Back in 1995, Molson Brewing Company held a concert in Tuktoyuktuk, Iceland called the Polar Beach Party.  The show feature a great lineup of bands and it sounded like it would be an amazing trip, but it wasn’t easy to get to the show and it just didn’t happen for me.  However, it registered in my mind so that years later when another beer company, Rolling Rock, decided to sponsor their own concert in Latrobe, PA I knew I wanted to go.  Better still, I knew someone who worked at a Rolling Rock distributor, so I asked her if she could get me tickets to the concert and in a few short days later I had them in my hand. This was yet another favor that I will probably remember for the rest of my life.

I certainly didn’t expect the Latrobe concert to compare with the concert that went off in Iceland, but it didn’t require time off from work and there were several major acts that I really liked, including the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Moby, Filter, and Our Lady Peace.  I had four tickets, so I invited my friends, Pat and Mike, and my sister Ellen.  We shopped around for the best (i.e., cheapest) way there and ended up ruling out plane, train, and bus, which really only left us with driving down ourselves.  We decided to rent a car we could all fit in comfortably and drive down together, but two days before the show, Ellen and Mike dropped out and all was lost.  I was disappointed to miss the show, but I managed to convince myself that it probably wasn’t going to be that good anyway.

I called Pat and broke the news to him: the show was off.  I was disappointed and a little angry, so I wasn’t thinking clearly until Pat asked if he could still have his ticket.  He said that he’d drive down in his car, and if I didn’t want to go, he’d still go it alone.  I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t even considered any other possibility.  I allowed my disappointment over a little setback from what I considered the ideal situation to blind me from realizing there were other possibile scenarios.  I told Pat he could certainly have his ticket, but that I wasn’t going to let him drive 1100 miles round-trip alone.  I was going, too, and I wanted to help with the driving.  He was happy, I was happy, and now our trip was back on.

We packed up and left Friday after work and drove all night, through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and Pennsylvania.  Pat drove the whole way down, but I stayed up all night and kept him company.  Even at night, but especially at sunrise, Pennsylvania was gorgeous, covered with lush, green woods, and long winding roads up, down, and even through mountains.  I remember one thing in particular Pat said, because I felt the same way. After remarking how beautiful Pennsylvania was, he said that he wouldn’t mind living there, but that he could never live too far from the ocean.  Neither of us surf, own boats, or fish much, and the last place you would find me would be frying myself on the beach, but there’s just something comforting about the ocean. To me, looking out over the water is like looking out into the stars.  It makes me feel tiny and yet connected to everything all at once.  There’s just something comforting about the ocean.  When I was first driving and wanted to explore the highways and back roads of Massachusetts and New Hampshire, I always knew I could just head east until I hit the ocean and then find my way home from there.

We arrived just outside of Latrobe at about 6am and stopped into an IHOP for what seemed like the best breakfast we had ever had.  The restaurant was pretty busy for that time of morning, but we were probably the only non-locals there. Most people were ordinary folk, probably with ordinary jobs, but to us it was like another world: a place where people raised livestock and grew food on land where we could only marginally grow grass.  It may seem like a silly thing to be in awe of a farmer, but that’s really the only way I can describe it.  I could just as easily dismiss it as the results of a long, sleep-deprived night, but that morning just felt special, so we treated it and everyone around us with a kind of reverence that continued for the rest of the weekend.  And, just by treating it special, we made it special.

We drove on to Latrobe and down to the fairgrounds to get a good look at the venue.  The Rolling Rock Town Fair is held on a massive fairgrounds with what appears to be a fully working farm.  There were throngs of people everywhere and we could see buses shuttling people to and from the satellite lots, so we double-backed and parked at one of the satellite lots, really just an open grassy field.  Pat and I hung out at the car for a few hours, took some pictures, drank some beers, and bought what has turned into a contest for the wildest tie-dye concert t-shirt.

At the show, the bands were fantastic and the crowd was wild.  The temperature began to rise, so the concert organizers set up pump trucks to spray the crowds with water.  Where there’s water and dirt, there’s mud, so before long we started seeing what can only be described as the “mud people:” men and women covered from head to toe in mud.  I’ve seen the mud people reemerge at several concerts since then, and I knew friends who were present both at Green Day’s free concert at the Hatch Shell in Boston and at Woodstock II. During both Green Day concerts, clumps of mud and ripped up turf were hurled at the band, but here in Latrobe the mud people weren’t out of control; they were just happy to be cool and covered in mud.  I guess you can even learn from a pig.

Another surreal moment occurred after the concert let out.  We headed to the nearest motel for some long needed sleep and on the drive out of Latrobe, we passed a farm where we witnessed the largest gathering of fireflies I could ever imagine.  They were glowing and blinking all around the car and out across the grassy hill in every direction as far as our weary eyes could see.  I had seen fireflies many times before and since this night, and I don’t think it was simply the sheer numbers of them glowing and dancing as the evening sun began to set that made it so memorable.  I think it was because I felt that this time they were blinking just for us.  They were blinking, “Thank you for coming.  Have a safe drive home.  Come again!”

