Friday, December 18, 2009
The sofa you're looking at in this photo is pretty ordinary, basic color, basic pillow, basic shape. By looking at it, you would think it is like any other sofa made in the marketplace. Even it's selling price at $499 speaks to basic.
Most people wouldn't aspire to be ordinary or basic in appearance. But, for the past 14 months, that's been our goal.
Why, you ask, is basic our goal? Here's the answer. This sofa comes compressed in a box and takes up 73% less room in a truck and warehouse. It uses less fossil fuel in delivery. And, at the end of its useful life, is almost completely recyclable.
Today, this sofa is a real product, and it's available on Overstock.com. We're very proud of this basic and ordinary sofa. In the first two weeks, it's now the sixth best selling sofa (out of 130). Not too shabby.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Happy Birthday Mom! Although she's loathe to admit it, my mother just turned 86. It's been a rough year for her, especially lately, not so much by age consuming her, but her friends.
Thursday was my 52nd birthday and I didn't get a call from her, something she's done for years and years. I knew something was wrong.
Her best friend, Flossy, 86 herself, died unexpectedly. A couple of weeks earlier, her son, Ronny, died unexpectedly. And a couple of weeks prior to that, Flossy's brother died. I saw Flossy at Ronny's wake. She's been battling cancer for a couple of years, but she looked good. Cancer didn't get her. A broken heart did.
Mom and Dad have been married for 63 years. And, for most of those years, they've had a circle of friends, people I've known most of my life. And now, they're watching them die, one by one, I'm sure wondering when one of them will be next. It's a lottery that nobody wants to play.
So, I want to take this time to tell you, Mom, that I love you, that I feel your heartache, that anytime something hurts you, it hurts me. I'm not going to say how it will be better and all of that. Those are just words. But, I will stand by you and so will anyone who knows you. It's your birthday, I wish it was happier.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
In 1970, my parents made a decision to buy a color TV. I think it was a 19” “portable” and it cost something like $700. That same year, my dad bought an Olds 88 for $5200 and I think my dad was making something like $6 an hour at the time. So, that TV represented a major purchase for our family.
In 1976, the year I went off to college, I spent $299 for a color TV from a guy by the name of Moose Lueder. He owned a TV sales and repair shop in my home town. I shopped everywhere and that thing was a great buy. I think I was making something like $2 an hour at the time, a major purchase for me.
Today, I heard about a 32” flat screen TV being sold by Wal-Mart for $248 on Black Friday, and a 50” TV being sold for $498.
The amazing thing is I’ve got color TV’s coming out of my ears. My TV’s have TV’s. And, I still want another one, bigger, brighter, crisper, better. To think just a generation ago, we would have to work for over 100 hours to get a TV that we wouldn’t even look at today.
Things have changed.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Those words have been with me for 27 years, since the birth of my first son, Nick, as well as Cortney and Alex. My book of choice to read to my kids was “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak, which has been made into a movie by Spike Jonze and Dave Eggars.
When I heard this book was being made into a movie, I worried the joy, the danger, the curiosity, the explorative nature of young Max would be harnessed, that it would be sanitized to something less powerful and less meaningful.
Instead, they used the book as a jumping off place, a point of reference, but staying true to the real heart of the book, while exploring very adult themes of anger, compassion, jealousy, cynicism, loss, and love.
Very similar to Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz”, Max takes us through his mystical world with characters only seen in Max’s mind doing things only Max could think. Where Dorothy’s journey comes through a dream sequence from a bump on the head, Max’s happens after biting his mother in a temper tantrum and running off to this secret world in his mind.
And, both stories end with both being drawn home, and to the love of family. After all, there is no place like home.
My youngest son, Alex, had an idea for Halloween.
He decided he was going to be a scarecrow, sitting on the front porch with a plastic pumpkin on his head. He wore gloves, exposed no skin and wore ratty clothes.
The idea was that as soon as he was alerted there were some trick or treaters coming by, he would sit motionless on a bench, as if he was part of the Halloween decorations.
When the unsuspecting would ring the doorbell, he would yell, BOO!! Apparently, this worked very effectively, scaring the bejeezes out of almost everyone who came by.
Yup, that’s my son.
