unLuddite

Goals (cont.)

2009-08-29T13:51:00.002-04:00

The 101 Goals Challenge rolls on as do the final days of summer. Several have been started, a few completed. Let us take stock of what has been, what is, and what will and might be.

In the far-less-satisfying-than-I-thought-it-was-going-to-be category, we have Goal #85: Reach 100 followers on Twitter. In all honestly I'm not sure what achieving this goal represents. It certainly does not make me feel more interesting or more popular. I don't feel as if I've actually gained anything by completing this.

What was satisfying was completing Goal #16: Score in the double digits in the company basketball league. What follows is a telling of this fabled event.

On the eve of our final game of the regular (summer) season I had all but lost hope of achieving the aforementioned goal. Surely I've been gaining more and more confidence on the offense side of things, but still did not think that this milestone, which I had set for myself was within grasp. What made it seem even more unattainable was the fact that the team we were scheduled to play against was one that we lost to previously by the widest margin in all of our games played. These guys were no slouches. The one thing that was in my favor was that we would not have our complete 10 to 12 person roster for this game. Indeed, only 6 Fidessans came to play on that glorious night. None but one will remember it forever.

Given that we only had one other player available for substitutions, I knew that I would get plenty of playing time. I knew that setting a good pace and not wearing out early was key. As it turned out, I ended up playing the entire game, which was no easy task given the absence of air conditioning inside the sweaty and humid upper west side junior high school gymnasium.

My first basket came from a quick, pull-up jumper just below and to the left of the free-throw line. The next score came after receiving a laser pass down in the paint, right in front of the basket. A quick turn around sky hook added two more points to my total, which now stood at 4. Points 5 and 6 were came from of a bad pass made by the opposing team that was deflected toward me, sending me down the floor on a fast break. In my sprint up-court, I was being closely guarded, and even though I had an outlet pass to a trailing teammate, I knew if I took it strong to the hole, I would stand a very good chance of drawing a foul. As I stopped dribbling and prepared for my 1-2-jump-shoot, the defender peeled off and gave me an uncontested layup. Thus ended the first half, with my total points scored at 6.

The beginning of the second half brought a handful missed opportunities. After coming off the first half high of having scored 6, I was starting to get nervous about my chances as we approached the mid-point of the second, and final period of play. With approximately 5 minutes left in the game, I was fouled and got sent to the line for 2 free-throws. Alas, I made but one. Clearly, I thought, 7 was not my lucky number. I would require 2 more baskets to complete my goal, and given how my offensive effort was turning out in the second half, it looked like my chips were definitely down.

At this point, the more astute of my readers would have surely noticed that in order to consider the stated goal complete, I would be required to amass a minimum of 10 points in the game. Having already scored 7, a three-point shot would put me into the black. Therefore, my previous statement that I would need two baskets to complete the goal was wrong. One long-range field goal from beyond the arc would suffice. To this, I would have answered, "But I'm playing forward, and I haven't attempted or made a three-pointer all season long." The bellyaching of one with no vision nor cunning.

I continued to play on with regulation time running down along with my spirits. But who says miracles don't happen? Who says wishes can't come true?

In the final minutes of play and Fidessa Corp in possession of the ball and the lead, we decided to take it to our opponents, and not to sit back on our lead. Our veteran point guard pushed the ball up-court. I scrambled around underneath the basket trying to shake free of the down-low defenders and get open. The ball was swung to the left side of the court and back to the right. As I weaved up through the opposition's zone defense, I ended up up-top in the land of the PG and SG who have since rotated elsewhere.

I was open.

The PG saw the breakdown in defense and looked for the open man, who happened to be yours truly. He fed me the rock, and without an extra dribble or an extra thought I let fly. As the ball left my fingers, I felt it leave true.

Swoosh.

As I made the casual turn to get back on defense, I glanced over to my right at the referee, who was jogging up the sideline. The referee had both arms in the air making the sign of the touchdown.

There are some referee signals that are common between American football and basketball; the sign of the touchdown is one such signal. However, in the game of basketball, this gesture does not represent the scoring of 6 points by gaining the opponent's end-zone, nay, in basketball, this pantomime indicated a successfully-made three-point field-goal.

You see, in my haste to get off the open shot before a defender had a chance to come to me and make the opportunity flee, I failed to look down at my feet. Had I done so, I would have seen that they were planted just outside the designated arc that is the three-point line.

I made my 10.

Oh and some time ago, I read the Nikon manual.

Catching Up

2009-08-06T20:08:00.002-04:00

I have to admit that while I was in the midst of composing my 101 goals I had already scratched a couple off the list. Some may call this cheating, but given the difficulty I had with finishing the list in the first place, I say bugger off, I'm keeping my completed goals!

The first goal to fall was #26 "Fix the name on my driver's license." I mentally prepared myself for what I thought would be a long, hard slog through the bureaucratic seventh circle of hell ruled by its overlord, the terrible Commissioner David J. Swarts (DMV for short). Imagine my surprise when the whole process of changing my name and address took all of 20 minutes! Sure I had to wait on two different lines, and sure I had to fake smile at the second teller's sour puss as she sucked her teeth (my favorite) and complained (as if I had anything to do with it) that the gentleman whom I dealt with prior to intruding on her workspace didn't take care of both my name and address changes, but if that was going to be the worst of it, then it was a small price to pay. A small price to pay, indeed.

As a side note, it seems to me that government employees often take on the attitude that they are doing you an enormous favor, which they will do, although begrudgingly, by performing their job (poorly, usually). You can't help but feel like you've ruined their day by simply asking them to provide the service or perform the task for which they were provided employment. But I digress.

The next goal to be scratched off was "#25 Get that noise that the car tire makes taken care of." This unnerving noise was the bane of my driving existence. It only made itself apparent as I cruised at low speed or made slow, right-hand turns. The sound was reminiscent of a piece of machinery that is slowly coming to the end of its life with a sad, metallic whimper.

Lucky for me I banged my car into an iffy spot on the road (that's as much as I will divulge) and damaged a good portion of my right, front-end thereby incurring over $1000 worth of damage. All the work that was done on my car had miraculously "fixed" the noise. Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.

Finally (I left the most exciting for last) goal "#70 Get a famous person to reply to my on Twitter" got a big fat check mark next to it on 12:49 PM on July 30th. The super-famous, and super-Canadian Pat Kiernan (@patkiernan) of NY1 replied to me. He thanked me for suggesting he check out the very insightful blog TechDirt for its great coverage of the collapse of print news.

The trojan virus that this site has installed on your computer, unbeknownst to you, with its novel algorithm for determining skepticism by detecting changes in your typing speed and mouse acceleration, will no doubt transmit to my host system your virtual eye rolling as you scoff: "Pat Kiernan is not a celebrity!" Well to you, sir or madam, I submit the following: Pat Kiernan has appeared in no less that 5 TV shows and/or movies. That's only 2 less than Mariah Carey. Nuff said. Check. Done. Next please.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some crunches to do.

101 Goals in 1001 Days

2009-06-18T23:36:00.022-04:00

I painstakingly crafted the following list of 101 goals to be completed in 1001 days. Hopefully some of these will lead to situations involving incredible folly, danger, perhaps even intrigue, subterfuge, and ... mudeeerrrr?

001 Get an LCD TV no smaller than 40"
002 Make my lower abdominal muscles more chiseled
003 Stop cutting myself while shaving
004 Buy a house without going broke
005 Buy an engagement ring
006 Propose
007 Get married
008 Have a kid (considered complete at conception)
009 Learn conversational Spanish
010 Break 6 figures
011 Make my website idea usable just for the hell of it
012 Go to Europe again
013 Avoid the hospital
014 [redacted]
015 Help improve Alejandra's credit score
~~016 Score in the double-digits in the company basketball league~~
017 Update my blog (more often)
018 Bring the average grocery bill down to $150 or less
019 Use my power drill for some kind of home project
020 Go on a trip with my brother
021 Put up the ceiling fan
022 Get back to benching 250 lbs at the gym
023 Have lunch with DC every now and again
024 Try to hang out with Eric and Alvin more
~~025 Get that noise that the car tire makes taken care of~~
~~026 Fix the name on my driver's license~~
027 Run a 10k
028 Run a half marathon
~~029 Read the Nikon manual and understand the features~~
030 Learn how to make 'holodets' from my grandfather
031 Get myself a decent pair of eyeglasses
032 Get my summer suit altered
033 Stick to drinking mainly water
034 Become better at picking wines
035 Complete the 100 push up challenge
036 Visit the Guggenheim for the first time
037 Visit MoMA for the first time
038 Go see an interesting exhibit at the MET
039 Take Alejandra to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden
040 Take Alejandra to the Coney Island Aquarium
041 Go to the dentist for regular cleanings every 6 months
042 Be done with Invisalign
043 Sketch Alejandra
044 Do a DIY project from Lifehacker
045 Play my guitar at least once every 2 weeks
046 Go see a taping of the Colbert Report
047 Read the Dark Tower series by Stephen King
048 Snowboard at least 5 days every winter
049 Donate my blood at a blood drive
050 Take part in a volunteer opportunity
051 Visit Washington D.C. with Alejandra
052 Go to Napa/Sonoma Valleys
053 Learn how to bake my mother's apple pie
054 Do the summer dancing thing at Lincoln Center
055 Call my grandparents once every 2 weeks
056 Use that "The Art of Shaving" coupon that's lying around
057 See a Broadway musical and attempt to enjoy it
058 See the movie "Up"
059 No more FCRF blunders
060 Buy more better-fitting boxers
061 Watch Labyrinth and The Princess Bride back-to-back
062 Take Alejandra row-boating in Central Park
063 Start a college fund for progeny
064 Go on a Caribbean cruise
065 Practice singing while playing guitar (in key)
066 Take Alejandra to Brighton Beach, have her try my favorite Russian treats
067 Participate in an Improv Everywhere event
068 Read a book in a day
069 Go ice skating at least once every winter
~~070 Get a famous person to reply to my on Twitter~~
071 Finally see Haresh's new apartment
072 Finally see Matt's new condo
073 Go apple picking
074 Go berry picking
075 Smoke a cigar
076 Get a manicure
077 Get a pedicure
078 Get a couples massage
079 Attend the 4th of July Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Championship
080 See a Yankees game at the new stadium
081 See my first Rangers game (bonus for playoffs)
082 Visit the Intrepid museum
083 Walk from our apartment to the West Village
084 Get a new hair style
~~085 Reach 100 followers on Twitter~~
086 Go to my high school reunion, make at least 3 people jealous
087 Do a cartwheel in public (again)
088 Brew my own beer
089 Contribute to an open source project
090 Submit something to Digg, break triple-digits
091 Change someone's political opinion
092 Vote
093 Cook a special dinner for mah behbeh once every 3 months
094 Rent something from Rent-A-Center
095 Become a charmer in social situations
096 Answer a newspaper ad for anything
097 Go fishing
098 Play cupid/matchmaker
099 Invest at least $1,000 in a stock tip
100 Go to a book signing or a book reading
101 Render someone speechless

