Bad Writing, Often

Condescension

2005-09-18T23:26:00.000-04:00

All my life I've been accused of condescension. Sometimes it's because I know an answer and force it upon someone else. Reaction: "What, you think I can't figure it out?"

Sometimes it's because I look like I'm going to laugh. Reaction: "What's your problem? I'm not kidding about this."

Sometimes it's because I disagree with someone and am trying to figure out a way around. Reaction: "You can't get rid of me. Hey, it's my way - or the highway."

But I always listen. If I can seize upon a missing element of logic and convince someone, I want their alliance. I want their help.

So it is difficult for me to recognize someone who engages a different behavior. Someone who wants to teach me what I already know. Someone who continually convinces me to agree with myself. Someone who would make me feel smart if she wasn't trying to convince me she's smarter. It is only now that I understand how my abilities and experiences escape someone who came so close.

Worse than the outright condescension of hostile listening is the subtle arrogance when someone does not care enough to listen.

The Day the Spin Died

2005-09-03T12:48:00.000-04:00

Donate what you can.

Wikipedia Article of the Day

2005-08-06T17:54:00.000-04:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RTFM

Cell Phone

2005-06-03T16:17:00.000-04:00

My cell phone was stolen while in The Netherlands. I don't hold this against the kind, friendly, helpful Dutch people. However, if you receive a call from someone asking for information about me or about you, be warned: such a person may be engaged in fraud. Just because they have your phone number doesn't mean they're an official source or friendly person.

And it would also be cool if you e-mailed me (DON'T post it online) your contact info. Because I like you.

Holland

2005-05-26T16:09:00.000-04:00

Okay, so Holland is pretty cool. Here's some pictures of the trip so far:
http://s87768561.onlinehome.us

Media Liberal

2005-04-02T11:18:00.000-05:00

There is a significant development in the philosophy of the liberal. The media has influence to suggest that the world is going downhill, but implements a false isolation from the interpretation of the news. The liberal is based on the desire to act - in any fashion - to change current events. With the media personality dominating the traditional liberal personality, modern liberals have no bite. This leaves liberals cynical with a shrug: "What can we do?"

Friends

2005-03-19T23:37:00.000-05:00

What a surprise - old media sources are worried about the trend of personalization in music, news, and entertainment. How can we be a nation if we don't share the same experiences, they wonder. How can we maintain our communities if we keep withdrawing from each other?

While newspapers, radio stations, and others worry that their patrons may be unenthralled by their latest pie charts and interactive maps, they fail to see their weaknesses. Wire services and sped-up deadlines ensure that news analysis is rare. CNN is no more useful than the scroll at the bottom of the TV screen. The New York Times is no more informative than the articles above the fold.

The missing element is the experience. Data does not build togetherness. Headlines and summaries do not build communities. The story that fails to tell me all about an event, the context and the people involved - all three essential elements - has failed to give me anything useful. Comments at a microphone - without analysis of their meaning - lack integrity and fail to gain my concern.

The old media attitude is the end of a failed evolution. Melting, melting, they cry, and we turn up the volume on our iPods.

Not just engineering

2005-03-16T00:48:00.000-05:00

april 19, 2003: there is too much unknown and unconquered to resort to circuitry

Culture

2005-03-14T19:58:00.000-05:00

A culture is the set of values which a society, at a particular moment, holds in common.

There can be no culture of rejection, because rejection can be described in common. A backlash against a value is one mode of iterating a culture. Inclusion of a formerly separate society is another mode of iterating a culture. With more inclusion, values tend to become more abstract. With more exclusion, values tend to become more specific. A diverse society creates a culture of abstract values.

Modernism teaches that individual choice dominates society - it teaches the death of religion and common values. Post-modernism teaches that abstraction is the only way to communicate between individuals. The barrier of different values is too high in post-modernism.

The abstraction of belief is really a widening of value. Those society used to exclude may have different beliefs than the traditionalist, but share values with the least progressive. Committment and dedication - embodied in marriage - are values which can be shared between religions and the excommunicated.

At the end of each day, the sky darkens, and we are left with only the moon to stay our patience until dawn. Though we have struggled with ourselves to absorb the refugees of tradition, we must embrace the greater culture that we create together. The sun is rising and it will illuminate us all.