That's the distance my daughter Cortney ran for the first time in her life last Sunday morning at the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C. Amazing!
It isn't so much the distance or the time or really any of that. It's about the distance she has traveled as a person, the dedication to reach this goal, the effort and now the joy. The bucket list has one less item.
I've written before about her, about how the walls around her are dismantled brick by brick, how they become victims of her tenacity, her diligence, her patience, and ultimately, her victory. She has the mentality of the tortoise in a world of hares.
I excused myself from a business dinner Sunday night in China for a much more important appointment, to track her progress on the internet through a series of checkpoints, watching her match identical times between the first 15 kilometers and the second 15 kilometers, mirroring the consistency of her life. Each time a new time came up I smiled the proudest smile a father could have from 8,000 miles away.
Cortney has never been about being the best, just the best she can be. And isn't that all a person can ask for? Way to go, Cortney!
About a year ago, I was flipping channels on the TV. It was late and I couldn’t sleep. Flip, Flip, Flip, what was that? Was that my chair? Nah, it couldn’t be. Well, I thought I'd check anyway.
For the next twenty minutes, my eyes were glued to the TV, waiting for a paisley traditional chair to come back up. I was watching something called “Rate My Space”. I’d never seen it before, but it was interesting. And the designer/host, whatever his name is, was really good, connecting with the people he was working with.
There it was. It was my chair. It looked great. I never thought it looked that good at all. To me, it was something to sell. But, that night, it was something that made a difference in a room. I liked it.
And the designer, well, he was just as excited as the home owners, and they were excited. I loved the energy and the emotion. All I could think was how I wanted that type of emotion and talent associated with what I was doing. I wanted Angelo Surmelis to work with me on a furniture line.
I sent an email through HGTV to see if there was something we could do. A return email came back “What do you want?” “I don’t know,” I said. They said I should look at somebody else. I said no, I don’t want somebody else. Finally, persistence paid off and we arranged a meeting at our warehouse in Pomona.
I was waiting nervously, thinking this guy wouldn’t want to work with me. I really didn’t have anything to offer. At least, that’s what I thought.
He was on time. No big time. No entourage. Just a guy. We met and talked about furniture for about 10 minutes. For the next two hours after that, we talked about our families, our values, our interests, what’s important. We just talked. And, we found out we had a lot of common ground. We could work together. It’s as simple as that. No lawyers, no agents, no nothing. Just a couple of guys who decided they could work together with a common purpose; build furniture with style that almost anyone could afford. We were going to make furniture that was going to be inclusive, not exclusive.
Fast forward a year. We developed about 30 items for what we called a soft launch. We would take a limited amount of product and give it a dress rehearsal. You talk about nervous, we were both there. It sold out!
Now we’re about to go at this thing full bore. We’ve added another twenty plus items, with more in the pipeline. We’ve got thousands of pieces getting ready to roll. We’re realizing the potential of serving the masses with style and quality.
Thank you Angelo. It’s been a great year.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I’m in China. It’s the middle of the night. I’m in a hotel with one channel that has English. It’s some sort of an On Demand thing with one show and 22 episodes. I’m on Episode 15. I watched the first 10 the last time I was here. I only have eight to go. I’m sort of rationing them now, saving them for when I really need them.
This is sort of the thought process a starving man has when he knows the end is near, savoring each insect, each opportunity to eat. It’s not the quality of the food, but the fact that it is food, and it’s available.
It’s “Everybody Loves Raymond”. I never watch it when I’m in the States. But, I also never eat insects. I must be a desperate man.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Whenever I go to China, food is always something that I dread. For some reason, when I encounter food outside of the “normal” American channels (KFC, McDonalds, Pizza Hut, etc), there is always trepidation, and sometimes regurgitation.
It’s not that the food is bad in the sense of quality or safety, it just doesn’t fit well with my prodigious waistline. It might be the smells, or seeing the food live before eating it, or the chicken foot propped up against the sidewall of the soup bowl. Let’s just say the food doesn’t fit my eye.
Now, I’ve had plenty of good food in China. And some of it was real Chinese. I’ve had some pretty tasty street food as well. But, I’m in Haining and my options are limited.
