Antoine Jones is a bad guy. I don't think anyone will contest that fact. He got nailed with over 200lbs of cocaine and over $800,000 a while back. But the case got tossed out because the way the police observed him isn't entirely legal.
They put a tracking device on his car.
Full disclosure: I've done this. At the request of a supervisor, I placed a tracking device inside a company vehicle, and retrieved the device at the end of each day to download where it had gone. As it turned out, nothing untoward was going on and the suspicion was unwarranted. As a representative of the agency to whom the vehicle belonged and at the behest of the supervisor to whom the driver reported, I placed a tracker and reported its findings to the supervisor. I did not retain the findings and since they disclosed nothing of interest, I destroyed them. The issue was one of workplace discipline, not discovering illegal activity.
But it appears that the US government is a little dodgy about whether it's legal for law enforcement officials, either local or federal, to place such a device on a car. Especially whether it's legal to do so without a warrant.
Jones' car was monitored by such a device, one that transmitted his vehicle's location every second in real time. Mine couldn't do that, but you can find them that do. The thing is, Jones' car was equipped with a monitor but not with the authority of a warrant. Cops just stuck it on his car and watched where he went.
That Jones was caught with the cocaine is beyond debate. That he was caught with a suspiciously large amount of money isn't in question. What's really beyond the pale is, the cops should not have been able to do that.
When investigating a crime, cops can either react to what they see with their own eyes, or they can explain what they suspect - and support that with evidence - to a judge, who will then either declare it worth further investigating and provide a warrant, or not. There has to be this chain of authority, or else the police force will have to be considered a law unto themselves. We all know just how bad "laws unto themselves" are. That's how Libya wound up with Gaddhafi, look at how that turned out.
At the heart of this case in particular is the warrant. According to law enforcement, GPS data is how they gather enough information to convince a judge that a warrant is, for lack of a better term, warranted. But what about that initial GPS device?
It's nothing to say that anyone can watch you driving around. Can't help it, you're out there in the open. And if a policeman sees you, that's fine. He sees everybody else around him too. But suppose there's a GPS device affixed to your car that you didn't know about, constantly updating the policeman on exactly where you are, what direction you're headed at what speed, and where you stop?
It's a little offputting, isn't it? What if he can ticket you for speeding because he has a GPS record of your exact speed? It feels like he's cheating, doesn't it? I've been pulled over for speeding once or twice (all verbal warnings so far!) and I didn't really mind being pulled over that much. Yeah, I was going too fast. Sure enough, and you caught me. Busted, fair and square.
But what if the speeding ticket came in the mail? "YOU WERE DETECTED IN A ______SPEED ZONE MOVING AT _____ MILES PER HOUR YOUR FINE IS $_____. HAVE A NICE DAY."
With the cop, you can offer mitigating circumstances: "Either let me keep driving at the speed I was going or she's going to have the baby right here." You can explain to the judge, "The throttle was stuck wide open. Why else would I do 105mph in a 35 zone? Yes sir, of course it's fixed. Here's the receipt for the new parts." With the GPS, there's just cold data. Binary code, zeros and ones. You're speeding or you're not.
In his Known Space-situated stories, Larry Niven describes a device for faster-than-light communication that makes it possible to detect when a traveler gets too close to a star, but because it requires a mind to work it, it cannot be left to an autopilot. It has to be observed and interpreted.
GPS data is like that. And of course the LEOs (that's Law Enforcement Officials) are indeed parsing out the meaningful data since we're nowhere near as advanced as Niven's Puppeteer-riddled future. But what gets me is the fact of the infiltration on the LEO's part to get the data.
You can't control the light bouncing off you. Going out, you know you can be observed. But the GPS system requires a LEO place a device on your car and monitor that.
The monitoring isn't bad. Going after bad guys is good and getting them fair and square is great. If warranted GPS monitoring makes that happen, more the better. But to place the device without a warrant, that's something else entirely. That's an awful lot like an illegal search - your private property is altered without your knowledge.
Think of the "nanny cam." It's totally okay in my mind, and in the mind of courts everywhere if I'm right, to place a monitoring device that watches how the nanny handles your child. But put the nanny cam in the nanny's bedroom and you're in a completely different place: illegal search, wiretapping, etc. Because what she does on her time with no kid around is completely up to her, unless she's lighting up a big doobie on your property. You'd still have a tough time introducing evidence like that in court, if the room was designated the nanny's private residential space.