Conscription

2005-02-27T21:18:00.000-05:00

I'm not quiet. I'm not waiting for just the right moment to leak out my big brave opinion. I won't asume I'm right - I'm not ignoring everybody else. Behind my motivation is the desire to be right, and I will make sure that I am. This is politics by opinion, and each subject has its own congress. Discuss: how old do you need to be to stop listening?

Burning Books

2005-02-23T22:36:00.000-05:00

The self-exorcism of our regrets is never so futile as when we burn books. Our history is forgettable but can not be removed from our experience. Even our worst mistakes lead us forward, and in the self-realized, our errors lead us to change.

In thought, in our minds, we can structure, interpret, and mold what we have done and what we have thought. Memories are flexible; by decision or by passion, what happened and what we remember is not the same.

The very act of writing a book should have a significance beyond the ink and paper expended. The opportunity to record a snapshot of our thoughts allows future reflection and evaluation. Without the analysis availed us by written records, we lack the insight necessary to advance mentally and technically. The ability to analyze our merits and mistakes is a privilege, one we must protect even when we are embarassed or ashamed.

Happiness

2005-02-17T14:58:00.000-05:00

So there’s a whole bunch of Russian engineers here, they’re high quality engineers, very talented, but they generally hide in their offices and work intensely. A couple of weeks ago, I was standing next to one of the Russians, a middle-age female software engineer, for the occasion that a meeting had let out and they’d put some desserts in the hallway. I see her all the time because she works around the corner, but we’d never talked until that day, when I made some quip about sneaking food back to my office. We had a quick laugh and that was it.

Until yesterday, when I was at my desk. A disembodied head crept into my office through the doorway with a wicked grin. “Der’s some food neer Jamie’s desk,” she said happily. I smiled and she laughed, bounced out the door, and disappeared down the hallway.

Invisible

2005-02-15T00:17:00.000-05:00

Yeah, I'm hiding. My silent gem of a comeback wins big time in the audience in my mind. You'll never find the arena, never find the ring. You'll never get into my head. I possess the indefatigable soul, never brought down by giants, dragons, or windmills. Search my expression and you'll only see the bars of my teeth and the black of my pupils. My mind is made up and you've been locked out.

Witch's Brew

2005-01-31T13:42:00.000-05:00

Carbohydrates bubble in my stomach, fueling the long afternoon to come. The carbon dioxide sits and fills, dragging me lower in my chair. If only the chemistry yielded helium instead! I would digest comfortably, float out of my office and down the hallway for a coffee break. They'd have to tie me down so I'd stay in meetings, and my 2pm siesta would be spent on a bed of clouds. It must be cruel fate that billions of years ago combined hydrocarbons to make sugars, and left helium to the whimsy of state fairs and ballon rides.

Places everyone

2005-01-30T02:55:00.000-05:00

I've noticed blogging is a good substitute for talking to myself. Talking to other people is a good substitute for blogging.

Boxes

2005-01-24T22:37:00.000-05:00

If all you do is compare what you see to what you know, you haven't gone anywhere.

Barbershop Smell

2005-01-20T20:43:00.000-05:00

Someone in a half mile radius got a haircut today. The smell of talcum powder and the mysterious green liquid in the spray bottle has leaked its way up through the vents and in through the walls. Now it's flashback time to the barbershop when I was five. The barbers would give me Bazooka gum stored in the change drawer in their old-fashioned cash register. Hard as a rock, it was worth the effort, and the possibilities motivated me to crunch and crunch until the solid pink brick turned to mush. Now I don't remember who the barbers were or what they looked like, and I can only wonder what effect that gum has had on my work habits today.

Dreams

2005-01-19T21:41:00.000-05:00

Computers talk in my dreams. The mad rush of bits click clack over a serial line, faster, synchronizing with my heartbeat while I frantically decrypt the codes. 8 bits, 7 bits, parity bit, CRC bits. More and more messages come through, piling up scraps of paper on my desk, mountains of mail, waiting for my response, waiting for my ping. The codes sort slowly until it's all routine. The same message repeated over and over, "hello, world" - the most basic phrase, the first lesson in programming. Why the fancy code for such a simple note? And then it's my hand on the the mouse, my pulse pounding away, my code in the keyboard. What will I say?