I’m just getting ready to devour some Klement’s Summer Sausage with some aged cheddar cheese and some Premium saltine crackers. As you can see, this meal is elegantly presented on a Jack Links beef jerky bag. I’ve decided to pair it with a sugar free raspberry flavored water.
I’m sure you’re jealous.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
To look at her, you wouldn’t think this diminutive person could command an industry to change its ways. If you thought differently, you would be wrong.
Susan Inglis has turned her passion of a “green” earth into a career of caring for our environment as executive director of the Sustainable Furnishings Council.
Yesterday, Angelo Surmelis and I spent about an hour listening and talking to a very reasonable person, not a whacko, but a real person committed to making us better, a person who, instead of dictating, nudges, smiles, nods and moves you closer to doing the right thing for the environment.
In this case, the messenger of saving the environment understands the little steps required to help manufacturers get to a place where they can be successful. She spends time to understand the issues of the factory, and the very real solutions that are practical.
So, as a result of knowing Susan, I am committed to at least thinking about the environment each time I design, engineer, or produce a furniture product. For me, and many, that is the most important step.
“That man’s been the raspberry seed in my wisdom tooth for as long as I can remember.” When I think of Michael Moore, that line in “The Music Man” sort of sums up his career, and what many people think of him.
The befuddled looking man, overweight, bespectacled, and wearing a baseball cap is Michael Moore, sort of an everyman with lots of cholesterol. He’s not exactly what you think of when you’re looking for that one person who's going to save America. But, he’s trying. God, he’s trying.
I went to see “Capitalism: A Love Story” last week. In short, the movie’s about how our system of earning and living has been used and abused by an economic upper class that is raping our country and people of their dignity and ability to live a comfortable and fruitful life.
Moore’s style is to ambush unsuspecting targets with a single camera and ask pointed, simple questions to very complex issues. He has this ability to stand in front of his “victims” with this look, not a look of “gotcha” but a look of “huh?”, drives home the utter helplessness we all feel when confronted by things that are clearly unfair, but there’s nothing we can do about it.
His commentary rolls in the background, speaking of the hypocrisy of a system that allows people to be removed from their jobs and homes because of shell games being played by those in power at the banks, industry and the government.
His movies always go to the locked closet, the place where they hide Frieda, the crazy aunt the family’s been trying to hide for years. He opens doors and the vermin coming streaming out. He pulls on the scab of a wound that just won’t heal. Yes, he is the raspberry seed in the wisdom tooth of America.
Many people look at Michael Moore as a left-winger who’s out to destroy America with some sort of socialist agenda. If he looked differently, was taller, thinner, and could see better, we might see something else, a Jimmy Stewart sort of fellow determined to see the light and find the answer the rest of us can’t or won’t acknowledge.
So, you go Michael Moore. Keep knocking on those doors that are answered by servants and guards. Keep digging the dirt. Keep asking the questions. Keep doing the job that our newspapers and electronic media long ago stopped doing.
And, as long as you do, there’ll be at least one seat in the theater that is occupied.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
For years, our transportation system evolved and revolved around me. I want to be there. I want to drive my car. And, I want to be there when I want to be there, not a minute before and not a minute after.
On Tuesday, I spent an hour and forty-five minutes going from suburban Chicago to downtown, maybe 25 minutes. As I’m sitting there, in traffic, watching train after train go by me, I kept thinking “Why am I not on that train?”
As I got to my destination I circled and circled and circled, trying to find a parking spot. Finally, one opened up. Now, as I’m digging in my pockets for change, I have to figure out how much time and how much money I’ll need. They’ve got these meters that print out a receipt you put on your dash to show you’ve paid. But, you have to guess right, because you just can’t add money to the meter.
I went to my stop, the Chinese Consulate. I waited and waited and waited for my turn. It’s coming close to when my meter time would run out. But, if I leave, I’ll have to wait and wait and wait some more. So, I risk it and leave about 10 minutes late. As I get to my car, I notice a lovely parting gift from the City of Chicago.
I might be a slow learner, but this convenience of a car isn’t so convenient. Take the train. Save some time. Save some money.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
When I was in high school, there were a lot of times when the bullies would come up to me and let me know I was in trouble if I didn’t do this or that. They always made it a little uncomfortable, but never to the point where I felt endangered.