The question is one of privacy, and whether you have a right to an expectation of privacy. That you are completely observable is beside the point, the point is that your private property has been illegally tampered with for the specific purpose of gathering evidence against you. The same way LEOs cannot break into your home and install monitoring devices without a warrant, they shouldn't be able to do that kind of thing to your car.
If I ever find such a device attached to my car, I'm going to attach it to the next parked police cruiser I see. Such unrestricted monitoring cannot be legal unless it is applied to all citizens equally. Placing one presupposes a level of guilt and then dispassionately amasses a huge volume of data, whether that data is relevant to the case at hand or not. How then if the data points up an illegal activity that was not part of the initial investigation? If the placement of the GPS was under a warrant, but the warrant did not specify that crime, can that be considered a permissable search?
This is one of the many intersections where law and technology collide and grind. As we generate more and more information about ourselves and continue to place more and more of ourselves into an open forum accessible by the world in general, what we retain for privacy must be protected even more carefully.
Catch me fair and square.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Backstage: Between Worlds
When the lights go down and the audience goes quiet, a new universe comes into being.
Mr. Rogers had it right, when he invited his young viewers to travel with him to the Land of Make-Believe. But at the time, I had no idea that the Land of Make-Believe had so many different faces and places to visit. Each time we put on a play, we find a new place to go to, a new vista to show to the audience.
On the stage as the production is going on, it's a land of light and color, of sounds and shapes that all correspond to things as we see them in the real world, but a little different. Some things are just a bit bigger - so people whom we aren't supposed to believe in, the audience, can see them clearly and know that those things are there. Some things are just pretend.
The entire upstairs of the house where our current production takes place doesn't actually exist. But for two hours each evening, it's believed to be there and no one argues the point. People leave the stage to go upstairs, and they're gone for a while. They must be upstairs; where else would they go?
A wall of nothingness separates us in our world from the world with the audience in it. We don't acknowledge that the wall is there and we don't test it, but we treat it as if it were both completely solid and impenetrable, while also being, somehow, a place upon which to focus our attention when thinking out loud, when declaring for emphasis to no one in general.
And backstage is an entirely different place. Here is the strangest universe of all, where the things that are about to become real onstage wait for their entrance. Backstage they are debris, tools. Food and candles and carrots and walkie-talkies. Onstage, though, they become underlines and bright illuminated arrows and emphasis of the characters that they exist around. The firewood isn't just firewood, it's Betty's firewood. If it weren't for Betty there wouldn't be any need for firewood. The firewood is only there to make Betty more Betty. Nothing else matters.
The Cokes are for me. If I didn't need Cokes there would be no Cokes in this little world. And for that matter, there wouldn't be a bottle opener. As worlds go it's not very impressive, but as worlds go discovering the purpose and interrelations of things is simple and clear.
But what happens to the people of that onstage world when they step offstage? They completely change. In one moment they are loud and active and alive; backstage they are dark and quiet, shifting from place to place in silence as they shift about the building blocks of that bright world, peering dimly through the curtains and cracks at the world as it spins just beyond the veil.
In spite of all the stress and difficulty associated with rehearsing and playing, I love it. Acting is a completely foreign slice of life, frantic energy for a few moments before hundreds of hungry eyes, followed by stealth and sneaking in darkness in preparation for the next burst of light and sound.
It makes me feel like I'm filling up with an electrical charge. The potential builds and strains until the air fairly crackles with it, then...
The last show of this production is Sunday November 6 at 2:00p, at the Norris Community Center in Norris Tennessee. If you're in the area, stop by. Be there when the lightning strikes.
Pow!
Mr. Rogers had it right, when he invited his young viewers to travel with him to the Land of Make-Believe. But at the time, I had no idea that the Land of Make-Believe had so many different faces and places to visit. Each time we put on a play, we find a new place to go to, a new vista to show to the audience.
On the stage as the production is going on, it's a land of light and color, of sounds and shapes that all correspond to things as we see them in the real world, but a little different. Some things are just a bit bigger - so people whom we aren't supposed to believe in, the audience, can see them clearly and know that those things are there. Some things are just pretend.
