Government Transformation at $800 Billion

What do we know about transformation?
What have we learned about growth?
Is living through just dumb luck?
Can we hit the targets?

I watched a motorcyclist jump onto a large trailer.
Rather, I watched him miss, and crash under it.
His was a transformative experience.
He was transformed into a saline sack of shattered fragments.
He survived to cameo a bit part in the movie.

There was more concrete data available to plan that motorcycle jump than the federal bailout.
We do not know the speed required to succeed at this jump.
State and federal government stimulus packages are largely ahistorical.
There is no known or tested or even secret formula available to propel the economy onto that distant ramp.
There is no precedent.
We have never been here.
We have never succeeded in this space before, and never failed.
We must all be great fiction writers.
The goal of such fiction is the biography of Garcia-Marquez:
Living to Tell the Tale.

I have transformed small things with that specific goal in mind.
Houses. Land. Organizations. Kids.
I can point to a few successes.
I learn more from the failures.
I have learned three lessons.

First: Praxis.
Doing nothing yields an equivalent result.
Theory must be indistinguishable from action.
Every hypothesis, every thought, must result in some perceptible pressure on the rudder.
A thousand tiny points comprise a smoother arc than one grand theory.

Second, abort failure as early as possible.
Early failure is better than late failure.
Isolated failure is better than total failure.
A course correction is preferable to any of them.

Third, transformation is positivistic.
It must be realized to be real.
A Kuhnian paradigm shift replaces more than the skin it sheds.

I have never guided the type of transformation that involves filtering hundreds of billions of dollars through the bitter and opaque filters of state and federal bureaucracies.
My credentials are the exactly same as everyone else on the planet in this regard.
I would be capable...
Of failing,
Of succeeding,
Of some interpretable outcome.

I trust myself as much as I trust those in charge.
Equally.
Good luck to them and to us.
Perhaps, in the worst case, we will all survive to cameo a bit part in the movie.

Bearing Poetry

Writing is the brain's birthing process.
Thought is mere conception.
Talking is but gestation.
Written work is a new, real, born thing.
Each draft is yet another target.
Text provides the visibility necessary for criticism,
usually much deserved.
Printed word is the unwashed face
on your obnoxious cousin's even more obnoxious kid.
You know your kid cannot turn out the same.
Then you see the dirty, snot-faced photographs
of a hybrid face,
a cross between your spouse's and father's faces,
only swollen with baby fat.
You soften.
Your cousin and his kid are not so bad.
Your writing, however, still is.
It is still a squalid, intolerable, filthy-faced target,
to which you gave birth,
in search of your cousin's empathy.

I Learned Something about Myself 4.0

I never get in a line I can go around.

Most people hesitate, or even stop. I find that curious.

Some hesitate out of perceived politeness. Others out of mere hesitation. Still others because they do not know the way around.

I accelerate.

Do not judge me inconsiderate or rude.

A line is but an arrow pointing the way to those who can interpret the signs.

Going around is natural to me. I have always wanted to be in front.

Maybe
     I
          will
               save
                    you
          a space.

iTunes, version 2

Slow Train Coming by Bob Dylan

There is the form.

There is the content.

There is the intersection, where you have to serve somebody.

   Is
         this
               my past,
               my future,
      or
      is this,
   just
my present?

XM Radio, Version 1

Eighties Station

ZZ Top is playing...

Every Girl's Crazy About a Sharp Dressed Man

Nothing to do with me.

I dress like a guy with no future.

I dress like a guy with no past.

I like it just the same.


It is family game night.

And...

I
finally
won
at
Uno Attack!

iTunes, version 1

Mister Heartbreak by Laurie Anderson.

It would make me feel old

if

I didn't
love
it

sooooooo
much!

Excellent Birds.

I like politics because I like..

To know candidates' stands on various issues. So what do I want to know? What bores me? What makes me mad?

