of the remains of Mabel Douglass, Lake Placid's famous dead body. She went swimming in 1933 without remembering to untie the boat anchor she had attached by rope to her neck. Divers in 105 feet of water 30 years later found her, seemingly perfectly preserved, but the trip to the surface took its toll, with her arms and head falling off. It's still widely discussed here, and the pamphlet written about it all in 1985 is still a local best seller, chiefly to tourists like me.

Many experienced riders look as if their skin has been replaced by a brownish, leathery material, and I've taken the first step toward achieving this questionable goal: I am sunburned to a faretheewell. I haven't sailed to any extent for awhile, so my ability to withstand the sun has diminished, and at 2,000 feet (the altitude at the horse show) there's less air to act as a filter. Right now, the cool water at the bottom of Lake Placid sounds soothing. There's still a mystery as to why Mabel jumped out of her rowboat, but I think I know the answer: she might have been seeking relief from the pain of roasted skin.

The day begins with rain, which transforms much of the dusty show area into mud; there are times when if one were granted a single wish, it would be for dry socks, and this is such a time. Worse, the sun then comes out, producing a humid, stinking, bug-infested atmosphere. The thought of sitting mushroomlike in my little office, with cool, dry air, no bugs, running water, and online amusement, seems very attractive indeed.

Even more so at day's end, when I return to the suite and turn on the television. Neil Cavuto, Fox News Channel's top-notch business reporter, is complaining that he alone among business reporters had been denied an interview with Bill Gates following yesterday's court ruling. He repeatedly flashes the email address and phone number of the Microsoft PR guy on the screen, while complaining that Microsoft was being unfair. Cavuto is a very sharp guy, but -- duh! What have we been saying, all along, for years now? Microsoft is governed solely by what's in Microsoft's best interests. Microsoft will not countenance any exposure that it has not itself choreographed. Microsoft resembles organized crime but for the fact that it's far more organized than the mob ever was. Will Cavuto become the first person with a broad audience who realizes this? I doubt it. I want to drop him a note via email, but I can't.

The next story on Cavuto's show is even more interesting to me: some backwater car rental outfit in New Haven, Connecticut, name of Acme (really -- must be where Wiley Coyote rents cars) uses hidden GPS receivers to determine now fast their vehicles are being driven, and if they are found to have exceeded the speed limit tacks $150 onto the bill for each incident of speeding. (Can you say "I told you so?" I thought that you could.) Unasked on the Cavuto show, but asked by me: How long before the government joins in to take advantage of this? The erosion of rights in behalf of expediency continues apace, and no one much notices. This column will appear on Independence Day, with yet another reason to believe that we have less and less to celebrate.

Day Five

It's too bad that the people running the horse show's public address system don't have the soundtrack to "Woodstock" available. After a very hot and humid morning, the clouds appear out of the west, then the wind and the rain. There is a mad (but satisfying) dash to rig the storm flaps on the huge tents containing the horses in their stalls. It is a lot like sailboat racing -- getting soaked and blown to pieces while concentrating on very specific tasks. Long, deep puddles appear everywhere; people go to work digging small drainage ditches to make sure the water is carried away from the horses, who do not want to be standing in mud. It's difficult but amusing to imagine the horse folk ripping off their clothes and sliding in the mud.

From time to time I contemplate my personal set of requirements for a very good notebook computer. These include a very fast chip that uses little power, lots of memory that also uses little power, scads of storage, a good screen, a very good keyboard (something that seems to have been banned from portable computers), and a quantum improvement in battery technology. I'd love to see the tops of notebook cases replaced with photovoltaic arrays, to trickle charge the battery. The whole thing would need to be very rugged and very small -- I'm eyeing the new Casio -- and now I'd add an additional requirement: make it waterproof, as Sony does with some of its Walkmans. There's the perfect combat portable. Too bad no one comes even close to making it.

Though now I'd add a satellite telephone link -- we've discovered, when my wife tries to check her email, that even cellular phone service here is analog only.