We awoke early Sunday morning, checked out of the motel, and set out on the open road for the long drive back home, satisfied that the trip was well worth it.  We had spent our time well.  The drive home was just as long as the drive down, but we got to see more of Pennsylvania in the daylight than we could make out in the dark before the sun had come up.  It was just as beautiful as it was on the drive down.

We’ve gone to the Rolling Rock Town Fair several times since then, always driving down and always staying at the same hotel that gave us comfort on the first trip.  A couple times, I drove, and even one time, Ellen and Mike made the trip with us.  The show has grown in the years since the first Town Fair and Rolling Rock even moved to Heinz Field for a year, greatly underestimating the allure of the fairground venue, but none of the shows could possibly compare with my memories of the the first.  And to think, if Pat had been as defeated as I had been, I wouldn’t have ever even gone.

"Remember that your failures are the seeds of your most glorious successes. Be sad if you must, but don’t despair.”
Source Unknown

I’ve been fascinated with computers ever since the first time I touched a keyboard.  My sister, Ellen, who has introduced me to so many things in my life is also responsible for introducing me to computers.  I was ten years old and in the sixth grade and Ellen was nineteen and in college.  We were worlds apart, but she still took the time to spend a day with me.

We took the train and then a shuttle bus to her college campus in Boston and walked around for a while before she brought me to the computer lab.  The lab seemed huge to me and was filled with college students busily clicking away. Ellen sat me at one of the Digital VT terminals and logged me in. There wasn’t much to do, but there were several text-based games to keep me entertained while she tended to whatever work she had. I also remember printing out large sheets of ASCII graphics (where simple keyboard characters are used to form a giant picture when viewed at a distance) and taking them with us; one was of Snoopy sitting on his dog house as the Red Baron.  That certainly wasn’t the only thing I took away from that day.  I was hooked on computers.

When my father bought our family’s first computer, a Kaypro II, I quickly mastered everything that came with it.  I learned CP/M, WordStar, The Word Plus, Perfect Writer, and Perfect Calc.  Then I set my mind on tackling Basic.  I read as much as I could from books that I had borrowed from the library, carefully keying in sample programs, and analyzing their results.  I heavily modified early basic programs like Eliza, the computer psychiatrist, and Vampire, an adventure game before I moved on to making my own programs.  I spent hours at a time, punching away at the keyboard.

I moved on to newer and better computer systems and mastered all I could with those, too.  I eventually got into modems and ended up running a very successful Commodore Bulletin Board System (BBS), the precursor of today’s web sites.  So, by the time I had my first chance to use the internet in 1992, I thought I knew what to expect.  I knew about faster speeds, multi-user access, and simple-to-use protocols.  What I really wasn’t expecting was the profound impact it would eventually have on the world in general.  I always laugh when I discover how little some people realize the ways the internet has already changed our lives and some of the ways it will likely continue to change them.

My first internet encounter was through a software protocol called Gopher. The interface wasn’t graphics based like the modern web browser, but had a very simple way of organizing data into menus.  I remember scrolling through different Gopher sites and selecting options which led to new sites and new options when I stumbled across the DNA Bank of Japan.

The previous night, I had watched the move Lorenzo’s Oil with Nick Nolte and Susan Sarandon.  It’s an interesting, albeit fairly melodramatic, true story of a couple who had devoted their lives to finding a cure for their son’s disease. Their son, Lorenzo, suffered from a degenerative nerve disorder and the doctors had written him off as a lost cause.  The parents researched medical journals, library materials, and scientific papers, learning everything they could about the disease and possible treatments.  Over time, they would become more knowledgeable about the disorder than most doctors and eventually helped to develop a treatment.

What struck me about the movie was how difficult these people’s task was.  They had as much difficulty tracking down the information as they did in comprehending its meaning.  They spent many hours in the library, attended conferences, and met with researches. Even when they discovered what could very well be their son’s life saving medicine, they had to locate a scientist who had researched the chemical composition of the fatty acids to be able to produce their cure.  They literally spent years of their lives collecting and organizing information.

My first search in the DNA Bank of Japan was for the fatty acids they had repeatedly discussed in the film.  Almost instantaneously, I was looking at its chemical structure.  There were links to even more information.  Although I wasn’t sure that what I was looking at was the exact information that Lorenzo’s father had spent so much time researching, it had significance to me.  I realized the power of the internet.  The internet bridges the divide: the divide between people and information.  I’d eventually experience how it bridges the divide between people and other people, and even between information and other information.

The internet is home to some great people who have embraced the new frontier and provide valuable or interesting information, usually for free.  Although some operators request payment for an expanded newsletter, access to their archives, early releases, posting ability, ad-free content, or simply because they hope you will find worth in what they provide, the cost sometimes only covers their expenses and provides them with an incentive to continue.  When you find a free web site or newsletter that you particularly enjoy, definitely consider becoming a full member and making their efforts worthwhile.