Positions of interest
There are issues I care about. I want to know whether these issues matter at all to a candidate (a primacy of focus) or did he just create a policy to run; I want to know his or her apparent level of talent and experience in each area. Finally, I want to know the candidates level of tolerance for competing positions, and willingness to adapt to new information. I am interested in the following major and minor policy areas.

-International Relations
-Homeland Security
-Military Policy
-Immigration Policy
-Iraq Policy
-Energy Policy
-Environmental Policy
-Fiscal Security
-Social Equality
-An approximate budget for the US for their first year
-View of the role of the government in society
-Number of lies I know about
-Do I like them
-Able to incorporate new information into world views

[[Editor's Note: my mother correctly points out that I omitted education, which is a very important issue to me. Thank you, Mom!]]

-Education

I can vote for someone who does not make me want to have dinner with them. I will always vote for effectiveness over affability. I want to vote for a candidate I like, but it is not absolutely essential.

I think every candidate should be required to deliver an initial budget during the primary, and a revised budget during the general election. This budget will allow me to judge many of a candidate's issue positions.

I do not care
There are a number of things I do not care much about.

-Opportunism, unless it makes me not like them.
-Megalomania, unless it makes me not like them.
-God complex, unless it makes me not like them.
-Whoring around. Why do I care? I do not care.

I assume each of these unfortunate characteristics is significantly abundant in anyone motivated to run for office. I do not like to hear candidates accuse other candidates of these things. That is redundant and not useful.

Make me mad
There are a few things politicians do that absolutely make me mad.

-Ignores new information. This is listed twice because it is important.
-Party switching - these people are disloyal users, and should both be immediately forced to return all campaign contributions, and be unceremoniously forced from office and required to stand again.
-Lying - every lie requires a public admission apology. Flogging would be good, too.
-Confounding their particular perspective, platform or policy with patriotism. Grrr!

                          Now
             you know
                          what
             to expect
                          if I
             ever become
             master
                                       of the universe.

Sometimes I get it all wrong...

I interrupt someone who is trying to agree with me.

I offer assistance to someone who is goofing on me.

I sneeze when I should cough.

Sometimes I get it right.

I see the feigned cooperation that is merely a disguised attempt at cooptation.

I see real cooperation that is masked by anxiety.

I offer an obvious target to someone who is goofing on me.

Sometimes I just do not get it.

I zig when I need not zag or zig at all.

I post when even a get is out of place.

I opt out when there is no option at all.

Sometimes I give it away.

Sometimes I just give it all away.

Bits of paper...

litter my world. I have written thoughts on scraps since my first year of college. I write ideas in the margins. I copy funny quotes, read and heard, at odd angles, on post-its and scratch pads. I have piles of notebooks dedicated exclusively to such nonsense. Some of my notebooks are over thirty years old. (Those who know me also know that I would never discard, well, almost anything.) [Ed. note: The oldest notebook I have is probably really only 27 years old.]

I found a small cache of scraps from my desk a few weeks ago. They were apparently transferred from my desk into a file folder for the move to California this past summer. They turned up during a frantic search for our ATV titles. (That is a whole other story.)

Most are not dated. Here they are -- exactly as they appear on the scraps.

"Applying an adjective to the word 'flexible' is another way to make apologies for any lapses in flexibility that exist." 18 April 1997
[Ed: I am sure I wrote this during a meeting or conference call.]

"Why do I care if anybody has sent me an email? Why do I care?"
[Ed: I sometimes tire of the expectations associated with email.]


"Most people confuse silence with agreement."
[Ed: Probably also a conference call note to self, though it is written in the margin of some Delphi code, my extension of the TStringList class.]

"(If) you say I've changed, I say how much the worse that I should stay the same."
[Ed: Written on the same scrap of Delphi code.]

Business card from my position as Director of Application Development at the Georgia Technology Authority.
[Ed: I left that position in 2003. My extension was 5282 - Java.]

Business card from a business I never really started: Data Analysis and Management. Circa 1995.

Conversation between two old men:
"Well, I ain't dumb. Hee-ow."
"Hell you ain't! You dummern hell."
"I'm dumb?"
"You're dummern hell."
"Damn. I'm hungry. Hee-ow."
[Ed: There's a kooky smiley face on the back of this one.]