So we sit around, waiting for the rain to pass (some competitors, though none in our little group, have been unlucky in the draw and have to show their horses in the wind and the rain), and talk about . . . horses. This community is as single in its focus as is the Linux community. Horses are life. Linux is life. It's good to see the same kind of obsession elsewhere, because it makes me notice how much is missed when one voluntarily narrows his or her vision, how silly a Linux obsession must seem to those who do not share it. Listening to the discussion of horses is pleasing because it's not a discussion of computing. I'm not online and can't get online, and I'm beginning to understand the remark of the philosopher James Burnham, who said that where there is no alternative there is no problem. It's kind of liberating.

Day Six

Here we are in the final day of the first week of showing. We'll go home for a couple of days, tend to things that need tending, and head back here. Storms are expected; the Weather Channel's radar display is filled with ominous, looming red blotches, and the forecast is as close to "run for your life" as I've ever seen it. We have to be at the show grounds at 6:30 a.m., so there's not been much sleep, and this is worsened by the coffee maker's decision to erupt in brown water and coffee grounds.

At the horse show a gentle, irritating rain has begun. My wife and her horse will be in an event on the Grand Prix field, which is exciting; the Grand Prix itself will be this afternoon.

We watch other riders complete the very complicated course. It is spread out over the large field such that riders will have to make their horses move very quickly to get from fence to fence, but then will have to slow them down to achieve the kind of precision that is needed to clear the jumps. Most riders either turn in clear rounds or make a total botch of it, knocking down a lot of rails. My wife splits the difference, clearing most of the fences but nicking three rails; still, we're happy with her performance, in that she and her horse were working well as a team, something she has been working on.

Command decision: We're going home now, before the really bad weather hits. We'll watch the Grand Prix on television in a couple of weeks.

The 250-mile drive is tense. There's a fierce crosswind between the hills, and we drive through some truly fearsome squalls. The radio is saying that people should take shelter. Near Albany, we navigate by the tail lights of the truck in front of us, which are all that we can see. If he goes over the cliff, so do we. He doesn't.

We get home to the news that we are under a severe thunderstorm warning. The severe thunderstorm never shows up.

Back to what, when I left last week, I thought of as real life.

I'd left the computer on and had set KMail to fetch my email twice a day. Apparently there was a storm soon after we left for the horse show; the flashing time displays on the VCRs tell us we lost electrical service sometime during the week, and the login prompt on my machine tells me the interruption was long enough to drain the UPS. The presence of no new mail in my inbox is evidence that this all happened the very first day. So much for my plan to keep my Earthlink mailbox from overflowing.

There's news from Earthlink that they're raising their monthly fee by $2, which at the moment is like sandpaper on my sunburn. In exchange, we get three additional mailboxes that we don't need. May we simply add their storage to that of our existing mailboxes? Well, no. (Does anyone like his or her ISP?)

There's news, too, that Adobe has unleashed some pettifogger on a poor KDE developer, demanding 2,500 euro (about $16.25 U.S.) because people might confuse KIllustrator with Adobe Illustrator, which might happen if those people are utter idiots unable even to identify the operating system they are using. I guess that Adobe, which has gotten slapped around pretty vigorously by Microsoft, who rolled over Type 1 as if it didn't exist, needs a puppy to kick. (Yes, I know about vigorous defense of trademarks, but this is ridiculous and stupid, and now that it's getting publicized may well blow up in Adobe's face, as it should.)

The new alternative Caldera refugees mailing list is seeing a lot of traffic, but it, like its SuSE "off-topic" predecessor, makes things more confusing -- if all my mail is dumped into the same mailbox, the headers need to be watched so I know to what list I'm replying. Looks as if I have some filter writing to do.

All, somehow, tempests in teapots. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the tomato plants have blossoms that too long from now will be tomatoes. The outside world exists. The Internet, computing in general, are not the center of the Universe.

Amazing. I've decided, and I recommend it: Take a little time and do something else. It makes the horizon recede considerably.