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		<title>FlattLand - not much, always something, the personal weblog of Charles Flatt</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php</link>
		<description><![CDATA[copyright © 2005-2006 Charles L Flatt]]></description>
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				<rdf:li resource="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080709-213029" />
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				<rdf:li resource="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080520-212518" />
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080821-071458">
		<title>House Gravity Well</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080821-071458</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Where have I been?  Some of you know, I purchased a house last month, and am pretty busy getting it ready for moving in to.  I expect to assume a stable orbit in September.  <br /><br />Oh, if anyone hears of <a href="http://softwaremeadows.com/" target="_blank" >any work </a>for me, it&#039;d be nice to, you know, pay for this new domicile.]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080725-181426">
		<title>Randy Pausch Dead</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080725-181426</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Several months ago I came across Randy Pausch&#039;s time management lecture, and read about his now-famous Last Lecture.  Since then, Prof. Pausch has been in the news quite a bit, since his lectures had a special context: he had been diagnosed several months earlier with incurable cancer.<br /><br />Prof. Pausch achieved, in my opinion, what very few people do who present inspirational and motivational messages.  He wasn&#039;t fake.  He wasn&#039;t in it for the money.  He didn&#039;t lie.<br /><br />In fact, he would have--and did--say that he wasn&#039;t unusual, that lots of people were in his situation.  When faced with impending death, time management isn&#039;t a buzz phrase any more.  Achieving your dreams, balancing your life and your work, all take on urgency and clarity.<br /><br />I miss this man I never met.  I&#039;ll live my life better because of his example.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~pausch/" target="_blank" >Randy Pausch web site</a>  &lt;- difficult to access right now.<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RcYv5x6gZTA" >Carnegie Mellon University commencement speech</a><br /><a href="http://www.cs.virginia.edu/~robins/Randy/" >Dr. Gabriel Robins&#039; site about his friend</a>. &lt;- It was this site that first lead me to Prof. Pausch.]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080710-082841">
		<title>Wait a (Thousand) Moments</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080710-082841</link>
		<description><![CDATA[My spiffy new Fujitsu laptop has some special buttons that can be set to launch programs.  The utility for setting these lets me choose programs from the Start menu.  Here&#039;s a screenshot of it finding those Start menu programs.<br /><br /><img src="images/wait_a_moment.png" width="321" height="383" border="0" alt="" /><br /><br />#1  Why does this take so long?<br /><br />#2, and Far More Aggravating:<br />No matter how politely, don&#039;t ask me to wait a &quot;moment.&quot;  This is going to take longer than a moment.  If it&#039;s only going to take a moment, you don&#039;t have to tell me about it because I won&#039;t notice a moment going by.  If it&#039;s only going to take a moment, you don&#039;t have to create an entire screen with a <i>very long</i> progress bar.  Tell the truth.  This is going to take quite a while, isn&#039;t it?  I&#039;m going to curse you for how long this takes, aren&#039;t I?  You&#039;re going to make it very clear how something that <i>really should</i> take only a moment takes, in fact, nineteen seconds of my life and attention.  In those nineteen seconds, I may rethink my life&#039;s ambitions, consider a new career path, begin work on a fabulous opera, hunger for real Cordon Blue instead of the crappy frozen stuff from Stouffer&#039;s.<br /><br />Never mind that you don&#039;t show the utility on the task bar, making me minimize other windows to find it again.<br /><br />Or that you advise, like an ignorant illiterate, &quot;when a Application Panel is pressed,&quot; instead of &quot;when <i>an</i> Application Panel <i>button</i> is pressed.&quot;]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080709-213029">