I Want To Pump Me Up

2009-05-04T18:40:00.003-04:00

I go to the gym.
    That is to say, I make every effort to go to the gym.
        To be clear, I make my best effort to go to the gym.
            Just so there's no confusion, I sometimes go to the gym,
                but most of the time, I don't.

In my sophomore year of college I needed some type of activity to fill the enormous, gaping, Earth-destroying asteroid-sized hole in my schedule. The problem was that I was taking undergraduate and graduate courses at the same time; the latter did not start until the evening and the former promptly ended just past lunch. While I knew about the existence of a gym on our poor excuse for a "campus," I was never had never felt a desire to be within the confines of its man-sweat soaked walls, breathing in its man-sweat-vapored air.

Prologue.

I was not single at the time and—and I assure you, most guys in steady relationships do—thought that any attempt to improve my outward appearance was a complete waste of my valuable time; time that could have otherwise been spent watching pirated movies on my laptop in the library—and I assure you, many hours were spent doing just that. I was a skinny pole-of-a-human-being and did not care. Could you have blamed me? Why sweat at the gym when you can get the milk for free?

Nevertheless I had time to kill and was running out of movies to watch. With a faded-pink-faced Master combination lock and a change of shorts and shirt in tote, I took the two flights of stairs down to the basement of Rogers Hall and thus began my foray into the process of forging and sculpting muscle tissue. It was slow-going at first, but after a few weeks I started to like the "pain" although I had yet to see any "gain." Like a child who just did his first push-ups, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, flexing my puny biceps in desperate search for any hints of a muscle bulge rising up just under the skin's surface.

Surprisingly, I kept at it and actually saw results. This fueled my vanity and helped me fight the constant, internal battle against complacency and sloth. In the off moths I was able to maintain my new-found regimen by using a Bally Total Fitness membership that I had gotten with my family at the Jew-ripe age of 13 and then had promptly abandoned at the age of 13-and-a-half. Going back to that gym I felt like General MacArthur reclaiming Manila, except instead of overjoyed, newly-liberated aborigines, I was surrounded by juiced-up, spray-tanned, Axe-bathed walking stereotypes. I felt sound as a pound.

Near the tail-end of my illustrious college career I had picked up a workout buddy in form of my BFF Eric after convincing him to sign up for a Bally's membership. I quickly brought him up to speed and in no time we were pumping out the same weight and reps. We helped push each other in those difficult times when we felt like we were stuck and not improving ("plateaued"). I looked forward to our time at the gym, because that was our time to catch up on the television that we've watched or chances with females that we've ruined.

As a side-note, he has never thanked me for transforming his scrawny physique into its current form. I will be expecting a gift of some sort from his future wife of greater or equal value to a year's-worth of personal training sessions.

Thanks to Eric and our silent, never-spoken-of competition to see who will become bigger and stronger, I was able to keep a, for the most part, steady gym schedule: a diligent three days per week. Not the most intensive of workout schedules, but still pretty good by 1-out-of-every-3-American-kids-is-overweight-or-obese standards.

The schedule started to break down once I moved in with my girlfriend. Having someone tell you they love you just the way you are can really take its toll. Losing my gym buddy in the process—through distance, not death—did not help matters. I keep looking for and finding excuses. The irony is that I know how much harder it is to start back up once one has been out for too long. I dread that first day back after a too-long a hiatus. I've been there many times before: muscles too reluctant to stretch, give up too easily, recover slowly.

I hope that it is the winter and now spring months that are making me lethargic. Once the summer comes and I drop the five-or-so hibernation pounds I've put on I will be back to my old routine. However, I know I will not be pushing myself with the same intensity as before. I will likely settle into a less-strenuous maintenance routine, which is probably healthier anyway as I will be reducing the amount of stress I put on my body.

The above-mentioned intentions are written here as a statement for the record and for no one else's benefit but my own.

I GO TO THE GYM!

Revelation Through Selfishness

2009-04-22T20:45:00.006-04:00

I think at this point it's safe to say this blog is clearly no longer "tech-centric."

I am not entirely proud of it, but I have been called selfish at various points in my life. However, I think I am in the upper class of selfish people, because unlike the runts below me I recognize this quality in myself whereas everyone else is completely blind to this glaring shortcoming of their personality. Given this last sentence, I must also admit that I have been called arrogant at times as well.

When it does so, my brand of selfishness manifests itself in my dealings with those that are not all that important to me, and is otherwise held in check—to the best of my abilities—vis-à-vis those I truly love and care for. However, despite being called arrogant, I am not delusional enough think myself perfect and therefore will slip on occasion and expose my selfish nature even to those that are near and dear to me. I usually do not mean to be that way, but at times it can be a bit of a reflex action; something I do not realize until after the act has already occurred, the offense made, and the damage done.

This post is about one such recent act of selfishness that I had perpetrated against the one I love most, and my emotionally-draining, -exhausting, -difficult attempt to make amends. By performing the nominal act of repentance, which I describe below, I exposed my rawest of nerves, explored aspects of my character whose nature, when encountered, felt completely foreign and counter to what I knew about myself (or at least thought I knew), but after which my love for this wonderful person that is now the premier source of my happiness and whose happiness is premier, will have become more complete, more deep, and more plentiful. With this act I lifted the self-imposed blindfold I was donning prior to my going through with this experience and was able to accept and gain a deeper understanding of my one, my everything, completely, and without reservation.

With so much preamble (near the point of filibuster) one would think that I must have had to perform some Herculean task as penance for some unforgivable transgression. In reality, the truth—to some—may seem laughable, but to me was anything but.

The crime: Failing to read my girlfriend's blog archives.
The punishment: Reading said archives.

My girl is an incredibly talented writer. Although my opinion may be biased, I know it is shared by hundreds of readers who frequent her blog and leave glowing comments and reviews after every post. I knew of its existence before we started dating. Its archives date back to a pre-us era. A period of time that, for her, consisted of constant highs and lows (but don't take my word for it, go read the archives!). The writing is vivid, clever, imaginative, and just plain spectacular.

In the not-too-distant past my girlfriend, rightly, pointed out the odd fact that I never went back to read all her old blog posts. She—once again rightly—said that had I had a body of work out there somewhere, she would stay up all day and night until she had absorbed every word of it.

I must admit I was rather shocked at myself, because this clearly was a terrible omission on my part. Why wasn't I interested enough to go and read all those posts that had been born out of my love's past experiences, and crafted by her superior literary skill? I really had no answer. All I could offer was a mea culpa and a promise to read them all in the near future. It was just after this promise was made that she warned me that I might run into mentions of previous men in her life as, again, these writings were from a time before we were dating. The comment was innocent enough but it certainly had an effect, and it lodged itself in my brain as I—with zero hesitation—navigated to her blog (this was happening while I was at work) and began randomly clicking on archive links seeking out these mentions that she had warned me about. I cannot say what led me to do this. Some base curiosity, I suppose. Even as a rush of anxiety and panic swept through me, I continued to click. I came up nearly empty-handed, finding only a fleeting mention here and there, but my search was definitely not exhaustive.

Following that day I let sleeping dogs lie and avoided that blog like the plague. I never thought myself so weak and pathetic and yet there I was, cowering, like an ostrich with its head in the sand. Days went by and I had forgotten all about it.

