THE CCCC b SSSS . C b S C y y bbbb eee r rr SSSS eee nnnn i ooo r rr C y y b b eee rr S eee n n i o o rr C y y b b e r S e n n i o o r CCCC yyyy bbbb eee r SSSS eee n n i ooo r y yy REVIEW =============================================== VOL.1 NO.2 AUGUST 1994 =============================================== The CyberSenior Review is a project of the Internet Elders List, a world-wide Mailing List of seniors. The Review is written, edited and published by members of the Elders. The contents are copyrighted 1994 by the Elders List and by the authors. All rights reserved by the authors. Copying is permitted with attribution. The current editorial board of The CyberSenior Review is: Elaine Dabbs edabbs@ucc.su.oz.au Pat Davidson xuegxaa@csv.warwicxk.ac.uk James Hursey jwhursey@cd.columbus.oh.us ================================================================= CONTENTS, Volume 1, Number 2 EDITORIAL GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST, by Pat Davidson A teacher remembers old school days. ELECTROMAGNETIC FIELDS, by Frank Harper A technical look at computer monitors and electromagnetic radiation. GREECE AND TURKEY, by John Davidson John and Louise see many interesting and ancient sights holidaying in Greece and Turkey. "GRUMPY OLD MEN" AN INSULT TO GRUMPY OLD MEN, by Jim Hursey Jim, a self-confessed grumpy old man, does not think much of the movie. ================================================================ EDITORAL Hello, everyone! Welcome to our second Review. We hope you'll enjoy reading it. When Langston reminded me recently that it was a year ago that he'd received the first message from me, I was truly surprised. Elaine and I had been working together on other electronic projects, and when she and Bob Zenhausern of St Johns University, New York, suggested that I should join them in setting up Elders, I was at first hesitant; I'd other commitments, among them teaching, writing, and running educational projects for schools on electronic mail. However, I decided that I was really interested in the project and agreed. That has been one of the most important decisions of my life. Now I am in regular communication with people whom I would not recognise if I met them face to face, but with whom I feel in harmony in today's world of chaos. They are my close friends. Some people have joined us for short periods, but have found us not to their liking-that is how it should be. We enjoyed their brief visit and hoped they had learned from us as much as we had learned from them. Others, like Horace, were desolate in leaving us, and hope to rejoin us as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Horace is in touch by snail mail. We look forward to his warm friendship and infectious humour when he returns. There have been one or two problems; sometimes we have so many messages that the system is overloaded and cannot deliver immediately. We can help ourselves by replying directly to a personal mailbox instead of Elders, or compose several replies and send them off in one posting. Sometimes there are reasons beyond our control for non- delivery or posting of mail. Most times, however, all is well, and only one or two people have been lost occasionally in cyberspace! Thank you, our Elders, for your warmth and support. --PAt Davidson ==================================================== GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST. by Pat Davidson "Mrs Davidson, can I use the word-processor?" Trevor stood in front of me, an angelic look on his freckled face, his blue eyes beseeching. For once, his unruly mop of red hair was tidy. I debated for several seconds the possibility of explaining to him the difference between "can" and "may", but the picture of Trevor actually wanting to work was irresistible. "All right, Trevor. Let me see a printout of your work when you've finished." Trevor departed, beaming, and I gazed over the rest of the class, apparently involved in the work their regular teacher had set them. Reassured, I settled down at the teacher's desk. I suddenly found myself remembering what it had been like to be a child at school in the late 1930s/early 1940s, so different from schools today. I'd attended a small village school in the south-west of Scotland. Although the school had only two teachers, the headmaster and infant mistress, they were both university graduates, for education, even then, was prized in Scotland. The building itself had only two classrooms, separated by a wooden partition which I never saw opened once during my seven years at the school. Tall windows arched high in the walls, their only purpose to let in light, and the ceiling soared into the roof space far above my head. The infant mistress was young, just out of university and teacher training college. Although the older boys would misbehave when she was teaching them, she was a superb teacher for the smaller pupils, who loved her. She sat on her teacher's seat at her high desk, and I promised myself that one day I would also be a teacher and sit there, gazing down at my pupils busily working. I remembered her coming into the classroom one afternoon, tears streaming down her face, and telling us "France has fallen!" I could