Dear Diary, where's my Internet?

So at this point, we are in the apartment. I admit that I am writing this entry simply for myself, but others might find it an interesting story as well.

The fact is that today’s society lives via ones Internet connection. In this apartment, as I write this, we have three computers. None of them is on the Internet right now. All of our neighbors have unfortunately heard the rule about securing a wireless network. We have zero televisions. We have two radios, one of which is a personal (pocket-sized) unit. The other is almost continuously playing.

We have no land-line telephone service, but we have two cell phones. One can accept calls and text messages; one can browse the Internet, and receive e-mail. We have an aircard that is for corporate use only.

All I hear on the radio is “visit this site”, and “click on this”. The radio is full of commercials prompting us to visit a site for more information or to redeem a coupon. We can do neither without leaving our “home” or violating business ethics (which I refuse to do). In short, we are tantalized with a wider world that we cannot touch.

I was one of the first to embrace broadband download speeds. We were early adopters of VO-IP home services. Now I find us dealing with a month with curtailed horizons. It is the second full day in the apartment, and I have no idea how I survived for years without the perspective and information access we now demand as a normal course of life.

I’m writing this entry from a laptop with no connection. I have no idea when I will post it. Additionally, I have spent the last two hours working on a website in its offline mode. I can see it, but no one else can.

Understand that our plight is only a reminder. On Monday, when I return to work, I will recover my access to the world. I will look at stock, news, and weather updates in real-time. Until then, we are experiencing disorientation and frustration. For goodness sakes, my wife went to the library today just to find entertainment!

Am I being melodramatic? Yes, but for a purpose. We rely on technology so much today, that its lack leaves us in a state of confusion. We look at the phonebook on our doorsteps and wonder “Why do they print this?” The reality of the fragility of our situation is apparent.

In a world in which I can realize Internet access from a plane, mountaintop, and campground, what is left for the disconnected? A lack of intelligence and comprehension?

Good song on the radio, I’ll sign off now.

House and Home

As I sit here writing on the last night that I will sleep under this roof, I continue some reflection that started several months ago. Think about this question, then read through my story below: When does a home become a house, or a house become a home?

In April, we decided to buy a home that was being newly constructed. Being is a relative term, as it was actually a piece of cleared land without final county plat acceptance when we made the purchase. With the construction of the new home scheduled, our current home needed to sell.

In early May, the house I sit in today went on the market. We would work through a trio of offers over the subsequent eighty or so days, and would finally reach mutual acceptance in late July.

For me, when the building became a place of dollars, it transitioned from home to house. It was still the place that I slept, ate, played with my children, but it was different. Now upkeep was not primarily for our health and safety. Instead, all focus was on delivering a premium product to prospective buyers. The home of memories still existed, but its book was ending.

Deciding to sell the house was not easy. I brought both my children home from the hospital to this house. I had the rehearsal dinner for my wedding in the back yard. I have had great parties and lots of quiet reflection here. I moved away from my parents when we lived in this house, and then ended up buying it from them. I’ve lived, loved, laughed, and cried here…It was time to move on.

We bought our new home with only a floor plan as reference. We debated for a long time on the lack of reality. Was this the right thing to do? It was scary, buying something you had only seen on paper. And for me, it was worse, as I couldn’t even see the paper. (Denise would end up creating the floor plan in legos so I could conceptualize the layout.) We measured rooms in our current house to compare them to the dimensions on the plan. We walked the lot several times trying to see the building in place. We had made our decision, and the fact that it was not based on concrete fact scared us badly. The eventual building was not our home. It was a field of paper into which we had sunk money.

In mid-May we went to pick interior and exterior design options. Cabinets, paint, flooring, and brick were shown…Which didn’t help me much. Denise, however, started to see the plan come together. It had some element of reality now. We had a feeling of control.

In late May we had the opportunity to walk a similar, but certainly not exact, floor plan. Even this turned into a frustration, as we missed the model’s closing time by five minutes when we first tried to view it. The second try was much more successful, and for the first time we walked something like what we had bought. The floor plan was similar, and our immediate reaction was to critique the differences. One room in the model was halved by the inclusion of a tandem three-car garage. Obviously (think about it, we only need one car) this would be better in our house. Our lot was bigger. Our location was better…We were starting to defend our choice with a sense of ownership.

And we liked the layout!

