In our last vocation-related episode, Our Hero was engaged, for six weeks, as a contractor.

A bit more than 18 months later, the supervisor took him aside, called him a Damfool, and told him, "You've done all the work! I have to roll you off the project because you left nothing to do." That was June 1911. He went on unemployment and waited for a phone call.

Fast-forward to March 2012 (and a change from third- to first-person). One morning I received a call from an old friend, with whom I had worked well with before. He had a position in which he thought I would do very well. Several hours later, I received a call from my head-hunter/agent, giving me the details of another opportunity. Nothing for nine months, then two in one day. I thought it over; which one should I take? Each offered attractive work; I could use public transportation to get there; the money recognized that I had spent around 30 years honing my skills.

When I got up the next morning, I made four phone calls. One to my old friend, with a grateful and — hopefully — graceful message declining the position. The next one was to my head-hunter/agent, whom I had known since 1968, giving her the same news. Over the course of the evening and night, I realized I really did not want to go back to work, regardless of the fact of two interesting, well-paying opportunities. My financial advisor had been telling me for three years that I did not have to work if I didn't want to.

Four phone calls; two accounted for. The third call was to the Department of Labor, asking that I be taken off the unemployment list. I look at it this way: unemployment benefits are designed to keep you and your family afloat while you look for work. I was no longer looking for work. I no longer qualified.

The fourth call: Social Security. I was 65; I'd been making my Social Security payments since 1964. Now it's my turn to receive return on investment. Entitlement? I think not! I've paid for this, and now I presented the invoice.

To quote Donovan, "So here I sit, the retired writer in the sun."
To quote MacDonald's (no, I do not eat there; it's been over a decade — and that was under duress), "I'm lovin' it!"

More to come ——— sometime. Perhaps soon. Thanks for the comments.

From Sunday to Wednesday, SJ and I have been on retreat to Chapel House on the campus of Colgate, in Hamilton NY.

I was there before (sometime in Bicentennial); SJ had never visited.

In some ways, I had difficulty with Hamilton NY. I had a friend at university who grew up there. She made a mistake with one Colgate Greek-boy; word got around that she was a "goer". Abuse occurred.

I had no difficulty with Chapel House. The rules include quiet time between meals (8 a.m., noon, 6 p.m.); this allows visitors to contemplate without interruption. The house provides a wonderful Religion Library (not religious? I have no idea how a library could be religious), a seriously diverse music collection (I heard Balinese gamilan music which was new to me—this does not denigrate "Music from the Morning of the World"; it merely expands my experience — and a marvelous collection of art and sculpture throughout the building.

During the time when interaction was appropriate, the residence supervisor, who also served as cook, provided SJ and I with delicious, filling, and — as a cook — challenging dishes. All were vegetarian. For this toothless old man, most were able to be consumed. But her culinary creations paled when we began to interact. I know some Old Hippies (not former — old), but — of those with whom I can still interact — few who are able to carry on discussions on the level we enjoyed during meals. (He: "Do you know the group The Fugs?" She: "Of course, Ed Sanders was a genius." Another scene. She "When I was in Iowa, I went to see a Jethro Tull concert. The audience was rude to the opening act, Toots and the Maytals." These are incomplete and inadequate examples. I hope you understand my meaning. I did not expect to find someone with whom I had shared experiences, attitudes, and vibes; I was surprised in the best way possible.

Returning to my impression of Hamilton: Bonnie, I recognize that your hurt was severe; I know that you have had difficultly getting over the facial scars inflicted by a dog when you were seven; I know that you were trying to find a way to acquire affection. Bonnie, now I understand your life. Bonnie, I am sorry that I never got a chance to tell you this before the bee stung you and you died before an ambulance could get there.

OK, so enough soul-bearing today. It's been years since I posted this kind of self-exposure, but I needed to tonight (this morning, if you want to get picky).

Just in case you feel there is just no point to going on if you can't find an illustrated catalog of cotton machinery for Uncle Jared, Project Gutenberg comes to the rescue. Here's the link:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38301

Yes, it's weak, but there were two Christmas parties tonight (including one with a company I didn't think I worked for anymore) and, when I got home, there was an urgent request for a website setup. It needed to be done tomorrow, when the Google ad people might start clicking on the link; the client did not want them to get a 404. I understand that. But why wait until Thursday at 5 p.m. to tell me about it? Fortunately, at both parties I adhered to the principle that Grendel, alcoholic beverages, and bosses are an extremely dangerous combination.

Which reminds me of a Fark-like occurrence I heard of yesterday. A man in Florida was arrested for driving while intoxicated. His BAC was more than twice the legal limit. His t-shirt read:
I am not an alcoholic. I am a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings. Florida ... *sigh* *shrug*

This is what I want to be if I grow up:
http://www.flickspire.com/m/share_this/ChangeForADollar#.Tuf_lsBGmwc.facebook

With Fukushima children stranded in radioactive areas, spending $30 million on whalers' security is an absurd injustice. Let's raise a global outcry to stand with disaster victims and end the senseless butchery of whales now! Send the email below to friends and family, and post this campaign on your Facebook wall.

http://www.avaaz.org/en/japan_disaster_funds_whaling_c/?tta

On Luxembourg (January 1974): Pearl Mesta wasn't sent to Luxembourg because she had big bosoms. Pearl Mesta went to Luxembourg because she made a good contribution. But may I say she was a very good ambassador in Luxembourg....Luxembourg is important because it is a good place to put a woman who is attractive and likes to be in the social stage in Europe.