"I'm sorry that my growing pains were so painful to others."

"By putting self as an object, I've created an infinite loop in any save routine."
[Ed: I'm not certain whether this referred to Delphi code or self actualization. Probably both.]

"We're such Gramma and Grampa types - we decided to skip parenthood and give birth to grandchildren instead."

"What would we talk about if other people didn't have any secrets?"

"Having control of your anger does not mean that one does not display it by shouting or even quietly slicing. Having control of your anger means that you understand its distant causes, its immediate causes, and the potential outcomes of those factors. We are just cogs in the great wheels of our anger. We should 'avail' ourselves to the solutions available to us."
[Ed: I might have read this somewhere. Or not.]

"A betrayal doesn't require an accomplice."

"Stupid people often ask other stupid people for advice. The unintelligent are pack animals, although this in no way impugns pack animals."
[Ed: That just feels like a conference call note.]

This one is my favorite. I don't remember writing it down, but I remember the event very clearly. My son was three or four years old when it happened.
"Michael sitting inside the shopping cart gets handed two cloves of garlic [and says]
'Now I can keep vampires away, two vampires at a time!'"


       These
   tiny bits
          of paper
  are also
       the bits
     that have made up
  my life.

A Flower and a Russian...

kept me company so many years ago. A Flower and a Russian encouraged me always to write.

A Flower and a Russian tried to help me grow.

Consciousness and conscience are but a chorus of voices. The Flower and the Russian have been clear and distinct voices in my mind for nearly 30 years.

A small well-distinguished chorus of two provided a continuous light by which to pen my thoughts.

The Flower blossomed anew this week. I have never been without the memory of the fragrance, not even for a moment.

They tried to help me grow. I hope they succeeded.

I blog here now
       but for the gift
    of light
    given to me
        so long ago
    by
           a Flower
      and a Russian.

I am working on an entry...

that I cannot seem to finish.

It is too controversial. I do not like to be controversial.

Maybe I am not smart enough to manage the pratfall.

Maybe I have never even seen a pratfall.

Maybe
     I am
        looking up
   from one
              right now.

Google wants to advertise...

on my blog. The little box on another page says I could make money.

Would that make me a professional writer?

Or a whore?

I am comfortable either way.

Would I ever get kissed?

Many positions do not involve kissing. Or fame. Or money.

At least not getting money.

    I
     hope
            you get
               what
      you pay for.

I started to write a novel...

about three years ago. I was selling voter registration systems and electronic voting machines. My company had developed a partnership with a firm in Texas. They had great products. Their voter registration system was vapor ware. It was, however, backed by a very solid vanilla HTML-based, wire-frame user interface, a legacy-system-port requirements package, and a fit-gap to complete the design. Their electronic voting machines, on the other hand, were the best engineered product on the market, and had the highest quality user interface. We had some limited success as partners. Their software and hardware products eventually made some money in their respective spaces.

I began work on my novel by developing an outline that included love scenes, major geek time, and a core of political intrigue. I wrote a great deal, off and on for over a year. I would write, and then real life would overtake my project. I would put it down for a few months, and then begin to write again.

Then a catastrophe struck.

My complete outline was published in the papers. It was carried by every major news organization in the country. It was shown in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, on CNN.com and MSNBC.com, discussed by Tim Russert and Chris Matthews. It was a nightmare that occupied my days.

I do not mean to suggest that anyone stole the outline I wrote, or plagiarized my written ideas.

All that I had conceived just came true.

I get my muse on now and again. I periodically visualize and vocalize the obvious before it occurs. Sometimes I even make wild predictions that are latterly proved true.

In this case, however, I was simply a guy with two passions - politics and information technology - who could see far enough into the past to understand how badly these two worlds would mix in the future.

I did not choose the topic accidentally.

I knew the level of integrity of several of the corporate characters in this space. The executive at Diebold finally spoke to the nation what all of us in this space had long known when he agreed to deliver Ohio to Bush. He was certainly not the only person thinking along those lines.