And yet, for me, it still was not home. I count myself as being mentally homeless until just a week-and-a-half ago. Over the intervening period, the builder continued work on our new place. At the same time, a model of our floor plan was completed, and we were finally allowed to tour it in early August. With a few cosmetic and lot differences, this was our house. And we liked it!

Suddenly the new place, though we had barely seen the inside of the actual building, became home to me. It is the place that I now think of when I want to go home. It’s where I plan to watch my children grow, develop my life, and pull a lot of turkey out of the smoker. The neighborhood, the lot, and the building are the right place for me. The house, despite the fact that it isn’t finished, has become home.

Home is an emotional place. It is a place where you feel safe, wanted, happy, and loved. It can be a building, a state of being, or a social group. But it is something that you can tie yourself to and know that you are right for it, and it is right for you. Always remember that a house serves three purposes: It contains things, it invests money for the future, and it can serve as that anchor point that you call home. Mine…just isn’t finished being built yet.

A Note on Notes

Are you into music? I mean really, really into music? Do you hear a song and ache for it to go on to retain a feeling? Could you happily sit in front of speakers for hours listening with no other stimulation? If so, welcome to my world.

I have always loved music. Some of my earliest memories of childhood include singing (which I’m not good at) and attending concerts. For the record, my first was the Pointer Sisters, and no, I’m not exactly proud of that fact. It seems that my childhood was mostly spent listening to the radio, to tapes, and to the odd record.

As I’m sitting here on July 4th, 2010, I was thinking about the relevance of my existence during these times. Sounds deep? It wasn’t. You see, I am listening to classic concerts and regretting the fact that I couldn’t experience them. All of these bands that I love, and I can only relive their moments through digital replication. So of course I thought that I would have preferred to center my lifespan in a time when these concerts were created.

And then I realized that this course of thought was useless. No, not because I can’t change the passage of time, but because the span would be to vast. Would you like to sit with the Habsburgs listening to an original Handel? I would. Would you rather catch a studio performance of Lightnin’ Hopkins? I want to do both. How about sitting in a pew of Toronto’s Church of the Holy Trinity to catch the Cowboy Junkies? Could someone do all this on one stage, please?

I submit that one of the greatest advantages of modern technology is the availability of entertainment. Music, movies, and games all on demand and at our fingertips. I, for example, do not have the space for a full drum kit. Instead, I have a collapsible electronic kit which allows me to govern noise levels and footprint while still being able to create and enjoy. I have a MP3 player with which I carry thousands of my favorite songs in my pocket. They are ready for me to listen at my convenience.

In other words, while it is tempting to think of living earlier and enjoying a specific concert, I would rather live now with the facsimiles of everything ever recorded.

We live now in a time when so much music is being created. Popular and independent, bands, solo artists, and composers have more access to their art than at any other point in history. You and I get to take full advantage of the situation. We can create through access to instruments that are of a higher quality, and yet cheaper, than ever before, home-based recording and playback systems, and internet-based distribution methods. And for those that choose not to create, we can choose specific genres, artists, albums, or even songs to make up our personal on-access libraries.

Music is one of the purest and most accessible forms of artistic expression available. Enjoy it!

Hurrah for Morning People

I have always been a morning person. Even as a teen (when being a morning person makes you just about the strangest thing in the world) I woke up early. In fact, I routinely encountered unhappy parents that (though they were themselves morning people) could not take my extremism.

As I write this at 6:15 in the morning after reading the news and two chapters of a book, making coffee, checking e-mail, and a number of other things, I find myself thinking about what to do. The answer? A bit of creative writing.

So let’s look at the morning person. What traits does s/he display?
• Early-to-bed, early-to-rise.
• The ability to accurately describe a sunrise.
• The ability to awaken quickly, or so it seems.*
• Depending on the morning, a keen desire to:
o Keep the late sleepers sleeping. “Let them sleep, this quiet is nice!”
o Make as much noise as possible, because watching late-sleepers struggle with 8:00 AM is fun!
* -- In actuality the early morning person may take a long time to wake up. The difference is that they start waking up at 4:30, which is well-before anyone else cares.

For me, early morningism is easily identified. While I complain at times about wake-up calls, the truth is that I can not remember when I last slept past 7:00 AM. I routinely wake up before 5:30, with 4:30 and even 3:30 definitely within the realms of possibility.