not realise why she should be so upset, as the map of France was still on the wall where it usually hung. Instead of a word-processor, my first writing was done on a slate with a slate pencil or stylo, my rubbing out done with a square of felt. I progressed on to writing with a pencil, then with a nibbed pen dipped in an inkwell set in the desk, the ink made from powder mixed with water. An ink monitor made sure the inkwells were supplied with ink, which disappeared quite quickly, especially when the end of a girl's pigtail was dipped in it by the boy behind! However, I had quite a problem learning to write, as the headmaster insisted that I used my right hand, instead of my left, and ensured that this happened by hitting my knuckles with a ruler every time he caught me with my pen in my left hand. Try writing "A stitch in time saves nine" in your best copperplate, using a nibbed pen in your "wrong" hand, and you'll understand why the pages of my copy-writing book were spattered with ink! Sewing and knitting were equally difficult; hemming had to be completed by turning the material round so that I was going in the right direction, while my knitted socks were often surreptitiously stretched to reach the length already achieved by the other pupils! Neither of the teachers could play a musical instrument, and music lessons consisted of the headmaster striking a tuning fork and starting off on a traditional song which was written on the blackboard supported on an easel. His eyes glared through his pinze-nez at anyone who dared to sing out of tune. Music lessons were a terrifying experience! My first reading book entranced me so much that every evening at home I repeated all that I had read at school that day. "I am Jack. I am Jill. We live on a hill." My mother was delighted when I moved on to another reading book. The headmaster did not believe in children reading for pleasure, and when he fell ill with tuberculosis, or consumption as it was known then, I felt I'd found a treasure trove when our new headmistress allowed us to read all the books supplied by the county library van. I can still remember thrilling to the adventures of "The Children Who Lived In a Barn." My older brother and sisters knew what to buy me for birthday presents, not so easy to find in wartime. A shady spot in the garden, a stick of rock, and a new book-my idea of heaven! No wonder I worked hard at school when every year I'd be presented with a book for all my efforts. The open fires in the two classrooms had been replaced by central heating before I'd started school, so the rooms were at a comfortable temperature, when in winter paths to the school doors had to be dug through snow piled high in drifts against the windows. I used to hate when we were forced out of our snug cocoon at breaktime, then compelled to exercise for healthy bodies. I felt far more healthy inside in the warm room! "Mrs Davidson, I've finished my work. Would you correct the printout for me, please?" Trevor's voice brought me back to the present, to the classroom, to the word-processors. I smiled at him, picked up my pen in my right hand, and began marking. ================================================================ Electromagnetic Fields, Computer Monitors and Swedish MRPII standards by Frank Harper Members of the Elders group may have seen advertisements for the newer computer monitors coming on the market using words such as "low emissions monitor" or "compliant with Swedish MRPII standards". What do these terms mean and why are manufacturers redesigning their monitors to conform to the new Swedish standards ? The answer lies in the fact that all monitors, with minor exceptions, generate both electrical and magnetic fields when they are turned on. In particular, the magnetic field forms an envelope of force lines for some eighteen feet around the monitor. Thus anyone operating the computer or for that matter anyone standing near the monitor is surrounded by a penetrating magnetic field. Actually, being in a magnetic field is nothing new for humans, because simply being alive and on the surface of the Earth places one in a magnetic field. The Earth's centre with its molten metallic core acts like a magnet and generates a low strength field around the Earth, extending some miles into outer space. It is hypothesized by some scientists that the biology of our existence probably depends on the Earth's magnetic field. Without it we might not be able to develop or function in our present form. So, you may ask, what's the big deal about being in a computer monitor's magnetic field ? The answer is that some scientists consider the magnetic field around older monitors to be too strong for human safety and comfort, and have recommended that the strength of the field be reduced. Now I should tell you that this concern is not shared by all scientists. There is, in fact, a quite heated controversy about whether human tissue can be damaged by exposure to the relatively weak magnetic fields generated by computer monitors. Talented scientists and men of good will have argued both sides of the case. So if the scientists cannot agree. what are we lay persons to do ? The Swedish Government has helped