Think.

2005-01-12T16:36:00.000-05:00

Mr. Kapica:

In your article "Apple jabbed by price point" you seem to have missed half of the economic theory of supply and demand. Specificially, you forgot the "demand" part. Great demand causes prices to go up because buyers must compete among themselves to find products which they can purchase. Great supply causes prices to fall because sellers must compete among themselves to find buyers.

What you saw in the store was great demand. The retailer felt that since there were only a limited number of iPods, but there were many, many customers, the price could be increased. And he or she was correct.

In short, your confusion "if the demand is so great, surely the price must drop" may be explained as above. You also lament, "the strategy of raising the price was purely to profit from the lack of competition." Your expectation that businesses should not make money, just so you can get an iPod, is misplaced and inexplicable.

Sincerely,

WARNING

2005-01-09T23:23:00.000-05:00

We don't really want to prevent you from watching our videos. We don't really want to prevent you from doing anything at all. In fact, our warning is just going to bring your attention here and make you desire it more. You fools.

Little Things

2005-01-03T23:53:00.000-05:00

I cleaned my room last week, only now I've unearthed a time capsule from underneath my milk crates / bookshelf and the scraps of my life have fallen out. The remmnants of my pre-digital music collection. Mail that hasn't been sorted, stapled, trashed, or made into paper airplanes. Printer paper that has writing on only one side - perfect for note taking, if only I wrote notes in pen any more. It's the little things which remind me how short my memoirs would be if I didn't put in pictures of my friends. And so my time capsule will be messy, but be written on acid-free paper, on the back of notes from class and photographs and drafts of book reports. That way, both sides will tell my story.

Time

2004-12-31T01:48:00.000-05:00

It's tomorrow and I've still got a firm grasp on yesterday. I'm positive I can drag the past a few more minutes later, until I finish thinking and writing and doing. I must complete these dreams before I fall asleep.

Ketchup

2004-12-30T13:30:00.000-05:00

Go to fusionanomaly.net and search for ketchup.

Self-destruct

2004-12-28T20:25:00.000-05:00

My skull is a cauldron sitting on high heat. Although my work for the day is over, my brain is still throbbing, still steaming, continuing to overflow and overstress. I've eaten my dinner and it seems like it was cooked twice; once from the microwave and again I raised the fork to my head. I can't continue until my brain cools down. I'm putting myself on the sill for a few minutes so my brain can congeal.

This Song

2004-12-22T23:52:00.000-05:00

TRANSCRIBED ON A COCKTAIL NAPKIN (not used for a cocktail):

This song should be entitled "Nyquist Rate," it's so similar to driving 80 mph through 30 mph curves. It's faster than I can take in the roads, much less the other cars. At this speed it's all I can do to stay on the pavement, and were it not for the speed of the air and the sun in my eyes, I might actually worry about my safety. Right now living is too fun. Life at shotgun barrel speeds make for fun at 33 RPM playback. Even slow I've got to hear it fast.

psalms

2004-12-20T23:04:00.000-05:00

arrest me
for my killer looks
it's like a dagger every time i turn my back on you

detain me
don't you let me in
you know how these feet keep on coming back

home

repress me
lest i think too much
wonder why all your mirrors are covered

exclude me
like the angel gone
fortune spent, dried leaves on the threshold at

home

Bedtime

2004-12-20T18:05:00.000-05:00

Once there were two resistors, the best of friends. They always stuck together, never left each others' side. Despite their station in life, they always made the best of what they had. One day at school, a capacitor picked on them. "You can't store charge like me. You'll never be that cool," taunted the capacitor. Ashamed, the resistors ran away.

Soon, their friendship deteriorated. They started to spend time apart. And that's when they noticed that two conductive surfaces separated by a distance produce a capacitance. Not only could they store voltage, they could store memories as well.

For many years were the two resistors friends, close together and far apart. Wherever their lives took them, they always shared their experiences. For what else is a friend than a companion from any distance?