The early wake ups are part of the key to my success, while also spelling my downfall. Being up at 5:00 in the morning means that I can accomplish a lot before the later risers even begin to stir. Early morning is my reading, researching, and cogitating time. By the time that I reach work, for example, I am updated on news, fully fueled (breakfast being a favorite meal), and brimming over with ideas.

On the other hand, asking me to a 10:00 PM showing of a movie is a mistake. Falling asleep is a probability bordering on certainty, no matter how engrossing the film. This, as can bee expected, makes a dent in socializing. “Hey, what’s up with that guy sleeping in the corner?” “Don’t worry about him; he’ll be up at 4:30 ready to start the party over again.”

It also, as I sit here thinking about it, will seriously impact my work with a band when I get to that point in my playing. How many places do you see advertising for live music starting at 4:30 PM? (Quaint Italian restaurants with violin players don’t count.)

A Possibly Interesting Study

I’m going to make a guess here. I hypothesize that, if we were to survey people across the U.S. that we would find those on the East coast are more likely to be late risers. Consequently, those on the Pacific coast (and probably in the mountain states as well) would end up being more likely to be morning people. And, in fact, I think I know what drives this phenomenon, but would ask an additional survey question to confirm:

Are you a fan of a televised sports team?

Why does this matter? Because fans of a east-coast team are much more likely to stay up and watch a game that is broadcast from the west coast. In short, our circadian rhythms are driven by live television schedules. Isn’t that disappointing?

Are their exceptions to this rule? Of course there are. Just as I am an extremist to one end of the morning people, there are extremists to the late people (I see them in the coffee shop at 6:00 AM as they get a good night cup). And between us is a whole mass of middle ground that I will call “normal people”. Enjoy your normalness, you make me just a little bit more quirky, and we all know that I need another oddity.

They're teaming up, I don't stand a chance!

Sometimes your kids make you cry. Sometimes they make you wonder. Sometimes they make you angrier than you thought you could get.

And then there is tonight.

The Leadup

To understand the end of this story, you have to be lead into the situation. It doesn’t make the story itself any less funny, but it definitely enhances the whole thing.

For the past couple of days, I’ve been on point for the kids. The wife is off in Vegas, apparently carousing late into the night and then wondering why she didn’t do the whole thing in her twenties. Yeah, like we did nothing entertaining.

Fortunately, I’m not alone in the sixty hours of daddy-duty. My own father has been released to come keep me sane and drive the car. After all, just because mommy’s out does not mean that the social calendar decreases.

Just what, you might ask, do we have going right now?
• Caelyn’s preschool
• My own schooling
• Maintain Jonah’s potty training
• Swim classes for both
• Ballet classes for Caelyn
• Selling a house

Honestly, it was that last one that frightened me the most. Have you ever tried to pull two young kids and two grown Labradors out of a house and keep them all entertained/corralled for an hour at a moment’s notice? You have? Great, try it while blind next time.

Anyway, it was a fun, but exhausting couple of days. When I wasn’t taking care of children needs, I was cleaning house. When I wasn’t cleaning house I was doing homework. When I wasn’t doing…You get the picture. Sleep was wonderful.

Fortunately, the children were marvelous today. They played independently quite well, and then transitioned to playing together. As I’m downstairs writing this, they have been upstairs playing together for two hours. Wear yourselves out, kids.

The Story?

My father has just left to head home. Mommy’s just about to land back at SeaTac. Things are still going well upstairs. I run up to see what they are doing, and they have a small tent set up in the master bedroom, with the entirety of my bedding stuffed inside. They are “camping”, I am informed.

Shortly there after, the boy runs down the stairs, and into the kitchen. After a minute or two, I follow. It’s possible that he’s scrounging for food.

Instead, I find a wet pair of pants and underwear on the floor, but no boy child. Picking up the offending clothing, I head for the laundry room, while calling out for him to meet me at the bathroom. That’s when I hear the patter of little feet streaking from behind the kitchen table, across the house, and back up the stairs.

Now the race is on. I drop the clothing, and give chase. The trouble is that I’m already behind the ball, and that kid is inhumanly fast for his age. I reach the master bedroom, where the girl child is sitting serenely on the stripped bed. She looks over at me and says, “I don’t know where he went.”

Inspiration strikes. Remember, I’m the parent here, I’ve played all these games in my own childhood. So I lift up the tent, and sure enough find a half-naked boy hiding under my comforter. It attempts to flee capture, but the game is over now.