Information technology and politics well represent men and women in Tannen's book, "You just don't understand..." Information technology solves problems by applying rational solutions. Politics is pure passion; she wants nothing more than to be understood. She expects -- and accepts -- nothing more, as well.

I have seen politicians and political-bureaucrats put information technologists through a grotesque range of systemic contortions to support purely selfish political motives. Sometimes the technologists merely spend a long time, and waste a great deal of money, at failure. Frequently a team of technologists is scapegoated and fired. Periodically the offending politico is also canned.

It did not take a genius to predict that information technology would be skinned by politicians in the election space.

I left my notebook in the seat-back pocket on a Delta commuter jet in Dallas, Texas. I called Delta for months hoping to retrieve it. My version of the story was lost forever.

I saw no reason to revive the project when it ceased to be fiction. What could I really add to make it any more interesting, or more surreal, than it already was?

I saw an article in the news this week that indicated electronic voting was being suspended in The Netherlands.

Sociology has been defined as the documentation of the obvious. Perhaps fiction is but a race to stay in front of current events.

         Information technology
            "pwned"
                  by politics
         is now history
                  waiting
         to be written.

I don't want to write...

about facts anymore. Facts become true and then become untrue over time.

"These are the facts and they are not in dispute." That was the famous line of Capt. Jack Ross (Kevin Bacon) in the movie A Few Good Men. Such agreement is rarely attained.

The relevance of Captain Ross's facts were altered by the end of the movie.

I am intellectually inadequate. My facts always seem more dated than the facts of others: My facts less important, less relevant, less poignant. I am not sufficiently well-read on any topic regardless of how much effort I expend. I am just not good enough.

Sometimes I wonder if Stephen Colbert has not got it right.

So I stick to writing stuff about stuff. My approach allows me license to selectively use facts without putting myself in a position where I could be proved wrong. I adhere to the realm of the subjunctive and the Utopian, like:
          "that could be true...
                    ...in a parallel universe."

************************************************************************

I used to be funny. Now I am tired. I used to read to absorption all the news everyday. Now I skim some headlines. I used to think facts were real. Now I know they are often no more enduring than the weather.

Thank you, Perry Howard.

I would rather write about history or politics or a story about the death of a friend.

I would rather write where I can avoid the fluctuations of interpretation associated with facts.

I would rather
    just
       make
         stuff
            up.

Our modern written language suffers...

from the sterility imposed by the Electronic Grammar Police. The word processor Spell Check Nazis try to impose the death of uniformity on the petals of my paragraphs the instant I create them. This is the great sin of modern technology: the enormous crushing pressure of expression into the mode.

The value of any word is, at best, the median of our inter-subjective agreement. The meaning of a phrase, of a sentence, or any longer construction, always contains an interpretative component.

Literary constructions are often more historically enduring when a bit more interpretation is required.

Gabriel Garcia-Marquez's "The Autumn of the Patriarch" is a grammatical nightmare, according to the algorithms available to my computer, but it is one of world's great books. Garcia-Marquez writes in his biography, "Living to Tell the Tale," of how he never learned to spell -- ever. (A difficulty with spelling is typical of a Montessori education in a non-phonetic language.)

I do not condone ignorance by those with a choice. There are many who just never learned to write. But the Blues are not subject to spell check. Nor are poetry, prose, and Bob Dylan lyrics.

The Microsoft Sentence Stasi should be recognized for it's heinous flattening of the robust consciousness of language; for it's violence against the potential variable character of every written construction. Word Perfect - and the name itself should send one groping for an air sickness bag - should be banished for suggesting and pushing sentences onto paper as polished and sterile as something spoken on a medical TV show written and taped in university theater in Ohio. Is this device now become John Fay's Monster?

Business doth not thereby prosper. Children do not expand intellectually. My mind becomes a leaden weight that watches for discolored text and I know not. I think even less.

Help me write badly, thus defined.

I don't
           know
         how
       to
     ignore it
here.