us by stepping into the controversy and adopting what is considered to be the Rule of Prudent Caution. The Rule of Prudent Caution states that where doubt exists as to the safety of a process, one should act as if there is a danger and take appropriate precautions. Then, if there is later proof that the danger actually exists, we have protected ourselves, but if it turns out there is no danger, then no harm has been done by being cautious. In effect the Swedish Government has issued a set of regulations for the strength of the electrical and magnetic fields generated by monitors sold in Sweden. These are called the MRPII standards. A number of manufacturers have responded to the Swedish regulations by redesigning their monitors to reduce the offending emissions. These new monitors are being offered for sale, not only in Sweden but in other parts of the world. The MRPII standards recommend that the strength of the magnetic field measured at the operator's position in front of the screen, be not more than 2.5 milligauss, where a milligauss is a universal measure of magnetic flux density. This relatively low strength is regarded as being within the safety margin for continuous exposure of human tissue. If you have an older color monitor and are considering buying a new monitor, therefore you would do well to consider purchasing one that meets the MRPII standards. Some general comments may be made about magnetic fields. First,magnetic fields can penetrate almost anything, including walls, tables, human flesh, etc. But some metallic composites are highly resistant to magnetic lines of force. At least one commercial company called Radsafe has developed a composite shield which it claims will reduce the magnetic field around current computer monitors with high emission rates. It may be helpful to know also that a monitor's magnetic field is always strongest towards the rear and sides of the outer casing, and fades dramatically with distance. The fall in strength with distance can be calculated using the reciprocal of the squared distance rule. At two feet or sixty-one centimeters from the yoke the strength of the field has been reduced to one quarter (the reciprocal of 2 squared) and at 6 feet or 183 centimeters from the yoke, the strength of the field has been reduced to one thirty-sixth (the reciprocal of 6 squared). So the further away one is from the monitor, the weaker the strength of the magnetic field. The typical frequency of the alternating current used to power monitors is 60 Herz in North America and 50 Herz in the rest of the world. The frequencies of the magnetic field generated by 50 or 60 Herz current occupy the low end of the electromagnetic spectrum, and that is why it is common to refer to the concerns about the magnetic field as the ELF (extremely low frequency) or the VLF (very low frequency) problem. Finally a comment about furniture. If by any chance you have your monitor (and this applies also to television sets) sitting on a wooden or plastic table which has a continuous metal strip running round the edge, you are advised to break the strip or get another table. The metal strip, being in a magnetic field, will act as an antenna, and extend the strength of the field beyond the normal limits. Breaking the strip in one spot will shut off the antenna-like action. ============================================================ GREECE AND TURKEY, MAY 1994 by John Davidson After nearly 24 hours travelling, never having a night, (courtesy of the polar route) Louise and I were obvious targets for the taxi driver at the Athens' airport. He assured us that he could take us right to the small hotel that we had heard about. Based on guide book instructions I checked with him that the meter was set on "1". He said yes, but I didn't see the "1", just an "H". I asked again about the "1", but now his english had fled. Meanwhile the meter was spining higher (in drachmas). I computed $10, then $20, then $30. The driver asked again for the address and I realized we were passing the same places. He started asking people along the street for directions, but ignored a policeman. We finally stopped at a corner. He asked for the equivalent of $50 and pointed down the street to where he said the hotel was. I told Louise to stay in the taxi and I would get the hotel manager. I found an elderly lady who spoke a little English and explained to her. She came out of the hotel with blood in her eye and ripped the cab driver up and down. Louise had refused to get out when I had left and the driver had dumped our bags on the sidewalk. The lady told me to give the driver $10, which I did. Louise got out of the taxi and the driver burned rubber getting out of there. It seems that the usual fare from the airport is $10 and we could have jailed him if we had told the tourist police. That was our only bad experience and the only unpleasant person on the whole trip. The hotel also had a room for us. The dominant feature of Athens is the Acropolis (means town fort). It and the attendent buildings (Parthenon, Erechtheion, and Propylaia) are visible from anywhere in the city and allows you to orient yourself. It was a thrill to see them on the skyline as they