Off we go to learn a quick lesson in the bathroom. He sits nicely on the toilet, which is my queue to dash for fresh clothing. I come back to an empty seat, so I walk back into the master bedroom. There’s the girl, sitting on the bed again, “I don’t know where he went…”

Such is life in the fast lane of parentdom. I laughed hard enough to cause tears, clothed my son, finished transferring the offending clothes to the washer, and dashed off this entry. Now I’ll go make hotdogs, as the natives are getting restless. I hear the drums beating, and fear for my life.

A Tribute to Radio

Do you remember sports broadcasts on the radio? They are less popular now, but when I was growing up we always had a radio on playing the ball game while we worked in the garage or yard. I grew up listening to hall of fame voices like Dave Niehaus, Pete Gross, and Kevin Calabro. These men were my interface with games that I could not see. They described the complex movements of an athletic event so I could “visualize” the game.

It may be years later, but I still remember these voices. Pete Gross has been gone for twenty years now, but I can still remember his high-pitched and slightly clipped tones. I have never since heard a football game called with the same quality. Pete, I miss you. You would bring me back to watching football.

Football, baseball, and basketball filled my early childhood sports quotient. Basketball in particular, however, I was never really interested in. Sure, there were some fantastic Sonics teams at the time, but basketball was never really my game of choice. It mostly filled the gap between football and baseball seasons.

And then, in 1992, I was introduced to a little game with sticks and pucks. Hockey quickly became a winter-time favorite, as I followed the local WHL affiliate. The Tacoma Rockets taught me the game of hockey, with all of its intricacies. It helped that the Rockets (an expansion team in 1991) were immediately successful, with some fantastic players. They kept my interest.

The Rockets had their own radio broadcast, complete with a notable voice. Adam Gordon’s ability to excite the radio audience was an immediate draw. Like the big three listed above, I never forgot how he called a goal. His voice was fairly plain, if a bit high and nasal, but when Adam got excited, everyone listening got excited.

Through my sister, and attendance at several games a season, I actually was able to meet Adam. In fact, I remember sitting in the press box (as much of one as there was in the Tacoma Dome) for a game or two. I was even allowed to wear the headset, and was interviewed by Adam on one game. For a young kid, excited about this amazing new sport, it was the ultimate experience.

Fast-forward to 2010. The Oilers were excluded from the playoffs for the fourth-straight year. In fact, they were at the bottom of the entire NHL. I am desperate for playoff hockey, and my dad has been talking about the Tricities Americans. The Americans, running on some great scouting, have been a fairly strong team for the past few years. This year they have a shot at taking the Western WHL championships due to a skillful set of forwards and solid goal keeping.

And so tonight I am sitting, listening to an Internet broadcast of Game 4 of the series between the Americans and Vancouver Giants. We’re currently between the second and third period, with the Americans up by a goal.

And I hear the voice! I recognized it right off, but at first I don’t believe my ears. Then, the head announcer mentions that he is working with Adam Gordon tonight, and I get the shivers. I haven’t heard the man’s voice in sixteen years, but he’s embedded in my mind. Despite listening to the understandably hall of fame Rod Phillips for years, Adam Gordon will always remain in his place as my hockey voice.

Good on you Adam for continuing to promote the game we both love through your ability to paint a picture with words.

Birthdays for Grownups

Birthdays. Most will remember their childhood birthdays as a time for parties, cake, and presents, just like I do. Sleepovers with friends, getting to specify your own special dinner (usually pizza), and a day of all-round fun. It helped that my birthday often fell on a holiday weekend, which just made things all that much better.

Now, however, birthdays are less of a time of celebration, and more of a time of contemplation and relaxation. Every once in a while the big party with friends is nice (my thirtieth, for example). Mostly, however, all I want is some quiet time, a cake, and a little pizza. Old habits do die hard.

So what does the good birthday look like to me? This latest one could not be any more idyllic.

Wake-up! It’s your birthday!

Though we are in Lent right now (which means no caffeine for me), the day’s wake up went well. No unhappy kids, and hey, I have the day off of work too. Who needs coffee when you get a special pancake breakfast with the family? The flash of inspiration from D was memorable.

Hey kids!

Have you ever seen the Garfield and Friends cartoon? No? Look it up on YouTube, it was funny…when I was eight. Anyway, since you haven’t seen it, you won’t understand the clown reference, so we’ll move on.