As a side note, I am not as completely naïve as I sound. I am fully aware that I was not the first man in my love's life. I have heard her recount—with a fair amount of detail—past almost-relationships and not-almost-heartaches. It was tough to hear, but I dealt with it in a rational and mature manner. Of course there is something inherently different between hearing her tell these stories now that we are together, and reading about them in these flowing, poetic, and tragic descriptions, which were written at a time not-far-removed from the events that they describe, without the aid of filters or omissions to blunt the blow.

No, just the raw...honest...brutal...and emotional truth.

This was my act of selfishness. I was a total coward. Nothing more than an insecure boy unable and unwilling to face the truth. Unable and unwilling to frame it in its proper context, which would have been the rational and mature response. I refused to drown myself in my love's gift, her talent, her ultimate passion. I stayed away, tail securely between knees.

Two days ago, she brought it up again. It was just a passing comment, but it stung my now guilty conscience. After some labored though I finally made the decision to refuse to let myself be ruled by this despicable cowardice, this wretched selfishness.

That same night I began to read. Going all the way back to the beginning—two years before our beginning—and continuing to read post after post. A body of work that spanned weeks, months, and years. It took nearly 2 days for me to consume it all, but consume it all I did.

It was difficult. Throughout, my pulse raced, my heart pounded against the inside of my chest. The ever-present lump in my throat, the gut-wrenching anxiety. I had wished I was a nail-biter. Even while reading the "happy" and "silly" posts I felt these extreme emotions in anticipation of what I might learn in the next story. There was a general feeling of melancholy that draped itself over me as I continued to read. It took me some time to analyze it and find its source. It had to do with the fact that I was reading about this girl who was not quite the girl I know now. The girl back then was different. Not better, not worse, just slightly different. I did not know that girl. She did not know me. We were not in each others' lives. This inherent nature of time and cause and effect made my heart ache as I read on. I do not know that it is entirely normal for me to have felt melancholy as I read about and imagined my love's life without me in it. However, in a way, it is a testament to how completely I haven given myself over to her, and for that I am not ashamed.

For obvious reasons the most difficult passages to read were ones that described her own heart aches. Throughout the entries she wrote there is an underlying longing, a desire to have someone special in her life. Her constant having to say good bye to those that are so special and important to her only add to this running theme. The cavalier ways in which people handled her heart were tough to get over, but my sorrow was infinitesimally smaller to what she must have felt.

It felt like one of those nightmares where the one you love is trapped inside some white room, completely unaware that you are on the outside, screaming and banging away at the sound-proof glass that separates the two of you. You can do nothing but watch as some terrible fate befalls your love. That is how it felt reading those passages.

The writing is so vivid, so lucid, it lifted me up and dropped me inside that room, onto that street. It left me there to stand and shout at the top of my lungs, "It's okay! I'm here! I'm here!" Being just a ghost, a disembodied observer, I had not the means to interfere or intervene. I was a helpless spectator as my love was there feeling the worst of pain.

Many times I had to stop to catch my breath and slow down my heart. I would wander into the kitchen or the living room to seek her out. I just wanted to hold her and to thank whatever force (God, Luck, Entropy) that brought her into my life and me into hers. I did just that, trying not to let her see my eyes well up or show how deeply touched I was by what I had just read. Of course she saw it anyway. She saw it on my face, in my eyes, felt it in my embrace.

With her help I got through it.

Reading those incredibly-written pieces I came away feeling immense pride (not pity). I felt so proud of my love, her incredible talent and her unwavering resilience. I saw that she never let her vulnerabilities become weaknesses. Her incredible wit, her inexhaustible enthusiasm, and her boundless ability shine through in every turn of phrase, and in every sentence crafted to perfection.

As for myself, the experience has taught me that I'm far more insecure than I let myself—or others—believe. I hope that this will teach me not to fear tests of emotional muster. I benefited greatly not only from the insights I have gained into her nature, but also it served as an invaluable introspective.

As I draw this to a close, I realize I do not want to end on a paragraph talking about myself. I really want to make this an homage to the only (last?) sexy lady in my life.

Here's to you.

I love you baby.

Holidaze

2008-11-22T15:55:00.005-05:00

We've all heard that cliché a million-and-a-half times: "It's that time of year again." For me, in winters past, this time of year usually meant nothing more than the start of the new snowboarding season, and was excitement enough. I paid zero to no attention to the bare trees adorned with twinkling Christmas lights or the emerald wreaths hanging on front doors. After all, what was in it for me? In my family we barely celebrate Hanukkah. When I was younger it came and went without much fanfare. Today, it barely gets an honorable mention. Back then, Chanukah (alternate spelling used here in the interest of equality) just meant another $20 from the grandparents to last me until New Year's Eve, which is when I would maybe score a couple of more gifts.

I guess growing up in communist and therefore atheist Russia did not easily lend itself to partaking in and maintaining religious holiday traditions. Hanukkah was not a big deal—never mind the actual high (real) holidays—and I did not even know that Christmas existed until I moved to this country. For us Godless Ukrainians, the biggest celebrations took place New Year's Eve, which is when "Grandfather Frost" would bring presents to all the young boys and girls. We even had a "New Year's" tree that my parents would still put up for several years after we had immigrated. I would constantly have to explain to my friends who saw it that it definitely was not a Christmas tree. They eventually took to calling it my family's Hanukkah bush.

"Are you putting up the Hanukkah bush this year?"

As I got older, my parents got more lax and the New Years' gifts dried up along with my feelings about the season. Since then I haven't really been able to—nor did I really feel a need to—"get into spirit" as they say. I would just be excited about and looking forward to hitting the fresh powder on my freshly-waxed snowboard; dreidels and baby Jesus be damned.

This year, however, the holiday season has a different feel to it. I'm in a much happier place emotionally and as a result I think I'm able to soak up the excitement that others are feeling about this time of year. None more so than my girlfriend, whose Christmas spirit is absolutely intoxicating and highly infectious. I really think some of her excitement is beginning to rub off on me and I don't mind one bit, because I really want to feel that anticipation that I remember feeling as a little boy, the one who waited for Дед Мороз to come and leave him presents under the New Year's tree.

I feel like a backwards bear coming out of a long summer's hibernation. Hopefully I'll be able to come out of my holi-daze.

Idling

2008-11-10T21:45:00.003-05:00

I spy my girlfriend through a narrow crack between the living room and kitchen doors. It's only a crack because my line of sight, while reclining on the couch, allows me only about a six inch wide portal. I see about quarter of the red Kitchenaid mixer (currently set to medium speed), a bit of counter top, and the rest is all umbrellas and chairs. The Wedding Singer is on the television, but I'm not really interested as I've seen it way too many times. Oh, Jon Lovitz! ... Ok back.

What made me want to write about this? Because every 40 seconds or so I am treated to the delightful sight of my lovely girlfriend hard at work mixing up some wonderful concoction that I can't wait to try. Today it happens to be a pomegranite and poached quince sponge cake.

Although I can only see about 2/3 of her back through my little porthole, every so often I catch a glimpse of her beautiful profile (she looks so cute in her glasses). Every time she makes an appearance, like the marquee star of a Broadway play making her first, long-awaited entrance from stage right, I'm filled with a warmness that is only matched by the heat radiating from the pre-heated oven (350 degrees Fahrenheit) and by writing about I hope to capture this feeling and linger in it a while longer as I try to find the words with which to describe it (and doing a poor job of it (a wordsmith I am not)).

That is all. Carry on.

Flipping the Switch

2008-10-20T22:13:00.003-04:00

At some point in our lives we take that figurative step into adulthood. Sometimes we flip that mental switch from young adult to adult proper consciously and willingly; other times, we have to be dragged kicking and screaming. Whichever way it happens, looking back, we can easily identify when that moment came and went. I would imagine that for the majority of would-be and could-be adults, this mental roll-over happens to coincide with the day that they permanently leave the parental abode, decide to venture forth and forge their own future.

And thus I flipped the switch this past weekend, deciding to take the plunge in a doubly-bold move of not just moving out, but also moving in with my lovely. It was a surprisingly easy decision to make. Easy as pie.

"It seems that it is the norm with this generation," said a colleague of mine recently, referring to to today's young people's propensity to live at home well into their 20s. I, however, cannot vouch for the accuracy or veracity of this assertion, because to me it seems that there is still a social stigma that is associated with failing to launch before the age of 25. I would know.

Nonetheless it finally happened for me and in the most advantageous, and wonderfully and wholly blissful way imaginable.

Who wants to live alone in Brooklyn anyway?

"You have to do your own growing no matter how tall your grandfather was."
- Abraham Lincoln

Europe: Recollections and Reflections

2008-09-16T22:41:00.002-04:00

“Dude, you're in fuckin' Prague!”

That's when it hit me. That feeling that I was missing since the start of the trip finally reared its bashful head while I was sitting on a bench in a park on Kempa Island near the Malá Strana part of Prague. It was probably the picturesque scene in front of me: hundred-year-old buildings with intricately-detailed facades nestled into and between rolling, green hills; towering chestnut trees in bloom reminding me of Kiev, the calm flow of the emerald-colored waters of the Vltava. All this man- and otherwise-made beauty opening up to me managed to finally break through my unexpectedly jaded attitude towards where I was, where I have been, and where I was yet still to go.

