Copyright © 2009, John F. Raffensperger
1 March 2009. After days of rain, this morning awakened to sun. I was ready to poke fun at myself. In the style of National Troubadour Day.
If only I designed hardware, like my bro Doug, The plans I'd send would be returned in tan jiffy bags with bubble wrap and anti-static film, with arrays of gleaming chips, and ordered copper lines.
I'd have an Office of Electronic Wizardry with oscillating oscilloscopes. I'd have boxes of components overflowing with chipped First Concept boards. Drawers of tangled wire, each wire a stem with a single tiny delicate bud, a tunable laser, a light sensor, an accelerometer, or maybe even an LED.
My customers would jockey for my attention to build them magical toys that glow, whirl, and jingle. There would be patents and venture funds and millions and millions of dollars.
The toys would let toasters call carburetors, and could charge window glass for batteries. Poor folk, microcredit, social good, entrepreneurship, gee whiz. Indispensable pocket devices, pacemakers of joy.
The boys would cheer and carry me on their shoulders. The girls would giggle, kissing my hand with a flutter. The mothers would bless me, and old men would buy me beer. U2 would sing of my ingenuity, and ROCK ME.
But I design algorithms that no one understands. They could heal the earth. I have only these dry journal manuscripts that no one understands.
My friend Barbara dazzles us in great rooms with spotlights, orchestra, song, and feeling! - so much feeling! Once, I showed her my algorithms. We stared at the computer together. She smiled and patted me on the back.
We would heal the earth. But no one understands. Most of all, Bryan, despite his double degrees. How much less Nick or Jeanette!
If only I designed hardware instead.