My first stop of the morning was in C’s preschool. I have never had a chance to attend for any length of time, and was looking forward to seeing how the place is managed. Fourteen four-year-olds in one room sounds like sheer chaos.

Of course Berta was in attendance, so I ended up being drawn up to the front. I fielded questions about guide dogs, prosthetic eyes, fire alarms, and was even sang Happy Birthday by fourteen piping voices. Sorry for interrupting class, teachers, but hey, it was fun.

Food and Relaxation

A quick follow-up at the ENT for J confirmed no physiological issues, which was good. Then it was off to Panera Bread for lunch. Just a tip, if you ever think of opening a sandwich place, you will fail if you don’t have outstanding bread. Great bread means great sandwiches, and I will pay well for great sandwiches.

So lunch is done, and it’s time to head for home. After all, there is a cake to bake! And we have not yet reached the relaxation part of the day.

Walk through your grocery store and you’ll find all kinds of boxed cakes. Keep walking, ignore them all. Make the thing from scratch, and enjoy the results. Besides, the mess that kids make in baking is fun! Just remember, I do not like chocolate.

So three enter into the kitchen to do battle with food processors, batter, and a pan. I, on the other hand, grab the sticks and launch into a drumming session. The relaxation has begun. Even with interruptions, I probably played for an hour-and-a-half, and though the magic wasn’t there most of the time, I had sparks of feeling good.

February?

No surprise, since I’m writing this entry now, my birthday is in February. That usually means cold wet days when you live in the Pacific Northwest. This birthday, however, was brilliantly beautiful! I didn’t look at the weather to get the high temperature, but it was at least in the sixties. In fact, it was warm enough that after baking the cake, D went out to clean the car. C was allowed to (under supervision) skate over to the neighborhood park on her own for the first time, where she shortly fell in with friends. I’m still drumming at this point, but the sun is starting to call.

J finally catches wind that his sister has gone over to the park, and now he won’t be stopped. So D drops everything and the two of them wander across the street. The house is quiet, except that I’m still drumming, and the sun is calling.

Finally I give up the sticks, grab a guitar, and spend the next forty-five minutes sitting on the front porch steps, barefoot and in short sleeves, playing guitar and watching the kids play. Could this really be February? The relaxation sets in.

The Party at the End

February was warm that day, but the sun goes down early. We were all back into the house by 5:00. I had an hour of homework to do, including a conference call, and then it’s time for my special birthday dinner, cake, and watching the Olympics. Though I had to do some “parenting” later on in the evening (C is having issues listening to instructions lately) the evening was quite nice. The dinner, of course, was pizza…

In Conclusion

My most recent birthday marked what I call my entry into middle age. I am now one-third of my way through what I call my expected lifespan. While I look back on the first third with happiness, I look with greater emotion to the next third. It excites me to no end to look at the potential and possibilities. In the next third my children will grow up, and probably start families of their own. My wife and I will find fulfilling careers and unknown talents. I will play at least one guitar into oblivion, and will love every last note. In short, bring on the middle ages. I can’t wait!

Celetrityism vs. Society

Jonah went down early, so I was able to enjoy a bit of television. Discovery was showing a special on the crash of Cactus Air 1549. You probably remember it as the plane that went in the Hudson River.

The special was fantastically produced. The crash was viewed from many different angles, and we really received a sense of why the pilot was so special. Could someone else have performed the same tasks with the same accuracy? Maybe, but he was there at the time, and he had the results.

The special emphasizes a point that has grown significantly in me over the past year or so. I am becoming very anticelebrity. I find myself turning away from movie stars, professional players, and other limelight hoarders. In the end, they mean nothing more than temporary entertainment to me.

Think of your favorite television star. What do they contribute to society? What have they done to improve the world? Now, try to separate their actions from their image. What of the things they have done, the money they have donated, was not done to improve their own image? Be honest with yourself, and look beyond the interview. What do actions say, especially when compared with words? Is this person truly someone you want as a role model? Are they a positive or negative influence on your and other people’s lives? Are they someone that should be placed on a pedestal for society to emulate? If not, why do you care about them beyond the brief time that you see them performing their job?