After seeing this story about a 16 year-old Chicago boy being bludgeoned to death by alleged gang members for reportedly refusing to join a gang, I’ve got to wonder what’s going on in the world that I don’t understand.
As a parent, I would never advise my child get into a gang, because it leads to a dead end life. But now, I might have to rethink that position. Because, in this particular case, not joining a gang resulted in dead, not dead end.
Gang’s have always been about “turf”, about owning something when you didn’t own anything, about having status when you had none, about having safety when chaos was all around you. But, they were always somewhere else. Not anymore.
I used to feel insulated and isolated from gangs, living in my town of 12,000 people. Now, I see the occasional gang writing on walls, although our city is quick to clean this stuff up. I see it in the newspaper, with major drug busts happening in small towns, with tentacles reaching from all points of the continent.
The solution to this problem doesn’t lie in law and order, although that is an element of it; it lies in economic and social opportunity, where one of the choices is prosperity. It lies in education, not ignorance. It lies in making available all of the opportunities that most of us have.
We need to develop a culture of success in areas where the poverty is the highest. We need to build the best schools with safety and security ensured when the student walks to and from the building and in the building. We need to educate and offer opportunity. We need to be tough, and vigilant. In short, we need to be affirmative.
The cost of developing a gang member, or career criminal, is way more expensive than developing a contributing member of society. Gangsters don’t pay taxes. They don’t create jobs, unless you’re thinking of prison jobs. Gangsters don’t cure illnesses. Gangsters don’t develop solutions to our energy problems. Gangsters don’t put anything on the positive side of the ledger. They could.
There are examples of countries who have ignored the problem to their demise. Somalia is ruled by gangs. Mexico’s gangs are better armed than their military. You might argue the Taliban is a gang in Afghanistan.
This is no longer an inner city problem. We can no longer think this is something “they” have to solve. It’s our problem. It’s time we deal with it.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Before I start a project, I ask myself a lot of questions. The biggest question is why. Why should I make this thing? Why would somebody want this thing? What function does it serve? What function does it replace? Can I make it affordable? How will it improve the life of the person who buys it? And, will it be good enough? That’s a lot of questions.
The objective in making this was to maximize storage opportunities in existing space. With storage room at a premium, how do we find more? Instead of adding a closet, we thought we’d try another way.
Some of the greatest users of space in any house are beds. They have these box springs that bring the bed off the ground to a height that is comfortable to the user. Box springs really serve no purpose other than that, except to maybe knock a picture off the wall when you move it in.
In identifying this opportunity, we needed to find out how to maximize it. We could make a very expensive thing that would have drawers or levers or something cool. But, in study, we found that most people have bed skirts, or could have bed skirts that would cover up whatever we did. So, vanity needed to take a back seat to utility.
So, we came up with this, this simple frame with birch slats, with simple storage boxes, that can be moved in and out. And, with it all covered up with your bed skirt, the utility screams at you. Nothing fancy, nothing complex, just storage. And, at a retail price of $129 for a twin size bed foundation with two boxes, it’s affordable.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
In 1963, my parents bought a set of World Book Encyclopedias. At the time, it was incredible investment on the part of my parents. All of the information from the world was held in these books, at least that’s what it seemed to me.
I would spend hour upon hour paging through these, tripping over oddities while looking for information, sometimes for research, sometimes for pleasure, but always sometimes. Eventually, as I paged through these books, year after year, I got to know a lot of stuff.
The World Book was a way to find things, mostly accidentally. Things got to be interesting, not because I wanted them to be, but because they were. I found information because it was there, not because I searched for it. And, the more I traveled through the pages, the more curious I got.
The internet has replaced encyclopedias for the most part. While I love scanning and getting information, it’s different than sitting down with a book. If you saw it in World Book, it was knowledge.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Yesterday, September 6, we had a renewal of the Erdman Family Reunion. It's been over a decade since we all got together. I don't know if there'll ever be another one, but I'm glad this one happened.
Nearly 100 aunts, uncles, nieces, cousins and more showed up at the Doug (brother) and Tisha Erdman residence for over six hours of talking and eating and talking some more. Eighty-seven years separated the oldest to the youngest.