		<title>Whistles of Death, and Other Stories</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080709-213029</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Here are a few links I enjoyed recently.<br /><br />First up, Aztec whistles.  This guy reproduces them, and the sound (click on Slideshow) is truly creepy.  In fact, it&#039;s scary.<br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/TECH/science/06/30/pre-columbiansounds.ap/index.html" target="_blank" >Aztec Whistles of Death</a><br /><br />Weddings are strange things.  This lively article reveals a few surprises.<br /><a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/LIVING/wayoflife/06/27/wedding.traditions/index.html" target="_blank" >Bizarre Origins of Wedding Traditions</a><br /><br />Finally, the web before the web.  This manual, cross-indexed information system was, in my opinion, far more impressive than today&#039;s world wide web.<br /><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/17/science/17mund.html?_r=2&amp;8dpc=&amp;pagewanted=all&amp;oref=slogin" target="_blank" >The Mundaneum Museum</a>]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080702-110318">
		<title>New Page: Funny Spam</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080702-110318</link>
		<description><![CDATA[I&#039;ve added a new page to my Links, <a href="http://flattland.com/static.php?page=questionable_spam_language" >Funny Spam</a>.]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080630-152714">
		<title>Prison Orchestra Inspiration</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080630-152714</link>
		<description><![CDATA[My brother sent me this article.  Inspiring!<br /><blockquote><b>Prison orchestras offer hope in Venezuela</b><br /><br /><a href="http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/06/22/america/journal.php" target="_blank" >http://www.iht.com/articles/2008/06/22/ ... ournal.php</a><br /><br />By Simon Romero<br />International Herald Tribune/The New York Times<br />Sunday, June 22, 2008<br /><br />LOS TEQUES, Venezuela: When Nurul Asyiqin Ahmad was delivered seven months ago to her cell at the National Institute for Feminine Orientation, a prison perched on a hill in this city of slums on the outskirts of Caracas, learning how to play Beethoven was one of the last things on her mind.<br /><br />&quot;The despair gripped me, like a nightmare had become my life,&quot; said Ahmad, 26, a shy law student from Malaysia who claims she is innocent of charges of trying to smuggle cocaine on a flight from Caracas to Paris. &quot;But when the music begins, I am lifted away from this place.&quot; Ahmad plays violin and sings in the prison&#039;s orchestra.<br /><br />In a project extending Venezuela&#039;s renowned system of youth orchestras to some of the most hardened prisons in the country, Ahmad and hundreds of other prisoners are learning a repertoire that includes Beethoven&#039;s Ninth Symphony, folk songs from the Venezuelan plains and Mercedes Sosa&#039;s classic lullaby &quot;Duerme Negrito.&quot;<br /><br />The budding musicians include murderers, kidnappers, thieves and, here at the women&#039;s prison, dozens of &quot;narcomulas,&quot; or drug mules, as small-scale drug smugglers are called. The project, which began a year ago, is expanding this year to five prisons in Venezuela from three.<br /><br />&quot;This is our attempt to achieve the humanization of prison life,&quot; said Kleiberth Lenin Mora, 32, a lawyer who helped create the prison orchestras, modeling them on the system that teaches tens of thousands of poor children in Venezuela classical music. &quot;We start with the simple idea that performing music lifts the human being to another level.&quot;<br /><br />Few nations have prison systems as much in need of humanizing as Venezuela, where 498 inmates out of a total population of 21,201 were murdered in 2007, according to the Venezuelan Prison Observatory, a group that monitors prison violence.<br /><br />The women&#039;s prison, the scene of gang fights and hunger strikes by inmates in recent months, is not immune to this violence. But it is not all bleak. Inmates have free access to the Internet. They can pay to use cellphones. A dispensary sells soft drinks and snack food.<br /><br />And now the prison, known as INOF, for its Spanish acronym, has its orchestra, which most of the more than 300 women incarcerated here opt to avoid. But the 40 or so who have joined find themselves enmeshed in an experience unexpected in their lives in or out of prison.