The entire upstairs of the house where our current production takes place doesn't actually exist. But for two hours each evening, it's believed to be there and no one argues the point. People leave the stage to go upstairs, and they're gone for a while. They must be upstairs; where else would they go?
A wall of nothingness separates us in our world from the world with the audience in it. We don't acknowledge that the wall is there and we don't test it, but we treat it as if it were both completely solid and impenetrable, while also being, somehow, a place upon which to focus our attention when thinking out loud, when declaring for emphasis to no one in general.
And backstage is an entirely different place. Here is the strangest universe of all, where the things that are about to become real onstage wait for their entrance. Backstage they are debris, tools. Food and candles and carrots and walkie-talkies. Onstage, though, they become underlines and bright illuminated arrows and emphasis of the characters that they exist around. The firewood isn't just firewood, it's Betty's firewood. If it weren't for Betty there wouldn't be any need for firewood. The firewood is only there to make Betty more Betty. Nothing else matters.
The Cokes are for me. If I didn't need Cokes there would be no Cokes in this little world. And for that matter, there wouldn't be a bottle opener. As worlds go it's not very impressive, but as worlds go discovering the purpose and interrelations of things is simple and clear.
But what happens to the people of that onstage world when they step offstage? They completely change. In one moment they are loud and active and alive; backstage they are dark and quiet, shifting from place to place in silence as they shift about the building blocks of that bright world, peering dimly through the curtains and cracks at the world as it spins just beyond the veil.
In spite of all the stress and difficulty associated with rehearsing and playing, I love it. Acting is a completely foreign slice of life, frantic energy for a few moments before hundreds of hungry eyes, followed by stealth and sneaking in darkness in preparation for the next burst of light and sound.
It makes me feel like I'm filling up with an electrical charge. The potential builds and strains until the air fairly crackles with it, then...
The last show of this production is Sunday November 6 at 2:00p, at the Norris Community Center in Norris Tennessee. If you're in the area, stop by. Be there when the lightning strikes.
Pow!
Friday, November 4, 2011
Norris Little Theater's The Foreigner: Opening Night
Here we are, opening night. All the late nights rehearsing, all the weekends spent building, building, building sets, all the stress and angst of wearing the face of a person I really can't stand. It all comes to this.
It's not really opening night per se. We've already had a paying audience in the form of kids from Norris Middle School across the street. And unlike the middle school audience we played to for And Then There Were None, these laughed in the right places, were tense in most of the right places, and generally gave a lot back. It was a pretty gratifying show.
But let me make a recommendation, kids: SHUT UP. No one is paying to hear you talk. Don't repeat the dialogue back at the players, don't shout "He's got a knife!" during the pivotal scene. SHUT UP, and stay shut. What you're doing, if it isn't that, is rude. Whether it's an issue of self-respect, respect for your fellow theatergoers, or whatever, shut up. Whatever it takes.
Hang up the cell phone. Don't text on it, either. If you're not watching the play, then what are you even doing in the seat? Get out. I busted my butt to learn these lines and build this set and get home in time for rehearsal for over a month. And I'm not the only one - there's a few dozen people involved with making this show happen. So if that's not worth your attention, get out of the seat so someone who will appreciate it can watch.
So there's my little rant. That's over with. And now that I've had a performance where I confess I flubbed a whole block of lines (and thank you Drew for saving the scene!) some of the big stress of the whole experience is just gone. Can't do it worse, right?
Well, let's not test that. I've got butterflies again.
Call is in thirty minutes. Curtain goes up again in ninety. Break a leg!
It's not really opening night per se. We've already had a paying audience in the form of kids from Norris Middle School across the street. And unlike the middle school audience we played to for And Then There Were None, these laughed in the right places, were tense in most of the right places, and generally gave a lot back. It was a pretty gratifying show.
But let me make a recommendation, kids: SHUT UP. No one is paying to hear you talk. Don't repeat the dialogue back at the players, don't shout "He's got a knife!" during the pivotal scene. SHUT UP, and stay shut. What you're doing, if it isn't that, is rude. Whether it's an issue of self-respect, respect for your fellow theatergoers, or whatever, shut up. Whatever it takes.
