Before I get to today’s main topic, a little bit of housekeeping, loosely following Tuesday’s post.
I will be attending the Scott Joplin International Ragtime Festival again this year. There’s still time to make your own plans to attend. What better way is there to spend a weekend than listening to great music performed well? In addition to the music, there will be dancing; symposia on ragtime, it’s precursors, and successors; and tours of Sedalia.
And yes, there will be copies of TRTT for sale. I’m not currently planning on a formal signing–though I’m certainly open to the possibility–but I’ll be happy to sign your copy*. I recognize most of you have been resistant to the idea of distributing copies to friends and relatives, so how about an alternative plan? Get ’em for people you don’t know–the possibilities are endless:
- Send one to Donald Trump. He won’t read it, but maybe dealing with thousands of copies will distract him from tweeting for a few minutes.
- Slip one to the opposing pitcher before the next ballgame you go to. Who knows, it might distract him enough to give your team a chance.
- Give them to Scott Pruitt. He needs something cheerful in his life right now. And if he gets enough copies, he can use them to build himself a privacy booth at least as good as the one he made with the sofa cushions when he was a kid.
I’ll be happy to sign any “Strangers and Enemies” copies too. And I’ll add a personal message of your choice!
* I’m still unsure how to sign ebooks. Suggestions welcome!
Admittedly, the weather in Missouri in June is a bit on the hot and muggy side, but for those of you east of the Rockies, it’ll be a nice change from the snow you’re still getting. And better June than September, right?
So I hope to see a few of you at the Liberty Center and around Sedalia between May 30 and June 2.
Commercial over, moving on.
By now many of you have probably heard that the amazingly ill-thought-out Amazon Key program is expanding. If you don’t want Amazon unlocking your house and putting your packages inside–and who would?–they’re now going to offer an alternative: they’ll unlock your car and put your package in the trunk.
Which is, at least by comparison with the original offering, not a bad idea.
Despite San Francisco’s well-publicized problem with smash-and-grab auto robberies, your chances of having your car broken into are probably no higher than of having your house robbed. Assuming, of course, that nobody is following Amazon delivery peons around their routes and texting car delivery locations to a confederate.
Anyway, the service will be offered in conjunction with GM and Volvo initially, and then expand to other makes later. Trunk delivery will also require a recent model with online connectivity, i.e. OnStar.
Which brings us to my major complaint about this iteration of Amazon Key: it’s a reminder that we don’t really own our cars anymore. Ownership should mean control, but a modern, connected car sacrifices control. The manufacturer–and potentially dealers, repair shops, police, and others–can unlock your car, disable features, and display advertisements at will.
Yes, I’m talking capability rather than practice, but policies can change. Once the hardware is in place to, for example, show ads on your navigation screen, you’re never more than one manufacturer-controlled software update from not being able to turn the ads off.
Or one bug–or hack–away from the car failing to recognize the remote relock signal.
That’s true whether you use Amazon Key or not, of course.
Re, “hot and muggy” Missouri in June: that’s why tall, cooling drinks are synonymous with the South. My experience with Louisiana has taught me that after a few frosty drinks- with our without a sprig of foliage- formerly intolerable conditions tend to become… well, irrelevant, somehow. Not advocating alcohol abuse, of course; merely a level of use that might be considered appropriate and traditional.
Along these lines, look into the amounts of alcohol our forbears regularly consumed, sometime. It’s startling, by today’s standards. Members of the U.S. Congress in, say, the mid-nineteenth Century, were all heavy drinkers- which may explain a few things.
True enough. The psychological need for small beer long outlasted the actual need for something safer than water. (I almost hate to say it, but residents of Flint, MI might want to compare the relative costs of cheap beer, bottled water, and chelation therapy and modify their drinking habits accordingly.)
As for Missouri, I carry a bottle of water and drink a lot of iced tea. Why make my liver work any harder than necessary?