On ambassadorial quotas: I wanted two black ambassadors appointed, not to black countries, where they had always been before, but to white countries where they would be accepted. I asked for two Latin Americans, Mexicans, for example, or some Latin Americans who were living in the United States and had become citizens of the United States. I asked for at least two Italians. We had some; we should have more. I also asked for representatives, for
one or two who might be of Polish background.

On career high-level State Department employees: As far as career ambassadors, most of them are a bunch of eunuchs, and I don't mean that in a physical sense, but I meant it in an emotional sense, in a mental sense.

On seeing a despised colleague enter the faculty dining room: "May they cook him a mouse!"
"May all your teeth fall out the day before Thanksgiving”
"May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, And may the High King of Glory permit her to get the mange."

Most of these are from an article by Esther Hecht (a CELmate) in the San Diego Union-Tribute on April 1, 2004.
"May your liver come out of your nostrils piece by piece," ;
"May you be like a lamp: hang by day, burn by night and be snuffed out in the morning."
"May you every day eat chopped liver with onions, herring, chicken soup with matzo balls, carp with horseradish, roast beef with tsimmes (a sweet side dish), pancakes, and tea with lemon -- and may you choke on every bite."
"May the only thing anyone ever writes you be a prescription."
"May you own a hundred houses, and each house have 100 rooms, and each room have 100 beds -- and may cholera throw you from bed to bed to bed!"
"May your bones be broken as often as the Ten Commandments"
"May you have Pharaoh's curses decorated with Job's boils."
"May you be healthy and tough as iron, so much so that you cannot bend over."

And, saving the worst for last, Esther passes along this:
"May you have the juiciest goose, but no teeth; the best wine, but no sense of taste; the most beautiful wife, but no virility."

Well, it's December 13. You knew that, of course; but what you did know was that I now have a self-inflicted deadline of one month before I declare myself "retired".

As I continue to seek employment, I graze the Internet and intend (not promise; this is a Careful Diction Day) to use this as a place to record things which I find interesting. The process, if carried out, will continue even after I accept the fact that the market is not exactly acting like suburban housewives at Wal*Mart on "Black Friday" to hire a 65-year-old technical writer with 43 years experience, whose expertise is translating technical documents written by people for whom English is an "acquired language" (for many, not even the third such; how many languages to _you_ speak?), and who demands a Very High Price for such translation, especially as employers usually require use of a particular operating system using a particular word processing program. Neither the OS nor the program can be found on my Top 50 list; the Top 500, maybe. Should you want me to work from home using InDesign on OS X, you'll find my rate extraordinarily reasonable, comparable to a competent Executive Assistant in a Fortune 500 firm. Otherwise, haul out your checkbook!

Let the archiving begin!

Steve Jobs has joined The Greats Who Have Left Us. He leaves an indelible mark on our cultural history. He founded a religion based on the idea that "You shouldn't need an advanced degree to operate this powerful machine". For that alone, he deserves reverence.

I met Steve at an educational computing consortium during the mid-1980s. He was Steve Jobs; I was the "Blue-Sky Boy" at the New York State Education Department. I had been a music critic at a newspaper, so I was not so overwhelmed as I might have been: I had talked to John Lennon, Billy Joel, Peter Gabriel, Jesse Colin Young, and others. We chatted. I got the distinct impression that his primary interest in the conversation was "What can you do for me?" This attitude has never impressed me. Had it been "What can we do together?", perhaps I would have had a different opinion of the man. Despite that (or perhaps because of it), he has changed the course of human intellectual history by his vision. (I regret now that I did not make a similar acknowledgment when Michael Hart, founder of Project Gutenberg and inventor of the e-book, died.)

Let's look at the Big Three from Silicon Valley. Of course, there is Jobs; of course, there is BIll Gates; but many people forget there is also Larry Ellison, founder of Oracle. Same place, same general time frame. When we merely looked at machines and operating systems, Jobs won hands down. But let's look at a wider, more humanitarian view. Is there a Jobs foundation? No, but there is a Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. OK, perhaps it should be the Milinda and Bill, but nonetheless such a foundation exists. What did Steve champion? It's not clear. Perhaps he followed George Steinbrenner's maxim that "if you tell people you're giving, you're doing it for the wrong reasons". I hope so. But it is not clear. What about Larry? Well, the best I can determine is that he is supporting a lot (a lot!!!) of research into cryogenics, so that when his last day occurs, he can be frozen -- and brought back when we figure out how.

Well, Steve put a lot of power into our hands. The IT people have managed to wrest it back, but we still have it at home, if not at the workplace. Bill and Larry have significantly improved our ability to manipulate and understand data trends in the workplace, but Bill is also fighting hunger, AIDS, and poverty across the globe. I wait to see what Larry and Steve are doing -- or will do.

So, the final thought: Thank you, Steve, for giving me the power to post pictures, listen to sound (there's never been a Mac without a sound chip), and design documents using good (or horrendous) typography (but what I wanted). Your place in cultural history is secure. I hope that your place in humanitarian security is as great; we may never know, by the Steinbrenner principal.