Start-upping

Dylan's Santa is clearly a mad man. As I look at it, his vision makes sense. After all, what is a child to make of this mythical fat old elf, who sneaks into homes through the chimney, and reputably can see what you are doing at all times?

Pretty freaky. Sounds like Big Brother to me.

To his credit, I don't think Dylan ever bought the Santa Claus myth. I don't recall him ever saying anything about it; like most kids, he recognized that whatever excuse adults may use to give you a bunch of cool new stuff is good enough for him, thank you.

In addition, who would just give away all this cool stuff? Clearly, Santa is insane. Thank you, Dylan.

***

There are all kinds of jobs you might find in this life. And no matter how you define what used to be called your career (most people still use labels like "lawyer," "engineer," or "architect"), the Internet and related technologies are shaking those professions to their roots much like an 8 on the Richter scale devastates our humble structures made of mere steel, wood, glass and other mortal materials.

There's just nothing anyone can do about how the wave of information technology is reshaping our realities. You'd be wiser to join it, because you'll never beat it. Yesteryear won't be coming back any time soon.

I can remember when I first realized this monster wave of change was coming -- it was the late 1980s, I think -- although I'd had plenty of chances a decade earlier to put it all together in my mind.

So I was very slow to join the biggest party on earth, but when I did, I paid careful attention. What Toffler had labeled as "future shock," and what obscure visionaries like Harrison Brown had sensed was our best future opportunity to survive as a species; what McLuhan had written the marketing language for, and what the Defense Department had recognized as a DARPA-type vision was now (by the mid 90s) emerging from the obscurity of its subsidized nest to spread its wet young wings for all to see.

This raw techno-baby did not fall out of its nest, as many predicted, but instead soared way too high, way too soon, far above the known earth, violating all accepted laws of gravity.

No one violates the laws of gravity! (At least not yet.) So, starting in the years 1999-2000-2001, as fears of a massive system failure at the start of the new millennium circulated like the apocalyptic fantasies of frightened cults that they most certainly were, a wary new world tentatively embraced change, even as it punished those who got way out front of the curve a bit too much.

I'm familiar with being in this position. My entire adult life, I've been punished one way or another for being somewhere too soon, before the rest of the crowd arrived there. For me, living this way is much like reliving the fate of the fellow in Plato's Cave, who was sent up to interpret the guiding myths of his culture, trapped as they were, underground, able only to glimpse the shadows of those moving about far above their permanent grave.

Once above ground, he immediately saw through the illusions that served to convince his trapped brethren below that a world of superior giants moved about above. He saw that in fact those elongated reflections were nothing more than the shadows of equals, cast mockingly by a distant sun.

But when he returned to the cave to share this glorious news, he was killed for suggesting such a heresy!

Thus, the cliché that resonates among us to this day: "Kill the messenger!"

If there could be one role I might wish to claim for myself, it would be that of the messenger in Plato's Cave. Or, perhaps, as the messenger pigeon so loved and so deeply appreciated by my precious little Dylan.

I aspire to nothing more, nor nothing less. Kill me, if you dare.

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