The idea was hatched just about two years ago and that is how long it took for it to come to fruition. Various extenuating circumstances.. ahem.. friendswithnomoney.. ahem ahem.. had prevented my vision of a European excursion from becoming a blissful reality. Then finally the stars aligned.. ahem.. foundnewfriendswithmoney.. ahem ahem.. (dastardly cough!), the flight was booked, the hostels reserved, and the trip was on!

Amsterdam: What a city!

Its crooked houses, with giant windows big enough to fit a grand piano peer over the canals and narrow streets like watchful shepherds tending to their flock. Its seedy Red Light District, with every vice on proud display, delights you with its decadence. A feeling of amazement takes sweeps over. You wonder why it is that you do not fear for your life or property even as you are offered every hard drug imaginable by shady characters on street corners. Its cobblestone streets teem with bicycles running through them, giving the city its pulse. Its pubs and restaurants are packed with travelers and locals, all wanting to hear your story and gladly willing to share theirs over the amber glow of an Amstel or the warm, nutty aroma of a strong, proper cup of coffee.

The spirit of this port town is distilled from the warm hearts of its people. One of these that we were fortunate enough to meet was a 40-something rocker in a Screaming Trees t-shirt. We met at a local brewery that is located under a reconstructed old, Dutch windmill. The man recounted a tale about hist visit to New York City in the late 70s. His journey started in L.A. where he began a hitchhiking tour to the Big Apple. When he finally got there with nothing left to his name but a $20 traveler's check, he slept in 25 cent porno theaters in the Bronx, and loved every second of it. This story was an example; the one thing that you come away with when you meet the people of Amsterdam is that they know how to deal with whatever life throws at them with a laid-back attitude and a smile. You simply cannot faze these people.

Coming into Amsterdam I was somewhat unnerved by the fact that the excitement of being in a foreign country, away from everything familiar and dear to me had not yet hit me. I was fully expecting to be as giddy as a school girl, and yet here I was, in this ancient city, brimming with amazing people and history and acting like I'm above it all. Although disconcerting, I was not about to let my jaded outlook put a damper on this momentous trip.

Our days were spent partaking in the standard tourist fare: museums, restaurants, and coffee shops. One afternoon was spent visiting a lovely cheese farm just outside the city where I had purchased a 2 kg wheel of some peppered cheese along with some smoked. It saddens me greatly to say that the cheese wheel did not make it to the end of our trek across Old Europe. By not letting it out of its paper bag, the cheese was not allowed to breathe and sweat in the open air and therefore proceeded to grow pasty green mold to match its new, unsavory scent.

Our last day in Amsterdam was spent with each of us going our separate ways and doing our own individual "thing." This was something that I initially thought was the antithesis of what a buddy-style European vacation was supposed to be, but it turned out to be the perfect way of saying goodbye to such a wonderful city.

I decided to rent a bike near the Central Station and simply ride from one end of the city center to the other, taking as-of-yet-unexplored routes and re-visiting favorite spots. I rode through the luscious greens of Vondelpark, on to the bustling cobblestones of Dam Square, and past the magnificence of the Rijksmuseum. I ended my afternoon at a cafe by a canal where I enjoyed a banana-topped, Amsterdam-style pancake (washed down with a few pints of sweet Amstel lager), and a conversation with a couple of chaps from northern England who were motorbiking their way across Europe.

"Is that a small portion for you?" They inquired, looking at my pancake, after I told them I was from the States.

It was during my solo bicycle ride through Amsterdam, during which I was free to let my mind wonder wherever it may, that began to feel the pangs of longing for my love nipping at my heart.

Berlin: What a history!

It is easy to feel small and insignificant in this reconstructed metropolis. Its colossal, neoclassical structures do not embrace you with their enormous breadth, they domineer and intimidate. The Reichstag, Brandenburg Gate, Tiergarten, all stand as stark reminders of the deep and unfortunately terrible history of this state. Seeing all the monuments and memorials, I came to see that this city does not hide its past, but confronts it, and uses it as a lesson to the rest of the world; holds it up, brandishes it with a warning and a slogan: nie wieder, never again. Drinking in the spirit of this city, this city that was the stage upon which dreadful events were played out that changed and defined the 20th century, brought on a solemn feeling of connectedness with the history of my family and my people. This experience was made more poignant while walking the Straße des 17. Juni, while gazing out over the featureless, concrete blocks of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, and while gazing upon the execution chambers and ovens at Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp.

Being in Germany and being confronted with these confusing, and mostly morose emotions, I wanted to ameliorate my internal turmoil in the proper, locally-accepted way of eating incredibly rich, artery-clogging, food and drinking an obscene amount of delicious lager. The food in Germany was incredible. I did not think I would ever get tired of eating delicious, savory pork in all its forms. Combining the savory flavors of fried, braised, boiled swine with the tanginess of the most delicious mustard in the world and the most incredible sauerkraut made me a very happy man.

All that was left to do was to sample the world-renowned Berlin nightlife. Just such an opportunity presented itself in the form of a Berlin pub crawl. Starting in a trippy "squat pub" my travel companions and I were afforded the opportunity of all-you-can-drink beer for an hour and screwdriver shots for the whole night. After downing a few skunky pints I felt much more relaxed and was able to sit back and enjoy the scenery that consisted of approximately 30 to 40, mostly college-aged tourists getting drunk, falling over each other and desperately trying to hook up. The night was pretty much awash only after a couple of pub stops as I quickly lost any and all desire to drink or get drunk (drunk people are much more fun to observe through sober eyes) and relegated myself to ensuring a safe journey back to our hostel for my inebriated companions.

One of these, however, developed alternative plans as he met and quickly proceeded to chat up some local, queer-looking birds—each one more androgynous than the former—and decided to accompany them to a club located in a God-knows-where part of the city. I pleaded with him to come to his senses and come off the tram with the rest of our pack, but in the end I gave up, no longer caring about whatever predicament he might get himself into. I gave up because I realized that I had nearly become what I had dreaded of becoming on this trip: the den mother. As it happened, Boy Wonder returned the following morning. He collapsed into bed at 0600 and did not rise until 2000, just in time to join the rest of our trio for a final dessert and coffee in that storied city. We made our way to the Communist-built Fernsehturm (TV tower) and its spinning, overpriced restaurant, and toasted to continued success on what had so far been a relatively safe and enjoyable trip.

We left Berlin on a rainy, miserable day. How fortunate.

Prague: What magnificent beauty man has wrought!

Our introduction to Prague came in the same way we acquainted ourselves with the other cities on our trip: via walking tour. Two of us—myself being one—managed to swindle out of paying for it in a manner where the fault was not entirely ours. We also took in a classical concert, enjoyed some lazy afternoon paddle boating near the Charles Bridge, and of course joined a pub crawl. Unfortunately this crawl was quite disappointing. We started out as a trio and quickly became a duo as a fellow had realized he had had enough and bailed for the evening. The remaining two—myself being one—decided to soldier on, but really it was a waste of our time and patience. There was nothing particularly memorable or interesting about this crawl save but for a trio of funny-looking and funny-sounding Germans, one of which proceeded to make balloon animals in order to try to win the heart of a young, Swiss girl. We left not long after his first poodle took shape.

Out of all the cities that we visited, Prague was the most difficult for me. The incredible vista views begged to be seen through lovers' eyes, and yet here I was, without the one I love, with nothing but my lonely, homesick eyes to gaze upon the incredible panoramas. Walking across the famous Charles Bridge, even with the crush of several hundred people, I never felt more alone. We spent more days in Prague than in any of the other cities on our tour because it was to be friendlier on the wallet (the Czech Republic has not yet converted to the Euro). With all these days to fill and not a whole lot to fill them with, my mind again broke loose from its pragmatic binds and I spent nearly every moment thinking about my love and how I longed to be with her. Although we were able to stay in touch throughout my trip via the Internet, it was not an acceptable substitute for the real thing.

I was in a desert. Each of my five senses ached to have their thirst for the woman I love quenched.

Of course this is not to say that I did not enjoy Prague, quite the contrary! Prague is an incredible city with a rich, long, and beautiful history. The city had truly touched me. It touched me to the point that I was so moved by what I was seeing all around me that I proceeded to get an incredible urge to sketch. My desire was fulfilled on our last full day in the city as I picked up some bare essentials at a local art supply store (all while deflecting attempts at ridicule by my companions), went to a park, picked my scene, and began to put lead to paper. I was not completely unsatisfied with the result.

Munich: What beer!

The people of Munich take many things seriously, of this I am sure. However, I saw first-hand how seriously they take their beer. It teeters on the edge of absurdity. Yet when you sip that golden, sweet lager for the first time you come to realize that it's not farce but brilliance. I enjoyed Munich. For me it was a toss-up between Munich and Amsterdam, but I believe Munich wins by a nose because it has better food and beer. Just thinking of the jovial atmosphere at Hofbräuhaus and the sheer enormity of Augustiner Bierkeller brings a smile to my face. Coming back to the wonderful food and even more wonderful drink felt like a homecoming. I love this city.

