Focus, Daniel-san

Words to live by, from Karate Kid sensei Mr. Miyagi. Haiku are a great device to concentrate the mind--there's nothing worth saying that can't be said in 17 syllables. If legislative bills and budgets had to be submitted in haiku form, just think. When longtime station friend, singer and songwriter Dan(iel-san) Berggren, sent in a few haiku for the season--(here's one):

platoon of bluejays
makes the neighborhood aware
hunger is constant

I thought I would give you all haiku homework for the Thanksgiving break. Send in one or more contributions matching the conventional pattern:

seventeen word-bits,
lines of five, seven, and five:
haiku-shaped object

Speed the Day

You may not have noticed, but the world of the web taken as a whole, kind of--now how shall I put this?--sucks. It rants and beeps and pops. It flashes funky parts of its anatomy. It's badly-written, misspelled, ugly and erroneous. It costs too much, takes too long, talks too loud, and seizes up when you look at it cross-eyed.

One of the best things to come out of my web conference in Toronto was a renewed determination to stake out a reliable, well-defined, useful and useable public place within the hallucinogenic maelstrom that is the Internet. A place that, in the words of CBC.ca's Claude Galipeau, will address the visitor "as a citizen, and not as a consumer." NCPR plans to work with PBS, NPR and others on a search engine tool that will treat this public space as a unified whole. Users will be able to search sources they trust without wading through pages of results from the Raelian Space Academy, anonymous Transylvanian bloggers, MTV chatroom transcripts, and Bangkok porn sites. Soon Lord, make it soon.

From Mini-Me

Yesterday I fled the country, bound for a web-wizard hobnob in Toronto. This will be my opportunity to compare ViaRail with Amtrak service, and NPR with CBC. Anyone who has lived along the border knows that CBC has a lot to offer in the way of public media. Part of my mission will be to try and rustle up a little friendly collaboration. But through the wonder of advanced bogotronics, I was able to leave Mini-Me behind to complete this mailing and tomorrow's posting of The Driveway Diaries. Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

Getting Out More

It's nice every now and then to leave the cyberbubble and strip off the virtual-reality goggles and gloves, even at the cost of one's Matrix-like superpowers. But a flamenco concert is best experienced in person. The guitarist physically whacks, taps and plucks on gut and rosewood. The dancer has no wire harness. Little puffs of dust rise when she stamps her feet; you can hear her breathe. And the drum machine is made of meat. Sorry if you couldn't make it--we have brought home as much of it as we could for you to share in the UpNorth Concert Hall (see below). The leftovers are pretty good--but are still leftovers. You'll have to make the outing next time. It'll be good for you.