Hero

You find the little heroes in your life every day. Occasionally, if you are lucky, you will run into a truly outstanding hero. These people exhibit the pure fire of love, compassion, or selflessness either incidentally or continuously. They are what you want to be, even if you are at their level already. Are you a hero? Remember, you needn’t be perfect, just a positive force.

Positivity is not, in this case, defined as the happiest person in the world. Positivity is a characteristic of creating beneficial change in the world. You create the moments in your own or others lives that generate improvement. Like the so-called “butterfly affect” you create a better world by coincidental or (if you are lucky) direct improvement. You donate your time, talent, and treasure to a cause, a person, a thing resulting in betterment.

Celebrity does not equate to heroism. Limelights follow dastardly characters as well as pure. As you wander through this life, try to find the heroes that matter. Find the people that make your or other people’s lives better. Honor them, not the guy whose only talent is catching a football or the woman who makes an enjoyable movie. Honestly, do you want to model your life after a college dropout that can swing a stick at a ball?

I’m going to close this one out with a lyric from Rush. Yes, I think that they are talented artists, but in this case their words mean more than the music they play. Think on these words, and ponder your own definition of hero:

Hero…
Saves a drowning child,
Cures a wasting disease.
Hero…
Lands the crippled airplane,
Solves great mysteries.
Hero…
Is the voice of reason against the howling mob.
Hero…
Is the pride of purpose in the unrewarding job.
Hero…
Not the handsome actor that plays a hero’s role,
Hero…
Not the glamour girl, who’d love to sell her soul,
Hero…
Not the champion player who plays the perfect game.
Hero….
Not the glamour boy who’d love to sell his name.
If anyone is buying, nobody’s hero.

(Note: Some license taking with the organization of the above lyrics with intention.)

Mobile Computing

I submitted the below as a discussion question response this week, and thought it also might make an interesting Blog entry.

In 1993 I received my first laptop. It was a 386 Toshiba Satellite with 8 MB of RAM and an 85 MB hard drive. I carried it until my second year of college. I typed on buses, in classrooms, and even while lying in bed. Mobile computing, for me, was born, but something was missing. My roaming experience was always limited by the bounds of my hard drive. If I didn’t have information local I had to wait for the next available phone jack.

Fast forward to 1999 when I worked as a support technician for Weyerhaeuser (a large forestry company in the U.S.). My reward for being adept at my job was the opportunity to carry an on-call cell phone, which allowed customers to contact me during nonbusiness hours. The cell phone of the late 1990s was definitely not as sleek as what we have today, but at least it wasn’t the handbag-sized affair of the 1980s. The phone I carried allowed me to talk to customers so long as I was within a limited coverage area.

Both the laptop and the phone allowed me to gather and use information. The laptop could download material for digestion while disconnected. The phone allowed people to contact me with issues, as well as allowing me to call restaurants for reservations. (Note: I never did the latter, of course. The phone was a company asset.) The key was mobile access to resources that allowed me to create, make informed decisions, and communicate.

Now come with me to 2006. After years of carrying a voice-only cell phone, I finally stepped up to a device that would receive corporate and personal e-mail. I could receive more information (both text and voice) on a single pocket-sized device than I could have dreamed of on the old laptop. The world, and the device that I used to access it, was shrinking noticeably.

Now, in 2010, I can browse the Internet, listen to music, read/write corporate e-mail, and photograph the family vacation all from a tiny device that I carry everywhere. The thing even allows me to make old-fashioned voice calls. For more intensive efforts, I have a fully-fledged laptop with enough processing power to handle any modern application that I would want to use. I can take either of these devices and connect to information from my back yard, a bar, or an airplane. Now access to information (except in limited areas) is ubiquitous for the American citizen.

All this access and power offers significant productivity increases in personal and work life. With just-in-time access the employee can make informed snap decisions. Lost productivity experienced in the seeking of or waiting for disconnected employees is greatly reduced.

On the other hand, mobile computing advances also result in personal life improvements. Webcams and wireless Internet access can result in better communication with friends and family. Citizens that are able to read and forum about political issues can make informed decisions in the ballot box. And, of course, the mobile access to entertainment in the form of games, movies, music, and other media can (if not abused) result in decreased stress.

In short, it has taken us only a few years to have the computer (be it in a laptop or cell phone form-factor) become a crucial piece of the informed life. The mobile computing individual can enjoy benefits we didn’t even think possible when I received my first laptop in 1993. Almost a generation later the world is a completely different place.