<br /><br />&quot;Before this my music was reggaetón,&quot; said Irma González, 29, a street vendor serving a six-year sentence for robbery, referring to the fusion of reggae, hip hop and Latin pop that emanates from Venezuelan slums. Now she plays the double bass. Her proudest moment, she said, was when her four children, ages 14, 13, 10 and 9, recently came here to watch her play.<br /><br />&quot;When they applauded me, I finally felt useful in this life,&quot; González said, flashing an infectious smile that included a tongue-piercing offering a hint of past mischief. Like other participants, she hopes to reduce her term by playing in the orchestra, which judges may consider the equivalent of hours of study.<br /><br />Officials say it is too early to tell whether the project will improve overall conditions here and at the two male prisons where it started, in the Andean states of Mérida and Táchira. No stars have emerged like Gustavo Dudamel, the 27-year-old phenom from the youth orchestra system named as the next music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic.<br /><br />For now, the project, which receives $3 million from President Hugo Chávez&#039;s government and the Inter-American Development Bank, takes baby steps. It staged its first public performance last month in Teresa Carreńo Theater in Caracas. And it focuses on requiring its participants to hew to a few specific rules.<br /><br />For instance, no one can threaten the professors, many of whom are drawn from the youth orchestra system. Everyone must speak clearly during discussions in the daily practice sessions. Everyone must stand up straight and take care of their instruments. Smoking and chewing tobacco are not allowed.<br /><br />The orchestra at INOF (or &quot;enough&quot;) is one of the most cosmopolitan in Venezuela. Foreigners arrested on drug smuggling charges comprise much of prison population. Women from Colombia, Spain, Malaysia and the Netherlands play instruments or sing in the chorus alongside Venezuelans.<br /><br />&quot;I drain away by bad thoughts in the orchestra,&quot; said Joanny Aldana, 29, a viola player serving a nine-year sentence for kidnapping and auto theft. Like some of the other inmates, she is imprisoned here with her child, a 2-year-old daughter. Still, she despairs sometimes. &quot;There&#039;s the pain of my children, of having destroyed my life, my youth,&quot; she said.<br /><br />Perhaps no amount of music can make up for such loss. Perhaps that explains the fervor with which some of the women play their instruments or sing. It is not uncommon to see one of them shedding a tear when a certain note is struck.<br /><br />For Yusveisy Torrealba, 18, that moment comes when the orchestra&#039;s chorus sings a few words from &quot;Caramba,&quot; the folk song by the Venezuelan composer Otilio Galíndez performed with the cuatro, a four-string guitar. Torrealba, caught in April taking cocaine on a flight to Orlando, looks no older than 16.<br /><br />In her soft voice, she sang this refrain for a visitor one recent afternoon: &quot;Caramba, my love, caramba / The things we have lost / The gossip I could hear / Between the rocks of the river.&quot;<br /><br />&quot;Caramba,&quot; she repeated quietly, as if contemplating how much time remained in an eight-year sentence that began last month. &quot;The only thing keeping me together is this music.&quot;</blockquote>]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080526-063902">
		<title>Hah, Figured You Might Try Escapin&#039;</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080526-063902</link>
		<description><![CDATA[What&#039;s nice about my friends is they&#039;ll let me know what they think, without thinking less of me.  I had a couple of responses both on and off line to my <a href="http://flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080520-212518" >previous post</a>, and they were along the lines of &quot;what prompted this, and have you thought it through?&quot;  Jim Pendery began a conscientious exchange in his posted comment, making sure I wasn&#039;t losing perspective or becoming closed minded.  Jim&#039;s far-ranging interests, reading and abilities make him a Cincinnati--dare I say world-treasure.  Take a look at his <a href="http://www.danafinearts.com/Thumb%20pages/Painting%20thumbs.html" target="_blank" >mandala-nouveau-psychedelia-societal-celebratory art</a>.  Oh, and he paints <a href="http://www.danafinearts.com/Painting%20HTML%20Pages/Shady%20Grove.html" target="_blank" >landscapes</a>, too.  