Some of my relatives came armed with pictures and all came with memories, memories we shared over and over. My cousin John came with a 1914 Model T. Nancy came on a Harley. How cool is that!
Doug and Tisha's residence has a large pond (some might call it a lake) with an island cottage house in the middle. Pontoon boat rides were given for much of the late afternoon to the island. After while, I was sure this was going to be as popular as Alcatraz.
Pictures were taken of each branch of the family tree. Then there were the cousins, and then the children of the cousins. It was interesting to see how the generations were moving on, how we who were the children, were now the parents.
Typically, we don't all see each other except to pay our respects to one of us who has died. This was different. We were there to celebrate each other, our lives and our heritage.
People came from all over, many flying in, knowing this event was special. My daughter, Cortney, flew in from Arlington, Virginia. She was not alone.
My aunt Ruth and Uncle Marvin organized this event. Aunt Ruth put together a sort of family history from the seed of this event, my grandparents, Louis and Hattie Erdman. While I don't think the Pulitzer committee will be calling soon, this publication will find its place in my most valued possessions.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
About twenty years ago, I was part of a business called Homeless Tires. It was a failure of epic proportions.
The idea behind the company was to recycle old tires so they could be used by power plants, keeping them out of landfills and replacing coal for some of our power needs.
Since the labor skill needed was low, our socially responsible pangs of conscience caused us to look at a new type of social contract. We would hire, train, and house homeless people.
Now, the failure part. The guy we hired to run the company went to homeless shelters, got his picture taken with senators, worked with social workers, and looked for homeless people who no longer wanted to be homeless.
The catch was they had to work. They didn’t like working the working part. For the most part, they liked drinking. Now, we weren’t prepared for that.
Another thing we weren’t prepared for was them lacking basic, common sense.
In Wisconsin, we have something called winter. So, heat is kind of a necessity. The apartments we rented used radiators. If you turned the heat up, they got hot. And, if you didn’t regulate the heat, the room will get hot.
After a couple of months of $1,000 heating bills for one bedroom apartments, I called the landlord to find out what was wrong with the furnace. I was told it was working fine.
So, I took the landlord to show him how the furnace wasn’t working. We asked to get into an apartment to take a look. And there it was, an open window.
“Damn”, I was told by one of our workers, “These apartments sure get hot!”
I pointed to the wall, “Did you turn down the thermostat?” I asked.
“The what?” was the response. “What’s a thermostat?”
At that point, I knew I was in over my head.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I went to the Wisconsin State Fair yesterday. I spent most of the day trying ridiculous foods on a stick. Some were good, in fact very good, and some were not so good.
I had a Reuben on a stick that was better than the original. Cheesecake on stick dipped in chocolate sauce and nuts would have drawn a six star rating on a five star scale.
I tried cherry and root beer flavored milk. The root beer tasted like a root beer float. The cherry tasted like a dreamcicle.
Then there was the macaroni and cheese on stick….not so good. And crabcakes on a stick, which were very good.
The world famous cream puffs, unbelievably good.
And the piece de resistance, chocolate covered bacon on a stick. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that one. Watch this video if you want to see it.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The incompetence of the President selling the public health option is baffling to me. For some reason, the most improbable President of the United States, who just ran the most perfect campaign, can’t seem to articulate the need for health care reform.
I can’t believe he hasn’t filled auditorium after auditorium with people who have been denied care by insurance companies, people on respirators, with walkers, with small children, dying people, sick people, the most morose scene you could possibly imagine and sell the program, and do it every day.
After a week or so of looking like Somalia, sentiment for the program would swing. Call Oprah; she’d know how to do it.
But, I think there’s something else going on here. Insurance companies are big business. Health care is big business. And, the President needs big business on his side. So, he’s out there soft selling, back pedaling, reacting.
There’s only one thing this type of selling will offer and that’s hope. We need more than hope; we need leadership.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Bruce Springsteen said it best when he said that of Pete Seeger, the banjo picking, earth loving, peace worshipping, fairness demanding troubadour of our times.
Never giving in, but never raising his hand in anger, Seeger has spent his life bringing good to everything he touches while the fearful, the cowards, the bigots, the maggots of our society tried to tear him down. He held his head high while they gnashed their teeth in sky is falling fashion.