Hang up the cell phone. Don't text on it, either. If you're not watching the play, then what are you even doing in the seat? Get out. I busted my butt to learn these lines and build this set and get home in time for rehearsal for over a month. And I'm not the only one - there's a few dozen people involved with making this show happen. So if that's not worth your attention, get out of the seat so someone who will appreciate it can watch.
So there's my little rant. That's over with. And now that I've had a performance where I confess I flubbed a whole block of lines (and thank you Drew for saving the scene!) some of the big stress of the whole experience is just gone. Can't do it worse, right?
Well, let's not test that. I've got butterflies again.
Call is in thirty minutes. Curtain goes up again in ninety. Break a leg!
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Loving a Character, Hating a Character
I may have stated before that I have become a fan of Glee. That doesn't mean I'm going to go "like" it on facebook or get a t-shirt or anything like that. I may buy a CD at some point. Certainly I have the DVDs but that's how I get my TV viewing done.
Glee's resident airhead Brittany Pierce is as innocent as they come. Naive and gullible, she is a feather in the wind, blown from one thing to another. She is manipulated by bad guy Coach Sue, devastated by a stray offense from boyfriend Artie, and frankly suspicious her cat Mr. Tubbykins has started smoking again. And she is an inherently good person. If someone wants something, it's probably for a good reason. So Brittany tries to make that happen - whether it's a good thing or not. Introduced in the series as a mindless minion for the bad guys, Brittany has become a good guy as the character of the people around her improves.
Watching her on the screen, it's easy to love Brittany. She's like the endearingly charming moppet that sits in front of you in church. That this endearingly charming moppet is a tall, attractive blonde is beside the point. Like your favorite niece, you don't want to see her hurt for anything.
In contrast, the character I'm portraying for the play The Foreigner is the polar opposite of Brittany. Owen Musser is mean and completely comfortable with being mean. He hates and revels in hate. He's selfish and demeaning, mocking and rude. And he's dumb as a post.
You might think you know who the idiot is in The Foreigner. But if you don't think it's Owen, you're wrong.
So I recall every hateful sneer in the hallways, every flipped bird in traffic, pull all those to the forefront and wear them on my face for a couple of hours. I've almost got all my lines nailed down and once we've finished building the set (we've raised the stage three feet for the sake of the production, I hope everyone can see okay) I'll be able to hammer down my blocking as well.
Becoming Tom Rogers for And Then There Were None was tough enough, bringing to life the worst moments of that poor guy. That left me emotionally drained, just wrung out. But pulling Owen out of the recesses leaves me wearing thoughts and attitudes that I'd rather never have.
I'm putting myself through all this stress for the sake of entertaining people, and I'm doing it for free. I think I might be crazy.
Glee's resident airhead Brittany Pierce is as innocent as they come. Naive and gullible, she is a feather in the wind, blown from one thing to another. She is manipulated by bad guy Coach Sue, devastated by a stray offense from boyfriend Artie, and frankly suspicious her cat Mr. Tubbykins has started smoking again. And she is an inherently good person. If someone wants something, it's probably for a good reason. So Brittany tries to make that happen - whether it's a good thing or not. Introduced in the series as a mindless minion for the bad guys, Brittany has become a good guy as the character of the people around her improves.
Watching her on the screen, it's easy to love Brittany. She's like the endearingly charming moppet that sits in front of you in church. That this endearingly charming moppet is a tall, attractive blonde is beside the point. Like your favorite niece, you don't want to see her hurt for anything.
In contrast, the character I'm portraying for the play The Foreigner is the polar opposite of Brittany. Owen Musser is mean and completely comfortable with being mean. He hates and revels in hate. He's selfish and demeaning, mocking and rude. And he's dumb as a post.
You might think you know who the idiot is in The Foreigner. But if you don't think it's Owen, you're wrong.
So I recall every hateful sneer in the hallways, every flipped bird in traffic, pull all those to the forefront and wear them on my face for a couple of hours. I've almost got all my lines nailed down and once we've finished building the set (we've raised the stage three feet for the sake of the production, I hope everyone can see okay) I'll be able to hammer down my blocking as well.