Thoughts

2004-12-14T21:58:00.000-05:00

One roommate is MIA and the other is comforting his girlfriend so the thoughts inside my head can't dissipate into the air of my voice, and I keep wondering about the Advent Calendar my roommate has sitting on the table, the one with chocolates for counting the days, so little kids remember all 24 days of Christmas and not just the 12 days of the song or the one with the presents and stockings, because why else would you remember almost a month of religion if not chocolate, but then why does the serving label say there's only two servings? Two servings of chocolate usually lasts me about... umm, that tastes good... hope he wasn't going to eat that...

Old School

2004-12-12T21:15:00.000-05:00

The poster of men swelled with tape and glue, while silver ink made curled and starred borders for silhouette cutouts. A fond memory dangled inches from a quiet sunset. Looking back at my smiling image, I felt a swell of pride.

Momentarily distracted, I lost focus, and my gaze congealed on a different portrait. If that was me, who was the doppelganger? Suddenly all the faces smiled less brightly. While individually each had stripes and speckles, together they looked like a school of tuna. The glimmer reflectedfrom a single scale was dimmed by the complimentary haze of a thousand tangent skins.

Even were I to lather myself with wasabi and ginger, I could not be more than a single nigiri on her plate. I don't mind being one of many fish in the sea; I'd just like to avoid being placed under the hot lights of the buffet table.

Tell Me

2004-12-05T03:37:00.000-05:00

Tell me I'm amazing. Count the tears running down your face from my humor. Measure your pulse rate after my drama. Wax poetic and flatter me.

Tell me without words: smile. Radiate me with your gamma-bright eyes and galaxy grin. Helios spends so little time in the sky this season but you're the only fire I need.

Feelings

2004-12-04T01:39:00.000-05:00

She advertises her children by holding their hands, and announces herself through a cloud of perfume. I don't know if the children are coughing because of the cold or because of the chemicals; that stylish smog provokes allergies remnant of cats piled high. The mother in front of me wags her tail too. She's in no rush to get inside, back to her quiet music and scented candles. Now, on parole, she remembers why she loved boys, how the irresponsible logic of pre-men gave her special status and wild freedom. Until she sees through the fog of memory, she'll never get home.

Technically

2004-12-01T23:02:00.000-05:00

Climbing a mountain yields views and vistas, peaks and plateaus. Each pebble underfoot may feel like an accomplishment towards the end of a long journey. There is nothing like reaching the top of a mountain. This is a moment to rest and decide: where next?

The danger of a technical peak lies in the detail. A technical peak may be a goal achieved at work, a new idea fomented at the brink of exhaustion, or the feeling of elation from shifting a task into the Out box. Everyday tasks complete at technical peaks. It feels good to make check marks and cross out line items.

Yet measuring the pebbles can divert energy from where it's needed. I enjoy the beach without knowing how much silicon dioxide is in each castle. Were I to weigh and analyze each shovel of sand, I'd have no time to build moats or splash water or collect shells. Technical accomplishment feels good. Don't forget about the mountains and oceans you haven't explored.

ohhhh yeah, right there....

2004-12-01T01:31:00.000-05:00

ChristianMortgageUSA.com offers the lowest Refinance Rates

Day 2

2004-11-24T10:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we sat down and relaxed our legs - driving down the coast.
As my father put it, the West Coast allows me to sleep another 3 hours and
still wake up early. So we woke up early and had a nice breakfast
with Marc and another friend at Saul's Deli. I had 2 eggs sunny side
up, with sourdough toast, latkes (with applesauce and homemade sour
cream), and a glass of V8. Afterwards we stopped at Acme Bread and
bought a loaf of sourdough bread, and a small loaf of
pumpkin-raisin-craisin-walnut bread.

Accomplishing our edible tasks, we drove north on Route 101. We
cruised out of the city and found our way to a small British cidery,
Ace Cider, in the Napa Valley. They use local apple juice to make
hard cider, and sell it coast-to-coast. We introduced ourselves to
the owner, requested and received a (private) tour of the facility.
They were in the middle of several processes, including receiving 6000
gallons of fresh apple juice from a tanker truck, and performing a
preliminary filtering of the fermented cider. They make five kinds of
cider, including apple, honey apple, pear, and berry.

