Do you know whose birthday it is today? No not Mr. Lesh (see below) but the birth of the first dotcom! 1985's most lasting contribution turned out to be three letters and a punctuation mark! Huffington Post explains:
The growth of .com, it must be noted, did not come quickly. Only five companies followed the footsteps of the Cambridge-based computer manufacturer Symbolics, Inc. when it registered the first .com on March 15, 1985. By the late 1980s, about 100 .coms existed, which included now tech powerhouses IBM, Intel, AT&T and Cisco. It wasn't until 12 years later, in 1997, a year after President Clinton signed the landmark 1996 Telecommunications Act, that .com names passed the 1 million mark.
To read all the details of the evolution of the dotcom go here.
Roundabout
Former Valley media dude Dan Yorke last week.
Train tracks in Palmer.
Passing by the courthouse in Northampton Friday night I saw this sign advertising an art show.
It was art by The Hilltown Painters and others featuring downtown Hamp landmarks like The Calvin Theater.
Raos in downtown Amherst has opened after renovations. Here is owner Bob Lowry in the coffeeshop Saturday night.
The renovations were modest but nice. The hopelessly scruffed linoleum floor was replaced with wood.
A useless counter was taken out to expand the seating capacity. Stop by and check out the changes for yourself. You'll like them.
The car in front of me passing through Amherst.
Speak No Hate
The Music Section
John Hiatt on Letterman last week.
Wanna hear something that'll make you feel old? Phil Lesh of the Grateful Dead turns 70 today.
This is me when I was two. Some people would say that I'm still two years old - psychologically.
Just kidding! I mean at age two I wasn't concerned with sex, so mentally I've gotta be at least thirteen or so. But physically, well it's a little harder to stay forever young. On MSNBC there is a great article by Douglas Coupland about this very subject:
A few days ago, I had a business lunch with a guy I thought was about 10 years older than I am. I'm 46, and he looked to be 55 and resembled every English teacher you've ever had. At the end of lunch he said, "You know, I was born the same week as you..." and went on to discuss all the same music we listened to in high school. Meanwhile, it was all I could do to compose myself while looking around for a reflective surface — a knife blade, the hologram on my Visa card — to convince myself I didn't look 55 like this guy did. I felt as if I had progeria, that disease in which you age half a century in five years. That's what growing older does to a guy.
We've all bumped into friends who look like hell. Our first thought is always divorce, booze, or one of those other wicked speed bumps on the road of life. What's really happening, of course, is that your friend is in the middle of a progerial plunge. Time passes, and more time passes, and then you see that friend in the checkout line of a Safeway one afternoon, and you realize he's not drinking or having troubles. He's just aging. The kicker: So I must be too. That's when you head to the produce department and check yourself out in the mirrors above the lettuce and celery.
I have this theory about men and aging. We have two ages: the age we really are, and the age we are in our heads. Most men are almost always about 31 or 32 in their heads — just ask them. Even Mr. Burns from “The Simpsons” is 31 in his head. One of the most universal adult male experiences is of standing before a mirror and saying, "I'm sorry, but there's been a horrible mistake. You see, that's not really me in the mirror there. The real me is tanned, throws Frisbees, and kayaks the Columbia River estuary without cracking a sweat."
Someone sent me this hot scene from a Batman comic:
Here's a whimsical poem by the late Springfield attorney and eccentric activist J. Wesley Miller. He told me he won a prize for it when he was in Junior High School.
A Trip to the Occulist by J. Wesley Miller
I went to the doctor to get my eyes tested. The doctor came in; he was coated and vested. His face wore no smile, in fact t'was quite sour; It should have been my face; I'd been waiting an hour. I'd tried to find something current to read, But the magazines there had long since gone to seed. He showed me some figures and letters to guess. I read what I could, but not all, I confess. He put in some drops and told me to wait, So I resumed my seat and pondered my fate. When I finally made it back thru his office door It was almost as long as I'd waited before. He glanced in each eye, then scribbled a line. "Drop this with the nurse, come back any time. That's fifty bucks, and your eyes are just fine."
Yesterday I went to be a paid participant in a test of this new DVD downloading software called EZTakes, which is located above the corporate offices of Spoleto's in Northampton.
This was the testing area. The software itself seems like a promising breakthrough in the exploding field of movie downloading.
These are the owners of the venture, Jim Flynn and Joe Dugan.
I was paid to participate in the test, but not to recommend the software. That I do sincerely and voluntarily, suggesting you check it out here.
After the testing I went to the King Street McDonald's, where the radio station known as The River was broadcasting live. This is the radio host Monty Harper.
It's the last week of classes at UMass, meaning the library coffeeshop Procrastination Station is open 24 hours.
The Amherst Survival Center had a community Christmas party yesterday. I still have a hard time calling something a party that doesn't involve getting high or taking your clothes off. Motown Bernie was there, entertaining everyone when he wasn't eating.
Some ladies from UMass came to entertain by singing and dancing.
In this very politically incorrect fratboy's eye view of UMass there is obscene language, sexism, homophobia and drunkeness that will surely offend you if you can ever stop laughing.
