Where is that Basketball when you need it?

So the big rap was always that we are being watched. That GPS tracks our every move and that we have satellites that can zoom down and find you playing basketball and could even tell you what kind of basketball you are playing with. Big Brother is everywhere. Just look at Google maps where the picture of your destination flares up in your phone. Wow. We really have mapped every inch of the planet. Just don't misplace your plane.

Now a Boeing 777 is not small. We can not fit it in our garage or our backyard. Maybe a football field. Yet we have misplaced our jet. You know the  jet that disappeared and everyone thought fell into the ocean and now it turns out it continued flying for seven hours but no one saw it. And no one knows where it went. So while you and I can find Jacks Dairy Queen in the middle of Wisconsin and even see what Jacks Dairy Queen looks like nobody can seem to find a plane with 239 people on board.

So what we are saying that even with  a satellite above at 25,000 miles that the best we can do is transfix a ping. But GPS or radar or the vaunted Google Big Brother Eye...ah no. Nope. Sorry we just don't know where that big mother went. So where is the GPS? Sorry switched off. Oh ok. And after that it's just anyones' guess. I don't know about you but I am going to shoot hoops now feeling much more secure that me and my basketball are anonymous once more.

Oh...it's a Wilson by the way.

www.williamhazelgrove.com
The Pitcher...sometimes a dream is all you have

One Milllion Gigabytes

A  million gigs is what the human brain has. And yet we give ourselves over to these paltry computers with their one  hundred gigs or even worse some GPS that is barely functioning with the slowed time of civilian map questing. It is amazing that we always assume computers know better when many times they steer us wrong. How many times have you ended up in some cornfield looking for that festival that was supposed to be right there but the computer mixed up Canal Street with Canal Avenue. It happens.

Or just in our day to day. My son spilled some paint and I told him he had to clean it up. He googled how to clean paint off a cement floor thinking the answer lay there. When the answer didn't come he looked at me and I said well how would you clean it up. The blank stare. Making it up as you go is not a logarithm he is familiar with. Finally though some experimentation with shovels and drop cloths and gasoline he cleaned it up.

But we give ourselves over too easily to the plastic machine. I saw a man whose job was to hold up a placard saying five dollar special to join a health club. He had his sign under his arm and his phone up looking for that next text or email to bail him out of the fact he was working for less than minimum wage by the highway. Sadly, he should know his salvation is not in the little device in his hand that a million other people hold looking for the same answers.

It is in his head. In that million gigabytes God gave him. The only real super computer.

www.williamhazelgrove.com
The PItcher...Sometimes a Dream is all you have