had looked over the city for nearly 3000 years. We took a guided tour through the structures, visited the new museum, viewed Athens from the Acropolis walls, and then walked back to our hotel (Erechtheion) on a side street back of the Agora (original market place). We walked Athen's streets the next 3 days and then took a 4 day guided tour to the Peloponnese. If you only had a few days for Greece this is where you would spend it. It is the center of the ancient Greek civilization. It is a giant peninsula with a mountainous spine. The foothills between the coast and the mountains reminded me of the French chateau country with trees bordering the roads and clusters of red roofed houses surrounded by fields. Romantic persons will have to ignore the solar collectors now on most roofs. To understand the Peloponnese it helps to have read Homer's Odyssey. We went to significant antiquities at Corinth, Olympia, Delphi, and many others. We sat in the seats of ancient theatres, and imagined the people carrying out their business among the columned buildings. It is easy to assume the Greeks as bigger than people today because their statues are bigger than life and their buildings are truly monumental. However, in several museums I saw armor and head pieces that I imagined wearing. They would only fit kids today. Ulysses (Odysseus), I judged would only come to my chin. (I am 5'7"). The settings for the ruins are part of their charm. Sitting at the site of the original Olympic games amongst pine trees on a grass covered slope above the running field I could almost hear the spectators cheer. Delphi, the site of the oracle is way up on the side of a mountain at the mouth of a dark and gloomy gorge. In addition to the facilities for the oracle their were also fields for various Olympic events and temples for worship. The oracle was always correct because of the way that questions were answered. If a general would ask whether Athens or Sparta would pervail during a forthcoming battle, the oracle would say that a great city would fall. We left Delphi in a light rain that turned into a downpour by the time we reached Athens. Everything was clean and fresh the next morning when we took the taxi to the airport (only $8) and then the plane south to Santorini (Thira). It was cloudy when we landed but quickly brightened. The island has practically zero rainfall and depends on sea mists for its limited agriculture. There are springs at one of the beaches and a fleet of tank trucks supplies water to individual houses. The island is spectacular, being the rim of an enormous volcano of which the center and a third of the rim has dropped into the sea (thought to be the source of the Atlantis myth). The main city is a cluster of concrete buildings perched on the crater's rim. The buildings are 1 and 2 stories, but stair-step down the very steep slopes and support each other in a terraced arrangment. We first thought that the city would be nearly unlivable because of the din of motor scooters and taxis on the crooked main street. Then we found the real main streets, which were lanes, with steps here and there, and only used by pedestrians and mules. They really came alive at night with shops, discos, and cafes going until late. There were many young people on the island from all over the world. They appeared to be hitch hiking around the world and had stopped at Santorini for a few months. They worked in service industries and spent their afternoons at the beaches (topless). Everywhere you looked in Santorini you would see the blue dome of a Greek Orthodox church -- 400 of them on this small island. I could only think of the economic drain to a very poor island. Our next stop was Crete. We left at noon from the base of the cauldron cliff on the ferry. The hair pin curves on the road down the cliff to the port would have frightened even Pat Davidson. Louise Davidson didn't open her eyes from the rim to the dock. It even had me concerned. It was a pleasant 4 hour sea trip, almost always in sight of an island. We sat on benches under an awning for the whole trip. We had been told by a traveller in Santorini that we should get out of the main city (Iraklio) in Crete as soon as we could and go along the west coast about 60 km to Rethimno, which was a lovely unspoiled little village with great beaches. We walked from the ferry landing to the bus station and we headed west on a local bus. It was a lovely drive along a rocky coast. As we came into Rethimno the highway split and we took the "new road" along the beach. It was Miami Beach, Florida. Mile after mile of condos and high rise hotels facing a beach fenced into little squares dotted by the umbrellas for each hotel. Between the hotels were fast food and souvenir shops. We got dropped off in the middle of the old town and started hotel hunting. We started with modest places and there were no openings. Someone suggested we try a Grechotel (expensive chain) further down the street. It was now getting rather late and we had our backpacks on and were tired. The Grechotel had one modest room for only 3 days. We grabbed it at a special rate of only $80 per night. To us it was very luxurious with a balcony facing the