In many ways it was very appropriate that we ended with Munich. Despite the fact that we were one man down coming in to this Bavarian capital, and I was sporting a sizzling cold sore on my upper lip, it was a truly relaxing and enjoyable experience. In many ways the atmosphere there was very similar to Amsterdam, but with a more big-city feel that I found made me feel more at home. Having this sort of easygoing atmosphere allowed me some time to reflect back on all that I've seen and experienced—the vast majority of which is not recounted here—on our two-and-a-half week excursion. No matter how I tried to frame the trip in my mind, I kept coming back to the same point which I will expound upon here.

The trip to me was a demonstration. A demonstration done by me for the sake of me. My mind was catching up to what my heart had already known. These incredible sights, the amazing people, it all comes to naught if you cannot share these things with the one(s) you love. I believe that is also what motivated me to write this all down: an unavoidable desire to share how I was touched and changed by my experiences. Often, writing down our musings and reflections is an easier way to express the complicated emotions and ideas that bubble up to the surface than to try to explain them extemporaneously.

And so I share this.

The Blogs They Are 'A Changin

2008-08-14T21:48:00.002-04:00

The updates have been few and far between. I assure you—and by 'you' I mean 'me'—that there is a good reason for this: things are just too good. There are so many wonderful things around me at this juncture that it has become extremely difficult for me to separate from myself and write about random, mostly mundane, news items. I am so completely content within myself that leaving this comfortable inner-abode seems completely unnecessary and rather undesirable. In fact, I am so affected by my current state of bliss that I am beginning to reconsider the entire purpose and motivation behind this blog. Why do or should I force myself to write about these things? Are my opinions on these topics so unique or interesting? I distinctly recall getting the most enjoyment from writing about my personal experiences and reflections.

Perhaps I need a new mission statement and a better understanding of what it is that I like about writing and what I like to write about. I am beginning to think that it is unreasonable for me to expect of myself that I should be able to stay on any particular thematic path for any meaningful length of time. Maybe that's just not my style.

This blog began as a way to fill a need. That need was to have a creative outlet that would allow me to focus my mind and collect my thoughts. Also, quite frankly, it served as a way of performing upkeep on my writing, or more generally, written communication skills. I still believe in this, dare I say it, art form's utility, but I may still need to mold it to fit my style and find my niche.

I am still new at this. There are many things to consider.

To be continued...

"Ch-ch-ch-changes"
- David Bowie

The Human Spectacle

2008-06-29T13:26:00.005-04:00

After a long hiatus I will again break from my edict of separating life from blog and write about a personal experience that was simply too profound not to write about. I have been to the depths of what can only be described as the seventh circle of bureaucratic hell. I have gone down to the fiery pit of the DOT and witnessed the darkest and most miserable state of the human psyche. It took a Herculean effort not to spiral down to a rancorous disposition that was so thick in the air that it impregnated it like a poison. There I was like Odysseus, tied to the head mast with wax in my ears I threw myself at the Sirens, a mere quarter-inch of Plexiglas between us, and came out unscathed and able to tell the things I've seen.

All hyperbole aside, if you have never had the (dis)pleasure of having your car towed in New York City, you probably should experience it at least once so as to test your mental mettle. To keep your head cool and your wits about you as you blankly stare at a clerk behind a Plexiglas window while he or she is trying to give you instructions that may very well determine whether or not you will see your vehicle before the next epoch, and while a line of grumpy, irate, angry, pissed off individuals are bustling behind you either taking out their frustrations on the person next to them or on the poor sap on the other end of their cellphone call thereby making it impossible for you to hear the aforementioned clerk since the DOT did not think it prudent that these hapless purveyors of bureaucratic torment get a microphone or at least a vent in the piece of plastic that separates them from you and that would allow their voice and the crucial pieces of information carried within it to reach your perked up ears, is a feat that only a brave and strong few can accomplish.

And so there I stood with my heart beating fast, palms sweating, craning my neck so that I may try to make out the words that are being thrown in my direction, but can do nothing but slam against the window in front of me. The words, barely audible over the raucous going on behind me. It took a great deal of restraint to not turn around and shout a hearty "Shut the f*ck up!!!!!" to the line of miserable souls behind me. Luckily all my papers were in order and I did not have to raise my voice or pull my hair or slam my forehead against the glass. Instead, my lovely companion and I turned around and took our belongings and our sanity with us to the waiting area.

What we ended up getting were two front row seats to a spectacle that is the human condition. It was as if we were being treated to a private show; a small production filled with fascinating characters that all shared the same, miserable fate, but whose personalities were so drastically different that each, while facing the same horrid and insufferable situation, dealt with it in entirely unique ways.

A man with motorcycle helmet in tow chose the dignified wrath method. He was especially terrifying because the man's face did not move and was blank of any and all emotion as he proceeded to raise his voice and with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins—he seemed to have just come from the gym—he proceeded to enunciate word as he very loudly, yet politely, repeatedly demanded that he be given back his documentation.

Another—a rabble-rouser if I've ever seen one—decided to take things into the realm of passive aggression. "Welcome to New York City, baby. Three hundred bucks, welcome to New York," he proceeded to lament in a thick, what sounded like a Middle Eastern accent. He snarkily snapped cellphone pictures of the sign that listed the hefty fees that one would incur in getting their car back into their possession. At one point he was admonished by the supervisor for standing by a clerk's window instead of being at the designated waiting area. He threw up his hand and in a slow, mocking manner walked in our direction and took a seat next to my steadfast companion.

A young girl was trying for sympathy when her voice started to quiver and her eyes began to well. She begged for the man behind the glass to take and read a piece of paper that granted her temporary driving privileges. Clearly the man did not know how to handle this rare case and therefore resorted to send her away until she came back with a real driver's license. When she began to feel that her pleas were falling on deaf ears, she proceeded to read from the paper herself, voice shaking, pointing to the lines that declared that she was fit to drive until mid-July.

A woman huddled in the corner with her mobile phone. With what she probably thought was a lowered voice, loaded with sarcasm and profanity she described her "great" day to whomever was on the other end. She seemed surprisingly cool for someone who was apparently so close to missing a flight to some unknown destination.

Many others made their way through the gauntlet, each unique and fascinating. A young, male duo that would probably feel more at home in a Lower East Side dive than in this cold, heartless office, seemed to have befriended the man with the accent. One of them once remarked, matter-of-factly, that he may not have the money to cover the fees. A young Asian male seemed calm until he reached the window at which point he broke down and began to raise his voice like the countless others. A Hispanic gentleman got tired of waiting so he marched up to the supervisor window and gave her a piece of his mind, allowing all of us to listen in on his abusive tirade. This must have put him on the fast track since he was the next one to be called up to the pay window. "That's how you get anything done around here," he offered up as a helpful tip to me.

"Do you think at some point they lose all faith in humanity?" A question I floated to my companion about the city workers behind the glass, to which I received a hearty laugh as the response. This helped me to return to a more jovial state of mind as we both continued to observe and comment and laugh.

In the end, our stay was not as long or as filled with problems as most of the people we observed. I came away from the experience feeling pretty good about myself and how I was able to handle the stress that came at me like a steamroller the minute I saw my car missing from the spot where I had parked it on 10th Avenue. It is possible that were it not for the soothing effects that my partner had on me, I may very well would have flipped my lid. Maybe that would have made for a much more interesting blog post.

"When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane."
- Hermann Hesse

The More Things Change, The More They're Different

2008-06-11T11:27:00.008-04:00

Point 01: Metallica still doesn't get it
Point 02: Vinyl is coming back (no, thankfully not in fashion)
Point 03: The back to the future of RAM

Usually I am not one to beat a dead horse, but when one is passionate about something or when a particular story touches on a personal note, one must check their equine sympathy at the door and give that bleeding beast at least one more, good whack. After my last post about Metallica's leap into new media I thought the band is finally turning the corner on the Napster brouhaha, but this week a strange feeling of déjà vu swept over me as the boys from SF again managed to get themselves into the news after their management got into an unnecessary and ill-advised battle with the music blogosphere.

Coming off what must have been an amazing high after nearly completing a long-awaited follow-up to... let's say ...And Justice for All, the band's representatives hosted a listening party in London for a selected group of music journalists. The bloggers were not specifically told not to write about what they heard, and they were not asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement. Following that, much to the chagrin of Metallica's wranglers, these online journalists happily did what they normally do, that is, they wrote a review (mostly positive) of the new album. This touched off a storm of calls and emails from Metallica's management demanding that the reviews be taken down. The bloggers complied, although not without some tongue-in-cheekiness.

As painful as it may be, Metallica needs to finally learn this lesson: don't piss off your audience; especially when they are in fact saying good things about your music. I sincerely hope that these unfortunate missteps were done without the guys' involvement, but instead were the brainchild of some 3rd-rate marketing ape. At a time when people have less and less attention to devote to any individual band, Metallica needs to generate some interest in their upcoming release. Having these bloggers share their thoughts on the new album would have done just that, but unfortunately the situation was completely mishandled and the Metallica name is once again tarnished as a result. Here's waiting for an apology, or at least an explanation.