What did these people fear? “Where Have All The Flowers Gone”, “This Land is Your Land”, “Turn, Turn, Turn”, and his dangerous banjo caused them to feel unsafe and build bomb shelters. Pete Seeger, the affable songster was the boogeyman.
Seeger used music and peace to bring people closer together. From introducing “We Shall Overcome” to Martin Luther King to saving the polluted Hudson River with the Hudson River Sloop Clearwater, Seeger has always been about justice for people and for nature.
In January, Pete Seeger sang at the Inauguration of President Obama. What a turn of events. His political opponents from the 1950’s going forward are mostly dead, gone and forgotten.
In May, he turned 90. Musicians from every genre came out to honor him. They came out to honor seven plus decades of perseverance. They came out to honor the person who lived a life worth living.
He lives his music. He lives his message. His voice is not as strong. But, it’s never been about the strength of the voice. It’s been about the strength of the message. Sing on Pete.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A couple of weeks ago, the police were called to a residence in Cambridge, Massachusetts to investigate a possible break in. They showed up to find a black man, cane in hand, in his home. The man in question was Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
A Sergeant Crowley of the Cambridge Police Department showed up to investigate the possible break in. Sgt Crowley is a respected policeman who was chosen to teach racial profiling.
What should have been a just checking out, thank you sir call, turned out to be a something else. It turned out to be a racially charged power play of two people with attitudes unable to come to some sort of understanding of one person doing his job, and the other feeling the clutches of the slavery chains from years ago.
It was neither. What this really was about was two guys with power. The professor acted like the jerk he clearly was and the police officer wasn’t going to let the guy get away with it, at least not on his watch. If he was an umpire, he’s the guy who throws out the manager because he’s in charge.
They both put the President in an embarrassing position, which he was all-too-ready to take. They put the professor’s friends in an awkward position of changing his name to “Skip” instead of Professor Gates to make him look more human, more accessible. They put the Cambridge Police Department, and all police departments on trial across the country because Crowley just couldn’t look the other way.
And now, Thursday, the professor, the cop, and the President are going to get together for a beer. Maybe, next time, Crowley will show up at the Gates’ residence with a beer. Yeah, sure.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Imagine my surprise when I got an audit notice from the IRS that I owed over $700,000 in back taxes and penalties. So, I called the agent on the notice and try to find out why I owed all this money. It had to be some sort of mistake. This was 2004.
It wasn’t, according to the agent. You see, I earned $1,106,125.00 from a barter company called Intagio. At least, that is what the 1099-B form said. But, I said, I didn’t earn this much and I wanted proof.
Eight years ago, I traded some furniture through Intagio for some services. The total amount was a little over $70,000.
So, about six weeks later, I got this pile of paper in the mail from the IRS with all kinds of transactions sent by a rogue computer at Intagio. They weren’t right and I contacted Intagio to get this corrected, and they did shortly thereafter. This was 2005.
It took me nearly two years and several visits to a local IRS office to convince them my position was correct. I went through levies and threats and all the stuff the IRS does. Finally, I sat down with one person who got it all settled, or so I thought. This was 2007.
About two months ago, I got a notice that I owed $28,000 for back taxes and penalties related to a 2001 return. Again, I went through the process of finding what this was all about.
I just received a packet in the mail. And there it is, $1,106,125.00 on a line on the form in the income column.
Here we go again. This is 2009.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
One of the things I look forward to when I come to California is an IN-N-OUT burger. I had mine this afternoon, Double-Double with onions, pickles and ketchup.
If you’ve been to IN-N-OUT, you know your meal is made to order, fresh. There is usually a line at the cash register and food usually takes about 10 minutes, maybe more.
This is the part that drives me crazy. Since the place is so busy, tables are hard to come by. So, some people like to think they can beat the system by having one person order the meal, while the rest scout out a table and squat. Looking around, you’ll notice many tables are being attended by squatters, not eaters, while people with food are forced to figure out other methods.
If people would just order their meal, wait for it, and then look for a table, there would be plenty of room. But, we being the selfish people we are, can’t wait. Sometimes I wonder if we really are intelligent life.