ocean. It turned that they cater to Germans and do their main advertising in Germany. The breakfasts were feasts but I found out that if you get between a German and his breakfast you risk getting your head bloody. After the initial feeding frenzy, though, we found most of the people very congenial. The old town, like everywhere in Greece, had at various times been dominated by Turks and Crusaders. A massive fort overlooking the harbor had been built from dismantled structures of every preceeding culture. Our last stop in Crete was to see the Knossos ruin where the Minatour was said to have been kept. We were "ruined out" by then and my impressions of Crete were of yellow skies (pollution) and of gray water (pollution) and lots of noise and overcrowded cities beneath denuded hills of bare rock. To get to Rhodes we had to take another ferry trip. This one was 12 hours, but really was pleasant. We called it our cruise ship and spent the day pursuing shade on the upper deck. Rhodes is a very popular place and so we had a reservation at the Imperial Grechotel. This one was for $100 a night and our room didn't even have a view of ocean. We never did get to the beach but the Hotel had 3 beautiful swimming pools. Rhodes has a very well preserved "old town" and was a major headquarters for the Crusaders. The old town is contained in the Crusader's fort where you can find the old quarters for the knights of nearly every Europeon country. At this point Louise and I were feeling about forts like Nixon and the redwoods: "See one and you have seen them all." Rhodes was special to us for a good reason, it was the terminus for a ferry and a hydroplane that crossed the short distance across the Aegean Sea to Turkey. As you know the Greeks and Turks are not the best of friends and Olympic Airways (Greek) says that if you want to go to Turkey you are going to go back to Athens then fly to Istanbul. We took the hydrofoil to Marmaris, Turkey, than a local bus about 80 km to Dalaman where a new international airport has been built and we could fly directly to Istanbul. Dalaman is a one-industry town -- the airport. It had dirt streets and one hotel, again catering to Germans. We had a nice afternoon at the hotel pool with the bikini clad flight attendents who we would see the next morning in very conservative uniforms acceptable to Turkish norms. Dalaman had absolutely no charm. It had wide dusty streets, the buildings are all the same, and everything is bare between them. I think Siberia must be similar. Istanbul, the next day, was entirely different. It is the city of the Orient Express, the Bosphorus (connecting the Black Sea to the Sea of Marmaris and the Aegean), the Golden Horn (a waterway connected to the Bosphorus), palaces, forts, bazaars, museums, a city built on 2 continents, the Blue Mosque, St Sophias Church and Topkapi Palace. These last three were in a complex adjoining each other in the heart of the old quarter. Our very modest hotel (the Ferhat) was only 2 blocks from the Blue Mosque. Every morning at 5:00 am the call to prayer woke us up. Modern minarets use loud speakers rather than a shouted call. It is loud and lengthy. Everyone we met in Turkey was friendly and helpful, but I soon noticed the absence of women in any activity where the public was served: no female waitresses, no women tending the shops in the bazaars. The only women on the streets were walking in pairs (frequently with children) and covered from their head to their shoes. Many also had veils so that only their eyes were visible. The daring ones wore a large kerchief and a black overcoat to their ankles. We covered the attractions in our quarter by foot, then took a 1 day guided trip which included a boat trip on the Bosphorus and a rug factory (hand made turkish rugs). We bought a rug that took one woman over a year to make. We also went through the castle of the last Sultan, then to the covered bazaar where Louise's true talent came out. She can out-haggle a Turkish shopkeeper. Getting on SAS on the last day was a perfect end. As soon as we left the runway we were being plied with all the food we had missed, a choice of wines, new movies, and hot wash clothes. We had a pleasant evening in Copenhagen and walked through the Tivoli gardens, but the biting cold, and then rain shook us into the reality that our voyage to the Aegean Sea country was over. ============================================ "Grumpy Old Men" an insult to grumpy old men by Jim Hursey The film "Grumpy Old Men" has been around a while but I have deliberately avoided seeing it. I suspected that it would simply be another two-hour long, boring-after-the- first-five-minutes joke at the expense of not just men, but of older men, and, for that matter, in this case, of older men who happen not to have permanently sunny dispositions. However, the video is now available and at my wife's insistence we rented it, and I can say, after watching the film, that my worst expectations were confirmed. But what was worse than being proven right was that apparently the film was not simply meant to be funny, but was deliberately and calculatingly meant to be derogatory and insulting to the title group. Now I like a joke as