Keeping with the theme of what once was old is new again, it appears that vinyl sales are on the rise. Shipments of LPs increased by 36% during the 2006-2007 period, while during the same period CD shipments decreased by 17%. It is hard to come up with a good explanation for this trend. It may very well be that the audiophile population is multiplying faster than previously predicted, however I tend to think that as music moves closer to an all-electronic format and delivery, some people yearn to get back to the days of cool album art and interesting liner notes, things that you just cannot get off of iTunes. While vinyl sales will likely never overtake those of newer formats (450 million CDs vs less than 1 million LPs in 2007) it may force publishers and distributors to provide more options and therefore value with digital music. These may include exclusive online content or the option to buy the CD jacket and liner notes separately from the music itself.

Finally, those who know their computer history (not many of you, I suspect) should recall that the second generation of RAM used a ferrite (magnetic) core to store 1s and 0s. Then integrated circuits came along and SRAM and DRAM came with them in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Magnetic cores were replaced by millions of transistors embedded in silicone chips. It seems now that things have come full-circle as Toshiba is close to perfecting a new type of RAM called MRAM. This RAM uses tiny magnetic elements to store bits. Because it uses magnets instead of transistors, MRAM is non-volatile. This means that like conventional, magnetic hard drives, it does not require a power source to hold on to the information that it stores. This yields some tremendous benefits such as a 90% reduction in power consumption and the ability to instantly boot an operating system. Toshiba estimates that MRAM will make conventional DRAM and SRAM obsolete around the year 2015.

There you have it, the cyclical nature of our universe reveals itself to us in all manners and forms.

"Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative."
- H. G. Wells

UPDATE: Here's what the man on the street thinks about the recent rise in LP sales.

It's the music, stupid

2008-06-01T16:45:00.005-04:00

Point 01: Metallica vs the fans

The public has been clamoring for updates and I have not been able to deliver due to some major personal developments (good ones). When I started this blog I made a promise to myself never to cross the line and write about things that happen in my 3-D life. I will not break that promise here. Those that know me are aware of the latest happenings and I want to thank all those who were involved in any way, shape, or form. Thank you for your help, encouragement, support, and most importantly friendship.

This week one of my most beloved bands, Metallica, made a splash as it tried a foray into the world of online music. This seemed like a welcome departure from the Metallica of 2000, which had an angry Lars Ulrich appear in front of reporters and TV cameras and lambaste Shawn Fanning and Napster. This sadly misguided tirade ended up backfiring as it alienated many of the band's die-hard fans. It also made the band look hypocritical. Metallica was a local Bay Area band that grew into a mega-act because of its fans trading bootleg tapes of their shows and music. As a direct result of these 'pirates,' Metallica earned a fiercely loyal following that ended up launching the band to the summit of Mt. Olympus of metal music.

As it turns out, many former fans have still not gotten over Napster-gate and made it apparent in the comments to Wired's coverage of Mission: Metallica. The comments were so overwhelmingly negative against the band that it lead Wired to write a second piece about how sour the Metallica fans still are. The article's main focus is on Napster and how it tarnished the reputation of a once-great band.

I, however, submit that most of this griping about Metallica has nothing to do with Napster (at least not anymore). Had the band produced anything worth listening to, anything that was worth the title of 'Metallica record' in the past 8 years we would have all happily forgiven and forgotten. But the sad fact of the matter is that Metallica is not the same band that we fell in love with, and these diatribes against its online offering is a reflection of just that.

Metallica lost its edge and when they decided to take Bob Rock on as producer of their first mainstream hit Metallica (The Black Album). Rock was the man behind the boards for bands like Skid Row and Bon Jovi, bands that pioneered the very type of music that Metallica and its fans were rebelling against. While Richie and Jon and Sebastian Bach were running around on stage wearing lipstick and teased out hair, the boys from San Fran were on stage, kicking ass in black jeans and t-shirts while blasting out epic, thrashy riffs and face-melting solos.

While the Black Album gained Metallica a wider, more popular appeal (22 million copies sold worldwide), Metallica lost its core following and are still struggling to win it back. Releasing a down-tuned, tin-can popping, solo-less mess known as St. Anger did not do the band any favors. Their latest effort slated for a September '08 release, on paper, looks like a return to the Metallica of old. Taking over for Bob Rock is legendary producer Rick Rubin (Danzig, Slayer, System of a Down). The songs are back in standard tuning and Kirk is back to writing solos. I anxiously await their latest effort, but not without a tinge of apprehension. This, their 9th studio album, has the potential to make us love the band again (Metallica is the reason why I learned guitar), or it may be the final nail in the coffin for a band that while having an unparalleled catalog simply could not (or would not) keep their long-time fans coming back for more.

"To me the most boring thing in the world is safe, mainstream heavy metal...I'd rather listen to Madonna."
- Lars Ulrich

Sex App-eal

2008-05-19T15:35:00.009-04:00

Point 01: Sex robots
Point 02: 2-D girlfriends
Point 03: Starbucks nude logo outrage

At the intersection of science and sex is a motley collection of strange inventions and stranger personalities. People seeking ways to bring sex into the technology age. One way is to adapt old technologies to new, wanton uses. Another is to bring some outside-the-box ideas into the realm of the libido.

Give a man a fish, he will eat for a day; give a man a way to talk to a female without the awkwardness of face-to-face interaction, and he will use it to get laid. Cellular phones have been enabled and adapted to today's fast-paced, super-connected dating landscape. From those looking to make connections to those seeking quick relief (link not provided), the cell phone is a veritable Swiss Army knife of sexual fulfillment.

Of course if you can't stand putting up with members of the opposite sex having those pesky attributes called free will and self-determination, fear not! David Levy, a PhD from the University of Maastricht in the Netherlands predicts that we will be having sex with robots within 5 years and marrying them by 2050. Those liberal elites in Massachusetts will be first to make marrying robots legal, according to Levy. Levy points out that the technology is already available in the form of realistic sex dolls and all that is missing are "some electronics ... to add some vibration." Before you rush off and start Googling this guy, the answer is 'yes', he is married, but that would not sop him from trying out one of these fembots as well as letting his wife get in on the fun: "I would regard it as genuine scientific curiosity." While Levy waits, perhaps he should start practicing using this IT Kama Stura illustration as a guide. Another possibility would be to move to Japan as the Japanese are already leaps and bounds ahead of us in this as in all technology fields.

Of course if you can't stand putting up with beings that reside in and utilize all three spatial dimensions, you will be glad to know that Drew Burrows of NYU has the solution in the form of a projected, 2-dimensional girlfriend. She will spoon with you in bed and react to your movements. She is driven by a neat-sounding technology called "infrared sensitive light projection." Somehow I can't help but feel sorry for this sad genius. He is a modern-day Geppetto, but with a more lascivious motive.

I always thought that America was a nation or prudes. Maybe some of it has to do with the fact that about one fifth of all US households are disconnected from the Internet and have never sent an e-mail. If they saw all the lewdness, profanity, and man-on-robot lovin' that goes on within these tubes it would make them realize that having a barely-topless Starbucks logo is not such a big deal after all.

In any case, this technology-sex fusion will likely continue into the future and continue to amaze and confuse us. So for now, put down the Roomba, stop stroking your Pleo, and patiently await the golden age of cyborg kinkyness.

"For flavor, instant sex will never supersede the stuff you have to peel and cook."
- Quentin Crisp

Amortized Ambition

2008-05-10T14:47:00.012-04:00

Point 01: Root of all ambition

It may be a little early in the life of this blog to stray too far from its stated theme and goal, but I was recently inspired and would like to pay small homage to those that have influenced me thus.

I often find myself amazed when discovering the hidden talents and passions of those around me. Whether it be a penchant for homemade Italian cuisine, musical prowess, or general adroitness when it comes to dealing with people, I find myself wondering what drives us to attain these extracurricular proficiencies.

Those that have heard me say it know that I am consciously and conscientiously expending effort towards constant self-improvement. This half-joke-half-truth speaks to my very nature, and if I may be so bold, the nature of all those who strive towards a similar state-of-being. There is some innate ambition, instilled at various stages of development, that pushes us to constantly improve. It may aptly be described as a Darwinian force that drives us to fulfill our genetic potential, lest we fail to survive in our modern jungle. To be sure, I am not naive enough to think that such an edict is universal. Unfortunately, many are perfectly content leading a wholly stagnant existence. These people are denying their very nature; they deny their own mind and therefore deny their own life. The sub-current forces that put us on a path towards the pursuit of noble endeavors, at the end of which lies the pinnacle of human evolution, are suppressed by those with a lackadaisical and lethargic disposition.

It begins at a young age. We grow up wanting to be an astronaut, firefighter, marine biologist, or gynecologist to the stars. If you're lucky, those around you and in charge of your care will nurture these nascent ambitions. Through added years and understanding we mold these to better fit our more developed and mature mind; to make them fit within the framework of our surroundings and our own abilities. A few will turn supernova and completely defy convention by superseding the expectations of others, but more importantly, their own. These are the ones who claw and climb their way out of darkened obscurity and malaise, and into the morning light of success, recognition, and epistemological well-being.

It is a frail thing this ambition. At any point it can be derailed, destroyed, decried, and discarded. If you find yourself wanting to better yourself in any fashion, no matter how insignificant it may seem initially, it is truly something to treasure and protect and pursue. They are a lucky and chosen few that experience this urge and choose to act and to progress and to evolve.

"Ambition is like love, impatient both of delays and rivals."
- Buddha

P.S. For those that use Outlook as part of their daily office grind, I cannot recommend Xobni highly enough. Their product was in private beta for a while, is now in public beta (free as in beer), and available for download.

