I’m in sunny Phoenix, AZ this week teaching a COM class to a longstanding client with whom we’ve done business for years. I almost feel as if I’m doing them a disservice. But they have a huge installed base of COM software driving their manufacturing processes, and every year a new crop of employees needs training so they can update and maintain the code base. Fortunately, they’re slowly but surely introducing .NET into the enterprise. They’ll probably hate me once they figure out how much easier .NET is.
I’ve almost finished reading an interesting book: Every Day Life in Early America by David F. Hawke. Meanwhile, I’ve just begun reading a prerelease copy of Nelson DeMille’s Night Fall, which is a fictionalized story revolving around the nonfictionalized crash of TWA Flight 800 in 1996. Next on my reading list is The Curve of Binding Energy, which promises to be a thought-provoker. Can’t wait to tear into it.
A while back I happened across the following poem, which was delivered by a famous (now deceased) author at a graduation ceremony in 1977. It’s startingly profound. Can you guess who the author is?
My uncle ordered popovers
from the restaurant’s bill of fare.
And, when they were served, he regarded them
with a penetrating stare…
Then he spoke great Words of Wisdom
as he sat there on that chair:
“To eat these things,” said my uncle,
“you must exercise great care.
You may swallow down what’s solid…
BUT…
you must spit out the air!”
And…
as you partake of the world’s bill of fare,
that’s darned good advice to follow.
Do a lot of spitting out the hot air.
And be careful what you swallow.