We also had lunch there. I had a vegetable pot pie (thin, layered
dough shell) and a bowl of vegetarian chili. Not as good as my Mom's chili.

From there Marc let me drive his car west on route 116. Did I mention
he drives a Miata, with standard transmission? Driving to the coast
in a little sports car is very fun. We stopped and took pictures
along the Russian River, so called because it seems as though it's
late for a doctor's appointment.

Did I mention it's a convertible? We drove along the coast, Marc and
I switching every 30 minutes or so, checking out the coast and the
forests and the farms and the rivers and the valleys and the cows and
sheep and flowers and waves and hills and cliffs. An amazing journey,
riding in the cool breeze of the California coast, the wind blowing
through my head.

We went up to the Marin headlands for sunset. There's an artilliary
bunker there, built in the 40's to defend San Francisco bay, but the
guns were never installed because of the new use of airplanes. The
guns were designed to fire 27 miles, but there's just concrete now. A
great view of the harbor and the city. The spot is right next to one
of the Golden Gate Bridge piers, and you can look right at the height
of the pier.

For dinner we went to In-n-Out Burger. Their menu consists of three
burgers, french fries (one size), and soda. That's it. The place was
packed.

We went for one more view of the city from Twin Peaks, then went back
to Marc's apartment to sleep. Today we're getting prepared for
Thanksgiving.

Day 1

2004-11-23T11:23:00.000-05:00

Had a great day yesterday. Woke up with a full night's sleep, took the
Bay Area Regional Transport (BART) into San Francisco. Visited a
couple of stores (CompUSA, Sony, Apple) just to have little tech fun
with Marc (he's also a nerd). Then we walked over to the Martin
Luther King Memorial and park, where there's a nice fountain. Then
off to Chinatown, through North Beach, to Coit Tower. On the way we
stopped for lunch at Il Pollio, a chicken restaurant in the Italian
area (SF North Beach = Boston North End). I had salad (romaine,
radishes, tomatoes, cucumber, Italian dressing) and roast chicken
(very tender and juicy).

There's a great view of the entire city and bay from the tower, and we
went all the way to the top on a rickety old elevator, probably as old
as the one at the Statue of Liberty. The sky was very clear and we
could see everywhere.

From there we went down the cliff into the Pier area, and walked over
to Pier 39. That is the most touristy area I've ever seen. Packed
tighter with sugar, noise, and advertisement than Disney World.
There's a bunch of sea lions that congregate there. The sea lions
have always bee around, but about five-ten years ago they started
coming in larger numbers, in the hundreds. So the city built an area
for them, some floating docks, and the sea lions lie there and play
around. They're very rambunctious, jumping in the water and ork-ing.

From there we did some shopping and went to Ghiradelli. That is to
say, a large chocolate store. We sampled their wares for a bit and
waited for a friend who didn't show up.

We then walked back to Chinatown and met up with some friends for
dinner at House of Nanking, a wonderful restaurant which doesn't look
like much from the outside but has a wall of awards and approving
reviews on the inside. We had scallion pancakes (not dense like East
Coast, but light and airy with peanut sauce), moo shu vegetables (with
hard rice noodles, not soggy wheat noodles, and lots of vegetables,
with mint, rolled by the waitress and served at the table), stuffed
mushrooms (with peas and batter, fried), and sweet potatoes with rice.
Yum.

Afterwards we walked through the city and one of our friends drove us
back to Oakland, where we had tea and cookies at a coffee shop
(Fertile Grounds) and then watched Close Encounters of the Third Kind
at Marc's place. Then we slept.

jetBlog

2004-11-21T13:48:00.000-05:00

With white and black clouds gliding over snow-forested mountains and dry plains, 35,000 feet makes me feel like Jacques Cousteau with a flashlight. We're at the Nevada / California border, and the weather has finally improved. What a sight!

The GPS map shows that our plane is the size of Utah, which is great, although boarding took a really long time. I'm not really sure how long it'll be until we land, since the front of the plane is already there. Oh, but they like me too.

The captain is wow! speeding. New York, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, South Dakota, he was cruising at 495, 500 mph; since Wyoming he's up to 590. I hope he has one of those radar detectors; I'd hate to get pulled over in Reno. Okay, were up to 609 - I hope he's not just showing off for a friend in a helicopter. Holy crap, 659. I've got to stop keeping track. Pay no attention to the man behind the locked door.