And this <a href="http://www.danafinearts.com/Painting%20HTML%20Pages/The%20Twenty-First%20Century.html" target="_blank" >lovely piece</a>.<br /><br />My friend Doug, in between taking me to school in pocket billiards the other night  (six ball run to win, sheesh!), engaged me in a thoughtful political discussion.  I don&#039;t talk much about politics or religion, and that trend shows in my web log.  Really, I don&#039;t write on this site in order to safely defend my viewpoints and pretend that the world would be so much better if everyone would just believe me.  I like to write about what&#039;s interesting in my life (not nearly enough), make you or me laugh, maybe get you thinking.  I love the quirkiness of us, our goofy actions.  <br /><br />To express is human.  To create art.  To love illusion.  Give us a solitary cell and a fingernail and we&#039;ll scratch our souls onto concrete.  We&#039;ll paint a forest with the water from our prison food.<br /><br />And love?  All animals love.  The complexity of our presentation of love, our ability to obscure love by chopping it to bits and throwing it along with selfishness, jealousy, and greed into our three-speed private blenders, those may be distinctly human.  But an iguana knows and shows love as well as we.  Probably better.  Simpler.<br /><br />Anyone recognize the source for this post&#039;s title?  It&#039;s from a Far Side, one of my all time favorites.  There&#039;s a western town, and a guy sitting on a horse, furiously trying to kick it into motion, and a sheriff looking at him, one hand on his hip, the other extended with something in it.  The caption reads, &quot;Hah!  Figured you might try escapin&#039;, Bert.  So I just took the liberty of removin&#039; your horse&#039;s brain.&quot;]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080520-212518">
		<title>Shameful Racism</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080520-212518</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Everyone&#039;s thinking it, and some are couching it politely, and I&#039;m going to say it right out.<br /><br />Senator Clinton won the racist vote in Virginia and Kentucky.<br /><br />While I&#039;m sure many voted for Clinton based on her policies, it&#039;s clear that most &quot;ain&#039;t gonna vote for no nigger.&quot;<br /><br />I&#039;m ashamed of these people.  They don&#039;t believe in America, in our Declaration, in our Constitution.  I can only hold out hope that they&#039;ll understand, soon, how much stronger we are together, united, a nation that brings out the best of its people no matter their heritage.<br /><br />Senator Obama is certainly getting his own racist vote, which is equally shameful.  We must move beyond this ridiculous prejudice.]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080514-220318">
		<title>Casual Speak Comedian</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080514-220318</link>
		<description><![CDATA[My mom sent me this wonderful YouTube video of a comedian parodying casual-speak.<br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCNIBV87wV4" target="_blank" >http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCNIBV87wV4</a>]]></description>
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	<item rdf:about="http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080513-151137">
		<title>The Revision Process 2 - Day 3</title>
		<link>http://www.flattland.com/index.php?entry=entry080513-151137</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Well, even if it&#039;s poor I have to write a draft that I can take to the meeting tonight.  This revision process has been different from the norm, in that I&#039;ve been struggling to even write something close to the finished product.  I&#039;ve mostly been writing the ideas, the themes, and that&#039;s not what makes powerful poetry.  A pretty good maxim is &quot;show, don&#039;t tell.&quot;  So, I&#039;ll start from what I wrote yesterday and get involved in the scene, show the details, be precise and honest.  Being honest in poetry means describing things exactly.  Not &quot;black as tar&quot; but &quot;black as burnt corn,&quot; or &quot;black as my grandfather&#039;s favorite soup spoon.&quot;<br /><hr /><br />She Tells Me At Lunch<br /><br />It&#039;s the little lies, she says, the daily paltering<br />like when said he spent my last paycheck on brakes<br />but instead got his bowling ball re-drilled.  He claims<br />I&#039;m still sexy in my old dresses.  He insists my steak<br />is as good as any fancy restaurant&#039;s.