One person who provides a great web site and newsletter is Fred Langa from http://www.langa.com.  Fred is a freelance author for InformationWeek and has been a writer and editor for over 25 years, is very knowledgeable, and a heck of a nice guy.  The couple times I’ve emailed him a contribution to his newsletter, he’s emailed me back directly.  My father has also received response from Fred in reference to some emails he had sent about configuring his PC.  Although I’m sure Fred can’t and wouldn’t respond to every email he gets, it’s nice to see that he makes any effort at all.

Fred’s web site is packed with useful and insightful information about computer installations, usage, maintenance, repair, and upkeep.  He has tips on software, hardware, and networks.  It’s a great place to look to whenever you have a computer problem or need some good advice.  Fred also provides a free newsletter that arrives twice-a-week, containing useful information and Fred won’t sell your email address.  And, if you pay for the inexpensive Plus Edition of his newsletter, Fred donates a portion of the proceeds to charity.  Fred is one of Deezle.com’s heroes.

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”
Winston Churchill

Some years ago, I shared an apartment with a friend, Mike. Mike and I had a lot in common and were good friends, so becoming roommates seemed like a good fit and that turned out to be the case. One of the things we enjoyed was watching movies at home or at the cinema. At the time, I was an avid listener of a Boston radio station that regularly offered free sneak preview movie passes for calling into the radio station’s contest line. They offered enough tickets to fill the entire theater, and the contest was usually held on the day of the showing, so my odds at winning a pair of passes were pretty good.

It seemed they offered tickets every week, so every week Mike and I saw a new movie for free. The movie cinemas varied and were usually smaller locales than the thirty theater multiplexes we usually attended, so in addition to seeing some good movies, we got a good education on the excellent theaters of Boston. We’d usually have to head out to the theater immediately after work to take the train into town, transfer to a couple different train lines, and walk a few blocks and still arrive at the theater in time. Sometimes the adventure of the trip was more exciting than some of the movies we had seen.

As I said previously, the free preview was usually held at small venues, so we were surprised when a particular movie was held at large cineplex in Cleveland Circle. We were even more surprised to arrive at the theater and find the entire lobby packed with people waiting for the showing. We had arrived pretty close to the designated time, so we had to stand pretty near the back of the crowd. To make matters worse, this particular theater required the radio station to hand out individual tickets to the contest winners which in turn had to be collected at the entrance to the theater.

I had never seen such a packed theater lobby and began to grumble that it would take an hour for us to just get to our seats. Soon, an announcement was made that they were going to start admitting people. Mike and I both took our places in line, if you could call standing in the mob truly waiting in line. Suddenly, the crowd started to move forward and we could see a steady stream of people being admitted to the theater. I nudged Mike and said that the owners must have decided that it was a better idea to just admit everyone, rather than attempt to collect all the tickets from the crowd.

We continued to move forward toward the entrance, as the lobby emptied. When we reached the velvet rope gate, I was surprised to find that an attendant was in fact present, collecting the tickets. He stood firm in front of the crowd, with both hands outstretched, taking tickets from people to his left and his right. More, surprising than merely collecting the tickets was that he was actually separating the stubs and returning them to each patron. He accomplished all this, without missing a beat, by grasping the ticket between his two forefingers and thump, snapping it to separate the two parts, collecting the receipt in the palm of his hand, and returning the stub between his thumb and index finger. His fingers snapped constantly and consistently as he set about his business until the entire lobby was processed and had entered the theater in a matter of minutes.

Several things struck me about this young man. He executed his job gracefully and efficiently. His movements had the rhythm and flow of a percussionist in a salsa band. He was faced with a difficult situation in front of a large crowd and stood his ground. I’ve seen smaller crowds cause terrible destruction and mayhem if provoked or left unchecked. He took a thankless job that many people may even consider beneath their consideration, added his own flair, and improved upon it. I’ve wondered if this snapping technique was something he invented himself or was taught by some ticket-taking guru under whose tutelage theater employees advance out from behind the concession stand. Although, I suspect he was self-taught, because I’ve never seen this performance repeated anywhere else in all my years of attending concerts, movies, sporting events, amusement parks, and haunted houses.

Although I may never know his name and doubt he still works at the Cleveland Circle cinema all these years later, I think he deserves recognition and admiration. I’ve often thought of his example, usually when I encounter a retail employee who looks less thrilled in receiving my money as I feel in handing it over. I know there are a lot of difficult, thankless, and tedious jobs that people nonetheless have to show up for and perform daily, but that’s not sufficient reason to fail to take some pride in those jobs. I also know that people who do take pride in their work, who respect what they do and expect the same from others, usually succeed in whatever job they perform. And, I don’t think that’s a coincidence at all.

"Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well.”
Lord Chesterfield