Sorry about the Wizard of Oz reference, but I watched some of the movie last night. It's always on around Thankgiving. Think about why: a message to be happy with what you have, or satisfied, for the more skeptical. Anyway, no more computing... but think about how what you're going to do next year. Incubate or progress - don't put the ball down.

Diplomacy

2004-11-21T06:37:00.000-05:00

Did I say "mystery substance" or "mysterious substance"? When the situation requires tact, language is paramount. That I don't remember indicates I didn't pay close enough attention.

Class Insights

2004-11-20T13:39:00.000-05:00

There's the classic dual portrait of the old woman and young woman. I've always had difficulty seeing the old woman. Why? Do I prefer to see the young woman? Am I so unwilling to see an alternative view? The young woman's face is a small portion of the image, while the old woman's face is much larger: am I unable to think big? I'd prefer to be flexible and broad-minded, able to see beyond the given, able to criticize myself. Even these thoughts seem symptomatic of a narrow fixation on a minor concern. Well, enough obsessing for now.

Media Blah

2004-11-18T07:39:00.000-05:00

Consider the difference beween taking responsibility and admitting responsibility. Taking responsibility is your choice; your duty calls you into action. Admitting responsibility is your response to someone else's actions. When you admit something, there is a sense that you have just shown a pebble, while a mountain of information remains hidden.

Travel

2004-11-16T22:07:00.000-05:00

Rob is 23 years old, acts 18, and thinks he looks 13. He sells books and enjoys his work, but not as a profession. His hobbies include music obsession, travel and transportation fetish, and KEEP THE STAIRS CLEAR YOU *&^%*&%!!!

James is 30 years old, a jack-of-all-trades, talented with his hands, humble and loud at the same time. He's smart but would prefer you didn't know; his techniques for distracting you from attaining that knowledge are direct and forceful. His interests include bicycles, woodworking, and clocks, but KEEP THE FIRE AWAY FROM THE FLAMMABLES YOU %(&*()&^!!!

Seth is 24 years old, relentlessly egotistical, ever-so condescending, and rude to his friends.

Peace

2004-11-14T15:01:00.000-05:00

Only the blind enjoy peace while sitting in a crowded room. The sights are so complex and abrupt to those of us who see that we are never at rest. It is all we can do to keep up with the strollers and jumpers and distracted queue sprinters. Close your eyes and track each of the sounds as they approach and fade.

The whiners must have a particular song to the blind, words stretched as in slow motion in a knuckleballer's throw. Each of us have a song. The managers sing the rhythm, constant and unwavering. The divas sing freestyle, complementing and yet overarcing their friends.

The symphony of a food court, the rap epic of a doctor's visit. From frog's croak to a baby's first step, each instrument lends its beat and pace to that of a crowded life.

Video Games

2004-11-12T01:26:00.000-05:00

Why am I still playing with the game set on Easy? I win every time and it means nothing. Starting now: same rules, different game. No more whining. No more getting to the end of the day and thinking, "what was that?" I may not kick ass each day, but I'm going to get in some good punches. These are the big boys now, the ones with brass knuckles for mittens and napalm for lip balm. I've got to suit up and start swinging. Let's make it count.

Think "next"

2004-11-07T02:13:00.000-05:00

One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors. -Plato

Leaders

2004-11-02T23:59:00.000-05:00

Some leaders see history and seek to correct it. Other leaders see the future and attempt to meet it. Humanity's path has had bends and dips. It is because of these setbacks that we must focus on our desired destination. With regard for our fellow man and without consideration for the risks, we must look onwards and carry ourselves to the brightness of our shared vision.

Holiday Spirit

2004-11-01T20:40:00.000-05:00

Large pumpkins line the streets of Somerville. Silver and gold plastic wrappers glint in the sunlight as they float on the cold wind. A new day rises on the stomaches of a million children.

Plastic turkeys wait in boxes scrawled with permanant marker. Soon jack o'lanterns will become pumpkin pie cooling on the counter. Mature desserts replace youthful candy as the seasons themselves age.