UPDATE: Possible first step towards self-improvement, read any one of these: 100 Must-Read Books: The Essential Man's Library.

Memory Memorandum: Forget College

2008-04-30T19:32:00.009-04:00

Point 01: Optimizing human memory
Point 02: For some, college is a rip-off

Not that any of it matters in the end, but we are constantly filling our feeble brains (consciously or otherwise) with an inordinate amount of information. But perhaps 'feeble' is an educated choice of word.

Our brain is a marvel. It is capable of processing a constant, uninterrupted stream of analog data with such speed that it would make Blue Gene weep were there a programmer who, through the use of affective computing, would code a shame subroutine into its software bank. This incredible speed is achieved through massive parallelism which gives the brain its processing power. Software developers know the difficulties of writing parallel systems. These systems are usually only semi-independent as each task works on small chunks of a larger problem. The brain, on the other hand, is able to achieve parallelism in a completely independent way. It regulates all our involuntary functions (breathing, heartbeat, etc), while interpreting signals from our sensory organs, while directing our muscles, while recalling hundreds of facts and thoughts. Not only that, but the brain is able to program itself; the result of which is memory and other associations we make from all this data we collect (connections!).

Nevertheless, according to Piotr Wozniak, there are only a few million items we can commit to memory within a lifetime. That is, information that we can store and be able to recall at any given time. An amazing article on Wired introduces us to this brilliant man whose goal in life is to maximize his ability to remember. He does this by using a piece of software he himself developed called SuperMemo. This program implements an amazing discovery about human learning that was made in the late 1800s. The discovery was a phenomenon called the spacing effect.

What is the usual way in which one tries to remember anything? We are all taught that repetition is the mother of all learning. But as was discovered and later shown to be true, the naive method of constant repetition is not the most effective and efficient one. In fact, the best time at which to repeat something one wishes to be recalled later is at a point right before one forgets it. As it turns out, we forget exponentially. Thus, this interval increases over time and thus one requires less and less repetitions as you go along. Eventually, the piece of information is nearly permanently ingrained into your memory, and available for immediate recall.

Piotr Wozniak was completely unaware of this phenomenon, nor its discovery when he re-discovered it on his own. He did so by meticulously studying and quantitatively measuring his own quest to learn (in particular, he wanted to learn the English language). He kept records of how often he would repeat vocabulary words and how often he forgot them when tested at a later time. Based on the data he collected for over a year, he was able to essentially quantitatively express the spacing effect and derive an algorithm to simulate it. Wozniak took his new-found knowledge and wrote SuperMemo, a program that implements the spacing effect algorithm. The user begins by inputting the bits of knowledge into the program that he or she wishes to remember. The program will then test the user's memory so as to properly adjust the "forgetting curve" and properly space out the review intervals. At this point the program takes over and notifies the user when it is time to review a given piece of knowledge.

One of the things in the article that seemed rather odd and somewhat sad was how the academic community failed to pick up on this incredible innovation. Imagine if your college professor told you about this system for learning facts, dates, etc. How much more efficient would your use of study time had been?

But let's take a step back for a minute. Maybe you should not have gone to college in the first place (at least not a four-year program). According to an eye-opening and at the same time seemingly obvious opinion piece, colleges are doing an abysmal job when it comes to taking care of its ~~customers~~ students.

Overall college enrollment has been steadily increasing over the past decade, while graduation rates have stayed more-or-less flat. A statistic in the article points out that a stunning two thirds of students who were in the bottom 40 percent of their graduating high-school class, and whose first institutions were four-year colleges, had not received any degree eight-and-a-half years after enrollment. The article points out that very often, students are stuck with buyer's remorse after leaving their institutions of higher learning. Despite having learned little in terms of actual real-world skills (supported evidence is in the article), these disheartened and defeated souls are left with immense debt and an unrealized sense of self-worth. Paying back a six-figure loan on a bartender's salary is a position no one would want to be in. However, these bastions of knowledge continue to hand out acceptance letters and BAs like they were going out of style. And why not? Colleges are businesses after all and will gladly take your money should you choose to give it to them. This is why one-hundred-plus seat lecture halls are filled to the rafters with students and smaller classes are taught by "rock-bottom-cost graduate students."

If you fail to attain meaningful employment upon exiting these ivory towers: no returns, no refunds. As a result, the value of the piece of parchment that you receive upon graduation is diluted by all those who failed to rise to the challenges that a college education posed. At the end of the article, the author Marty Nemko, offers some pointers on ways to improve this crippled system. For the schools, he proposes a set of statistics that should be collected and published for each college as a true indication of its worth. For students, he offers some basic guidelines on how to decide what type of college program is right for them, if at all. In our current times, higher education is no longer seen as a privilege, but as a right and the well-thought out, common sense ideas presented in the piece aught to be implemented by all colleges and universities so that students know before they buy. I'm not holding my breath, but hoping for some honesty in advertising.

"I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught."
- Winston Churchill

Geek Is Not Chic

2008-04-21T15:25:00.007-04:00

Point 01: Geek counter-culture
Point 02: NULL pointer exploit

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when it started, but it did. All of a sudden, 'geek' was the new 'cool.' Why did this happen? What sort of Twilight-Zone-Screetch-Is-Zack-Morris wormhole did we travel through?

Some of us think back to the geek, nerd, spaz, dweeb, pointdexter caricatures of Revenge of the Nerds, Family Matters, and Saved By the Bell. There was no uncertainty in these movies/shows. On one side were the cool kids: popular, athletic, attractive, go-getters; and then there was the rest: quirky, spasmatic, socially awkward, occasionally smart, outcasts. While these geeky characters were surely popular, they certainly weren't setting any trends or serving as role-models to young, impressionable viewers.

Then I recall a timid, unassuming, Ed-Grimley-looking, civil engineering student from UC Berkley humbly slink his way in front of a 3-judge panel and about 20 million viewers and proceed to create a cultural phenomenon. Following that, some genius TV executives figured out that there's gold in those dere hills and we saw a slew of geek-themed programming in the form of original, new shows. Sometimes we laughed at the geeks: Beauty and the Geek, The Big Bang Theory. Other times, we laughed with the geeks: The IT Crowd, Freaks and Geeks.

So there was the turning point. Geek becamse synomimous with cool. However, as with any over-used, over-hyped meme it has completely diluted and devalued the original idea it was supposed to represent. In a way, geeks were the counter-counter-culture hippies of the 90s and 2000s (in the 90s, the counter-culture was grunge and in the 2000s it was... still waiting on that one). Then all of a sudden the counter-culture gets a brand name sticker slapped on its carefully-starched, overly-tight, pocket-protected polo (metaphorically speaking) and everyone wants to be part of the geek revolution. We now have books and websites that celebrate the once-shunned.

If you're a computer science geek like me, you become unexplicably, and--to be completely honest--frighteningly excited about recent work done over at IBM. Mark Dowd was able to document a reliable, cross-platform, virtually undetectable NULL pointer exploit in Flash. Even for some hardcore CompSci geeks the original paper may be a little daunting so I recommend this little writep if you're confused. I recommend you read the writeup and then read the white paper to fill in the details. As we in the computer business know, when an application tries to access and/or dereference a NULL pointer, the application crashes. In addition, many application crashes and/or bugs can be linked back to NULL pointers. However, until now, even though they were everywhere, many had thought that trying to exploit them was pointless or even impossible. Afterall, what can you do with it if it's just going to crash the application anyway. This is why most of today's application exploits deal with buffer overflows instead. Mark Dowd has shown everyone that they were just lazy, stupid and just plain wrong about NULL pointers.

To me, as I read this paper, it was like peering into the brain of Einstein as he was figuring out relativity. It is a glimpse into the mind of a genious. I only wish more people could understand what this man was able to figure out. As I read it, I decided that the word 'geek' gets thrown around a little too casually nowadays. Therefore I am going to reclaim this word for the true geeks out there so that it does not become the next 'extreme.'

If you see someone claim geekiness because they check their local weather on Google or upload their birthday pictures to Flickr, let them know that it takes far more ability than that to be truly one of us. You may be chic with your BSOD t-shirt and frapaccino specs, but you are *not* geek because of it.

"It has yet to be proven that intelligence has any survival value."
- Arthur C. Clarke

Passing The Proverbial 'Buck'

2008-04-13T22:14:00.006-04:00

Point 01: Barack Obama
Point 02: Bill Cosby

There has been much hoopla surrounding some comments that Barack Obama had made during a closed San Francisco fundraiser. If you haven't been following this latest circus, do not fret, the good people at the Washington Post have been following "Bitter-gate" for you. Also, here is the original quote that caused all the commotion:

"You go into these small towns in Pennsylvania and, like a lot of small towns in the Midwest, the jobs have been gone now for 25 years and nothings replaced them…And they fell through the Clinton administration, and the Bush administration, and each successive administration has said that somehow these communities are gonna regenerate and they have not. And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment as a way to explain their frustrations." Barack Obama Speech in San Francisco April 6th.

While it can certainly be characterized as a gaffe, a flop, a political misstep, if you will, I would argue that its basic premise is sound. It goes to the heart of a huge problem that we have in this country, which is the complete and utter lack of personal accountability.