well as anyone and we can say that it was all in fun, just a comedy to give us a few laughs in this generally not very funny world. And it may also be true that producers don't have a lot of groups they can laugh at anymore so old men, particularly grumpy ones, may be the only people left. Political correctness demands that we not make light of women, ethnic groups, children (unless they are disgustingly precocious brats), animals or spotted owls; that we respect the sensibilities of those who are different, unfortunate or simply scarce. Yet somehow it is still OK to make fun of old men who, often, are all three. With the success of GOM, can we expect a spate of films on this subject until such time as older males raise their voices, start protesting, and picket a few theatres? Now obviously all humor, by definition, is at someone or something's expense. We cannot have jokes unless there is something to joke about. Not only old men but sex, too, is another of the few things left that everybody still seems to think is funny. So combine them and you have the running joke throughout the film, which might have been somewhat humorous the first time but got stale rather quickly, about older men's supposed impotence. It is all simply a further demonstration of the age-as- decline mystique that is the topic of Betty Friedan's book The Fountain of Age: the mistaken perception that old people are necessarily in mental and physical decline, old people can't have sex, old people are irascible, idle and by implication useless. This, at bottom, is the theme of the film. Why do you suppose the sport of fishing, among the many possibilities, was chosen as the two retired protagonists' principle time-filling activity? It was done with due thought and deliberation because they wanted to show that these men were basically incapable of doing anything other than fish or fight. Walter Matthau's character, when asked what he does, responds, rather gruffly, "I fish." That's all. No explanation, no hint of joy, not even a rationalization of the pleasures that fishing can, for many, give. Fishing is really the only thing we ever see them doing other than fighting with each other. Now I hope all those serious fishermen out there will not get too upset, but I think most will have to admit that aside from a long difficult struggle reeling in a swordfish in deep ocean water, or spending a day casting flies in a remote mountain stream, neither of which many fishermen get a chance to do, the vast majority of fishing consists of sitting in a boat or on the shore (or, as in the movie, an ice fishing shack), with a cooler of beer, a can of bait and simply waiting for the bobber to jump. Occasionally the line is pulled in, re-baited, dropped back in the water and the fisherman sits back with another cold one. Not by any stretch of the imagination, a physically or mentally challenging pursuit. Done this way, fishing is an activity with little other purpose than to fill empty time, which, if that is one's purpose, it does admirably, akin to sitting on a park bench feeding the squirrels and pigeons. Now, fishermen, vent your wrath at the producers who exploited your sport in such a negative way, not at me. I have dropped a line myself occasionally and admit it can be a pleasant and relaxing recreation. But one of the points of the film was that these old men (and we see a whole lake full of them just to make sure we get the point) are clearly not enjoying it; they just sit there glumly, drinking, bickering, staring into space as if the lake were just one big frozen nursing home for the hopelessly senile. Other than when the younger woman catches the big fish, we see no one taking joy in the sport. I submit that a similar film called "Grouchy Old Ladies" could never be made or at least would never be as successful or considered as funny as this one was because women would not allow it. Feminists are much more successful and united in protecting the image of their sex than men are. The very idea of "masculinists" is ridiculous. There would be nothing very funny about older women portrayed as aged, half-decrepit, totally idle, with nothing to do but bicker, fight, and, the equivalent of fishing, gossiping over a game of bridge. If such are shown in films they have never been, at least recently, to my knowledge, since the age of liberation, as the butt of an on-going, two-hour long joke. We get a bit of a sop at the end, of course, with the Jack Lemmon character marrying the sexy neighbor. But note how the scene was rather abruptly and gratuitously thrown in. They had milked the stale joke as long as they could and figured they had better have an upbeat ending or people might begin to see what they were really up to. And, anyway, the upbeat part amounted to about two minutes of the entire film. This is a further insult since it assumes the viewer would know no better. I suppose one might start a movement, something on the order of "old men of the world, unite!" but I don't think it would work. OMOTWU! Nah, just doesn't have a ring to it. Guess I'm just getting old and grumpy. Think I'll go fishing. ========================================================= end cybersenior.1.2