Becoming Tom Rogers for And Then There Were None was tough enough, bringing to life the worst moments of that poor guy. That left me emotionally drained, just wrung out. But pulling Owen out of the recesses leaves me wearing thoughts and attitudes that I'd rather never have.
I'm putting myself through all this stress for the sake of entertaining people, and I'm doing it for free. I think I might be crazy.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Becoming Another
It's been about six months since I stepped on stage for the first time, which means it's about time for Norris Little Theatre to put on another production.
This time it's The Foreigner by Larry Shue. According to some, it's a little...controversial. There's a couple of bad guys, a stack of good guys, a couple of deliberate misdirections that run smack headlong into each other. And that's where the excitement begins.
I read somewhere - darned if I can find it now, dangitall there's no browsing history in my head - that Shue came up with the idea for The Foreigner either as a result of or during a visit to Japan, where the very polite people regarded Shue's own inept handling of the culture shock with amusement and patience. From such humble beginnings spring creativity's children.
Shall I tell you my character? I can't see why not. The play is out there, of course. Shue, poor fellow, didn't live long enough to see it become the success that it was. The Foreigner played Broadway for over 600 performances, but Shue had died by the time that run was over.
My character's name is Owen Musser. He's a bad guy. He knows he's a bad guy and is totally okay with it, because he's certain the conviction of his beliefs is right and good. In one spot, Owen tells another character, "I can't see how you're plannin' to take anything over 'thout raisin' a little hell." Owen is willing, maybe even eager, to be that hellraiser. He's a bully, he's cheerfully hateful, he's threatening and overbearing. And he is totally okay with it.
And I reach into myself, find every awful person who sat behind me and kicked my chair in French class, threw the dodgeball at my head in gym, even cut me off in traffic, and I have another piece of Owen to put in front of an audience.
How well will that work out? We'll see.
Curtain goes up November 4, 5 and 6.
This time it's The Foreigner by Larry Shue. According to some, it's a little...controversial. There's a couple of bad guys, a stack of good guys, a couple of deliberate misdirections that run smack headlong into each other. And that's where the excitement begins.
I read somewhere - darned if I can find it now, dangitall there's no browsing history in my head - that Shue came up with the idea for The Foreigner either as a result of or during a visit to Japan, where the very polite people regarded Shue's own inept handling of the culture shock with amusement and patience. From such humble beginnings spring creativity's children.
Shall I tell you my character? I can't see why not. The play is out there, of course. Shue, poor fellow, didn't live long enough to see it become the success that it was. The Foreigner played Broadway for over 600 performances, but Shue had died by the time that run was over.
My character's name is Owen Musser. He's a bad guy. He knows he's a bad guy and is totally okay with it, because he's certain the conviction of his beliefs is right and good. In one spot, Owen tells another character, "I can't see how you're plannin' to take anything over 'thout raisin' a little hell." Owen is willing, maybe even eager, to be that hellraiser. He's a bully, he's cheerfully hateful, he's threatening and overbearing. And he is totally okay with it.
And I reach into myself, find every awful person who sat behind me and kicked my chair in French class, threw the dodgeball at my head in gym, even cut me off in traffic, and I have another piece of Owen to put in front of an audience.
How well will that work out? We'll see.
Curtain goes up November 4, 5 and 6.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Saving energy, expending energy
At work, we've been working hard to turn the wick down on our utility bills. It appears to be working.
Part of what made such a big difference was receiving a large and welcome donation from a supporter. Now usually a donation is in the form of a check, and that's great. Sometimes however, the donation takes the form of goods. Sometimes those donations fall a little flat - do we really need this many admittedly cute hand-knitted wool hats?
Not this time. This guy's donation was off the charts. Several boxes of Sylvania fluorescent tubes in the new and relatively unnoticed 25-watt size. Occupancy sensors. LED bulbs that, among other things, are rated for about double my very (very) best incandescent bulbs can do. Am I installing those in the very peak of the chapel? Oh yes. I hate changing those bulbs, and if these LED floodlights last even half as long as their package copy says, I won't have to think about them again until 2015.
So what I have here is over $3000 worth of lighting products. The fluorescent tubes are hard to come by, and not carried by the vendors that I have accounts with which makes them even tougher to acquire for work. I always knew they'd make a tangible dent if I could just get hold of them. And now here they are.