To that point, I read a great article in The Atlantic: "How We Lost to the White Man" about Bill Cosby's message to Black America (it is quite long, but worth the read). Dr. Cosby has become quite the provocateur as of late. He travels around the country preaching self-reliance and personal accountability to African American crowds. A message that resonates quite well with black conservatives. While some label Cosby an 'Uncle Tom' others--especially those who grew up during the Civil Rights movement of the 60s--are supportive of his message and his cause.

I realize it may be difficult to take seriously a white man trying to write about the plight of African Americans in this country, which is why I strongly urge you to read article from The Atlantic. It gives a great historic overview of the various black movements throughout the 20th century and gives a somber portrayal of its current state. I will not go much further on this specific point, but instead move on to the general thesis of this post.

Personal accountability is a quality that is held in high esteem by all, but practiced by few. The article I mention above does a wonderful job recounting how self-reliance helped bring African Americans in this country into a post-Jim Crow America. I would like to further generalize that point.

In my (albeit short) experience with working in the corporate world, I have found that personal accountability and self-reliance are much-coveted and very scarce resources. All too often people do just enough work, or just the right kind of work that when the hammer comes down, allows them to point the finger elsewhere while bemoaning "I did my part. I did all I could. I did all I was supposed to do." And so it goes with Obama's quote and Cosby's message. Whether it's the immigrants or the white man, it is always easier to put the blame elsewhere. It is a sad reflection on the state of our nation when these are the types of people we encounter everyday.

The most valuable piece of advice I can offer to anyone looking to succeed in their personal and/or professional life is this: take ownership.

Taking ownership means you are responsible for the failure and the success. It means the buck stops with you. It means you refuse to go through life trying to artificalially insulate yourself from failure. When things don't go your way, blaming a third party will not alter your course towards failure. In the end you must bear the cost and the burden. By taking ownership of all your decisions and actions and you in turn free yourself from the misguided decisions and actions of those that would try to point the finger at you and shoot you down along with them. In essence, you will have taken away their ammunition against you.

"A duty dodged is like a debt unpaid; it is only deferred, and we must come back and settle the account at last."
- Joseph Fort Newton

P.S. I realize this is supposed to be a tech-centric blog so here's a how-to on downloading YouTube videos in MP4 format [via Googlesystem].

The Audacity of Charity

2008-04-06T15:31:00.009-04:00

Point 01: New flash filesystems.
Point 02: Children in developing nations.

I was reading some technical literature on two new filesystems developed for flash storage. Flash chips present some unique challenges to OS developers that make conventional, disk filesystems incompatible with the functionality of these solid state devices. The first is a filesystem developed by engineers at Nokia called UBIFS. The other, LogFS, was developed by a kernel hacker (in the good sense) Jörn Engel. In the development of these filesystems, both were tested on OLPC machines. These (cheap) laptops were designed to be used by children in developing nations. They were built to be rugged in order to withstand being dropped, dragged, and generally suffer abuse. These extreme conditions would wreak havoc upon traditional magnetic storage, which are still too fragile to be able to withstand some serious punishment. Flash media, on the other hand, has no moving parts, which makes it perfect for this application. The OLPC project and its incredible journey since its inception in 2005 is the topic of the following mini writeup.

For those that aren't familiar with it, OLPC (One Laptop Per Child) is a non-profit association started by faculty members of the MIT Media Lab and headed by Nicholas Negroponte. It was set up to oversee The Children's Machine project whose mission is to put a cheap ($100), reliable, easy to use, environmentally friendly laptop into the hands of children in countries where access to and the state of education is inadequate and sometimes nonexistent. The project received its funding from many prominent, technology companies: AMD, Google, eBay, Red Hat, Brightstar Corporation, Marvell, News Corporation, SES, Nortel Networks, and for a brief period Intel.

This project gives credence to the phrase "no good deed goes unpunished." It's vision was bold indeed and the problem was daunting. Helping to solve the world's education problems presented a Herculean task, to say the least. Nevertheless, OLPC took its XO-1 model laptop, turned, faced the headwind and began to march towards its goal of improving children's education in the developing world. Throughout its life, OLPC had to endure setback after setback. Some are chronicled here (in no certain order):

On came the flood of criticism and nay-sayers. Some argued that the project is ecologically irresponsible. Others said that it doesn't solve the problem it set out to. During a UN summit in 2005, the initiative was lambasted by the leaders of Cameroon and Mali as a waste of money and effort. "We know our land and wisdom is passed down through the generations. What is needed is clean water and real schools," said Marthe Dansokho from Cameroon. India rejected the program because it was too expensive and the government refused to let their nation become a guinea pig for an untested program. In November 2007, a Nigerian company, Lancor, sued OLPC for $20 million for alleged patent infringement related to the XO's multilingual keyboard design. The suit has been making its way through the Nigerian court system and refuses to go away.

Intel jumped ship in January of this year following a bitter feud with Negrponte over its own sub-$350 laptop offering: the Classmate PC. Negrponte wanted Intel to drop the Classmate PC and instead focus its energy on OLPC's XO-1 model. Intel, however, did not want to abandon the resources it had already devoted to Classmate and decided to resign from the OLPC board. In March of this year, following some internal restructuring, the chief security architect for OLPC resigned, because in his view the changes lead to a "radical change in [the program's] goals and vision."

Despite all the brouhaha, OLPC has had some direct and indirect successes. The XO pilot program is currently deployed in countries such as Peru, Mexico, Nigeria, Mongolia, Uruguay, and others. Many nations are participating in the highly successful Give One, Get One program, which allows people to purchase an XO laptop for themselves for $399 and as a result a child in a developing nation receives one as well. In addition, there have since been many spin-offs of this project. Companies and institutions are trying to compete with the XO and provide better, cheaper computers to children in developed and developing nations. One example of this is Intel's Classmate PC, and there is also news that Indian universities as well as a Philippino company is working on an XO competitor.

What can be learned from this venture and its struggle to change the world? One thing to take away is that in order to solve big problems, you need big and bold solutions. OLPC may not solve the hardships seen by children growing up in developing nations, but it has started the conversation and got people thinking about the problem. This will help bring new, better, and bolder ideas to help tackle one of the most daunting problems facing the world today. The OLPC story also teaches us that you can succeed even when you fail (I'm not calling the program a failure, just making a point). I, for one, applaud Mr. Negroponte and his effort. It is tough business changing the world, but he made the hard choices and sacrifices to try and make the world a better place.

In a global society we are all connected and must help pull each other out of the gutter. If not, all of us will be dragged down in the end.

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." - Margaret Mead

Genesis - On Connections

2008-04-02T00:17:00.004-04:00

It begins with a point.

By itself it is completely and utterly dull. Get a bunch of points and draw imaginary lines in between and now you're getting somewhere.

There is something to be said about connections and the way they influence the universe. They can hold extreme power over us, but at the same time they are the most fragile things: created and destroyed on a whim. We all deal with connections in our daily slog: physical, logical, spiritual, temporal. And as we navigate this web of the tangible and the non, we seldom think about the consequences of the connections that we make and break every instant of our existence. Nor do we really examine whether all these connections that we make are improving our lives or are corrupting our very existence.

I am an engineer. I write software. I begin with an idea and I break it up into pieces that are interconnected by logic and a stated purpose. When connected, these conceptual entities combine to bring the idea to life. I transform these pieces into instructions that can be understood by a machine and that are connected by the concepts of logic and flow. The instructions grind down to electrical pulses that race between pieces of silicon connected by wires only a handful of atoms in width. In the end, the tiny, racing electrons that I have sent on their journey run through LCD monitors, WAN routers, keyboards, etc all in the hopes of establishing connections that are meaningful to us: an e-mail to a potential employer, a picture sent to a secret crush, a video of a friend who is on the other side of the globe. It is an orchestra that I've helped to compose and leave to you to conduct.

Connections do not exist solely in the physical realm, they permeate the realm of our own conscious and subconscious. What does it mean if two people "don't connect?" As if they were puzzle pieces that have since gotten too bent and damaged to be snapped together. How are these metaphysical connections established, maintained, and tested? With the myriad of ways for us to connect, the complexity of keeping track of these links seems to increase exponentially. It seems as if this fact would cheapen the connections we experience with people and things. However, I believe that it enables us (those who are still able) to place a higher value on the very few connections we have that are truly important to us. With a 1,000 friends on your Facebook, do you feel that much closer to the ones you knew since you were growing up? After days of instant and text messages exchanged with your love, does a simple hug, the feeling of flesh on flesh feel that much more profound?

This post began with a point, but doesn't seem to end with one. At least not yet. The theme of this blog will be "connections" and how the things that happen around us help us create new ones, improve the ones we already have, or realize that it all doesn't really matter in the end. Since I am a tech geek it will all somehow revolve around or relate back to technology. But I will, from time to time, elevate the discussion to a more cerebral level. This will help in my frustrated efforts to put my thoughts down on... paper? Because somewhere within me there is a writer eager to break out of his cage of laziness and procrastination. In any case, the goal will be to try to point out connections where none seem to exist and that is what I will try to do in future posts.

"The only person who can live apart from others is a Sage or an idiot."
- Plato