<br /><br />Last Sunday his eyes were somber as a bear&#039;s when he<br />asserted to the pastor that infidelity was a rotten sin.<br />He reminds me of a bear more and more, lumbering around in my<br />life, getting fat on my trust, hibernating in the cave<br />where I keep  my dreams.  He seems harmless until I<br />feel the weight of him, the fur and meat breath, each<br />day suffocating me a little more.<br /><br />These days, I watch TV with headphones on when he&#039;s home, the<br />portable set in the bedroom.  I pray to my drink that he&#039;ll<br />sleep on the couch.  I slip off my wedding ring that he said<br />was an heirloom, but that he bought from a buddy.  That he resized with pliers.  I turn it around and around, and finally drop it<br />in my glass where it seems so much bigger.  Magnified, almost<br />magnificent.<br /><br />There&#039;s his shout: a touchdown.  His team, the one with the the G,<br />is winning.  He&#039;ll claim to win the work betting pool, and buy me<br />new gloves as proof.  But I know they come from Goodwill.  Mrs.<br />Stanton tells me, when we meet at the grocery store.  She tells me while picking through beef cuts.  She likes to remind me that she<br />buried her own husband two years ago, and how peaceful he looked<br />in the casket.<br /><hr /><br />OK, so it&#039;s finally taking off a little.  Now I can work with what I&#039;ve written, remove stuff, move sentences around, get rid of lines that are awful and write more where it&#039;s needed.  The first stanza may go away.  I don&#039;t know if I need to even keep &quot;palter&quot;.  The title&#039;s a problem, because the last stanza doesn&#039;t fit the scene of lunch.  Keep telling the truth, that&#039;s what I say.<br /><hr /><br />She Tells Me<br /><br />Last Sunday his eyes were somber as a bear&#039;s when he asserted<br />to the pastor that infidelity is a rotten sin.  The women around<br />nodded, and his buddies fiddled with their programs.<br /><br />He reminds me of a bear more and more, getting fat on my trust,<br />hibernating through my middle-aged winter.  I hate the weight of him, the fur and meat breath, each day another suffocation.<br /><br />He said he spent my last paycheck on brakes, but instead got his bowling ball re-drilled.<br />He insists his mother would rather eat my steak than a restaurant&#039;s.<br />He claims I&#039;m still sexy in my old dresses.<br /><br />Sunday I watched TV with headphones on the portable set<br />in the bedroom, I prayed to my drink that he&#039;d sleep on the couch.<br />I slipped off my wedding ring that he said was an heirloom, that<br />he resized with pliers.  I dropped it in into my glass, and it seemed<br />so much bigger.  Magnified, almost magnificent.<br /><br />Mrs. Stanton told me it came from Goodwill.  She told me at the<br />grocery store while picking through beef cuts.<br />She likes to remind me that she buried her own husband two years ago,<br />and how peaceful he looked in the casket.<br /><hr /><br />Almost ready.  I have about ten minutes to polish it as well as I can.  Try some different line breaks.  Read it aloud, checking for musical problems.<br /><hr /><br />She Tells Me<br /><br />Last Sunday his eyes were somber as a bear&#039;s <br />when he asserted to the pastor that infidelity <br />is a rotten sin.  <br />The women around nodded, and his buddies <br />fiddled with their programs.<br /><br />He reminds me of a bear more and more, getting fat on my trust,<br />hibernating through my middle-aged winter.  <br />I hate the weight of him, <br />the fur and meat breath, each day another suffocation.<br /><br />He said he spent my last paycheck on brakes, but instead <br />got his bowling ball re-drilled.<br />He insists his mother would rather eat my steak <br />than a restaurant&#039;s.<br /><br />He claims I&#039;m still sexy in my old dresses.<br /><br />That Sunday I watched TV with headphones <br />on the portable set in the bedroom. I prayed to my drink <br />that he&#039;d sleep on the couch.<br />I slipped off my wedding ring that he pretended was an heirloom, <br />that he resized with pliers.  <br />I dropped it in into my glass, and it seemed so much <br />bigger.  Magnified, almost magnificent.<br /><br />Mrs. Stanton told me it came from Goodwill.  She told me <br />at the grocery store while picking through beef cuts.<br />She likes to remind me how she buried her own husband two years ago,<br />how peaceful he looked in the casket.]]></description>
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