In their first month, our utility bill took a dip. In spite of our electric rate going up 10% over the same period last year, our bill went down 10% due to decreased usage. That's some serious progress. And that was the first month, when I hadn't gotten everything installed.
The second month, more stuff is installed. Not all of it, still - there's a lot of equipment and consumables here, it's a big job and some of it I've gotten done with volunteer crews - but we're getting closer. In the first month our dollar savings was $1800. In the second month, $2200.
Not bad by any stretch. I've never seen our utility bill go down from one year to the next. In two months, it's dropped like a stone.
It just takes an awful lot of work to make it happen. Chapel lights, like I said, require a lift. Thirty-five feet or more from floor to peak, those lights aren't something you just reach up and grab. Fortunately this time another volunteer crew was installing some audio-visual gear and brought their own scissor lift. Hey presto, job's done and I didn't die of vertigo.
In one room there's 192 fluorescent tubes to replace. I counted. In the dining room, another 158. In another room, 96. Each tube replaced represents a 7-watt savings over the old installation. That represents over 3000 watts of electricity we're not using anymore and if you don't think that's much, well, maybe it isn't in the grand scheme of things. But every hour we can avoid that 3000 watts is an hour we save about 45 cents. There's over 600 hours in a month, and some of those lights are on all the time. Getting the message across about turning lights off has made a big difference too, and setback thermostats. It's finally all coming together. It's take a huge effort on the parts of way more than just me, but it's finally coming together.
Part of what made such a big difference was receiving a large and welcome donation from a supporter. Now usually a donation is in the form of a check, and that's great. Sometimes however, the donation takes the form of goods. Sometimes those donations fall a little flat - do we really need this many admittedly cute hand-knitted wool hats?
Not this time. This guy's donation was off the charts. Several boxes of Sylvania fluorescent tubes in the new and relatively unnoticed 25-watt size. Occupancy sensors. LED bulbs that, among other things, are rated for about double my very (very) best incandescent bulbs can do. Am I installing those in the very peak of the chapel? Oh yes. I hate changing those bulbs, and if these LED floodlights last even half as long as their package copy says, I won't have to think about them again until 2015.
So what I have here is over $3000 worth of lighting products. The fluorescent tubes are hard to come by, and not carried by the vendors that I have accounts with which makes them even tougher to acquire for work. I always knew they'd make a tangible dent if I could just get hold of them. And now here they are.
In their first month, our utility bill took a dip. In spite of our electric rate going up 10% over the same period last year, our bill went down 10% due to decreased usage. That's some serious progress. And that was the first month, when I hadn't gotten everything installed.
The second month, more stuff is installed. Not all of it, still - there's a lot of equipment and consumables here, it's a big job and some of it I've gotten done with volunteer crews - but we're getting closer. In the first month our dollar savings was $1800. In the second month, $2200.
Not bad by any stretch. I've never seen our utility bill go down from one year to the next. In two months, it's dropped like a stone.
It just takes an awful lot of work to make it happen. Chapel lights, like I said, require a lift. Thirty-five feet or more from floor to peak, those lights aren't something you just reach up and grab. Fortunately this time another volunteer crew was installing some audio-visual gear and brought their own scissor lift. Hey presto, job's done and I didn't die of vertigo.
In one room there's 192 fluorescent tubes to replace. I counted. In the dining room, another 158. In another room, 96. Each tube replaced represents a 7-watt savings over the old installation. That represents over 3000 watts of electricity we're not using anymore and if you don't think that's much, well, maybe it isn't in the grand scheme of things. But every hour we can avoid that 3000 watts is an hour we save about 45 cents. There's over 600 hours in a month, and some of those lights are on all the time. Getting the message across about turning lights off has made a big difference too, and setback thermostats. It's finally all coming together. It's take a huge effort on the parts of way more than just me, but it's finally coming together.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Steve Jobs and Why America Needs More Jobs
"This was the closest I've been to facing death, and hopefully it's the closest I get for a few more decades." Steve Jobs on his original bout with pancreatic cancer, in the commencement speech to Stanford University's graduating class of 2005.
That's all I have at this moment, but there will be more presently.
That's all I have at this moment, but there will be more presently.
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