Boo Who

2004-10-31T18:36:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting on my porch, checking my e-mail. Spam, spam, pictures of my cousin in a bumblebee costume, spam, e-mail from a schoolmate, mass e-mail from a friend. The glow of my laptop reflects off my face into the street.

Remember sleepovers and campouts? A friend would tell a scary story in front of a low fire, and despite the chilly wind, it wasn't frightening. Not until someone pulled out the flashlight and pointed it at his chin.

The dim streaks across his cheeks, the highlights on his eyes, and even the red glow of his fingers pressed across the lens laid the foundation for the story. Suddenly, the leaves were threatening. What were those low sounds? Was that a wolf?

My computer is now that flashlight, and it's still a great way to make friends. Nobody hands out phone numbers anymore, it's an e-mail address or an IM nickname. If I couldn't connect, I'd be stranded, despite the sea of humanity in this dense urb. Scary.

Overheard Conversations, Part 2

2004-10-31T15:54:00.000-05:00

Two fat kids lumbering down the street: "We need Segways."

Pep Talk

2004-10-30T23:04:00.000-04:00

Don't feel guity about the weekend. You're never going to get ahead if you don't stop working. The ostrich can't fly because its head is in the ground - you need to look around and find a place to go if you want to get there. Stop thinking about what you're going to do when you finish work. There's always more work. Pick a time and stop working. Your schedule has to have an end.

Victory

2004-10-28T01:41:00.000-04:00

There's something to be said for the screaming fan in the streets of Boston. There's something remarkable about the guy sitting in front of his television, holding his head in his hands and crying happily. Each newborn named Manny or Curt or Pedro or David holds a precious memory and constant promise.

The skepticism born of decades of heartbreak was never a match for the seeds of hope. No error or walk or stumble or miss could dull the glow from a loyal fan's dream of championship. Delivered today and held tightly, the trophy shines through beer and champagne-covered vision.

We toast the Red Sox. We toast the bygones and the victors, the weepers and the winners. The diaspora of fans from Red Sox Nation have made the world a louder and more joyous place tonight.

NIMB

2004-10-26T00:12:00.000-04:00

In a former age I would have invited her into my bed, smelled her hair, counted her toes. Something has changed in me. The desire runs smoothly, instead of in fits and starts. While once I saw each day as a series of moments, now I see a larger picture, a life instead of a time, a journey instead of a road. My senses can be overwhelmed by everyday beauty because the day is so short.

Connections between the familiar stir the bottom of my life's cup. This flower is all flowers. The dim light from my computer screen is the light from the smoke alarm above the stairs in the house where I grew up. The pillow I will soon plump contains the seeds of desires to be and dreams forgotten. Today I am, and was, and will be some day.

Smoke

2004-10-24T01:27:00.000-04:00

1:27am: I can still smell the smoke. I'm not supposed to know the ending before the beginning. But it's all there, in Genesis: the firmament created, the animals, then the people. But it's all backwards. We start with Numbers, counting before creating, because we know the end. The chaos is the end of life, not the beginning. The firmament is the calm, the level ended coolness of the balance of the universe, the addition of parts, the sum of emptiness to fullness.
1:23am: The smoke adds a flavor of its own, the obstruction to normalcy. Even the napkin in my back pocket, my objective companion, has obtained and posessed its own feeling of smoke and change.
1:19am: TEMS is late, frozen with lights on, each strobe caught in momentary life. On time was ten years ago in an after-school special, where Gina's parents caught here toking up in her bedroom, inhaling Lysol in an effort to dissapate the smell of marijuana. Now that opportunity is gone. G-strings and tight jeans are an informed rebellion - what more could parents be afraid of than the termination of their domination - and merely the start of a life in opposition. The mathematical constant "i" is visible in many ways, and we become our parents because we are unable to truly oppose them. Our failure
is our possbility, and never truly ends. That is the extent of negative optimism: we have not failed yet.
1:18am: The moment is still arriving, as TEMS visits from a beer pong table on another part of campus. Soon they tidy up and leave, one uninformed body heavier. IVs of beer and fossilized rebellion cheer the crowds and depress the visionaries. When change becomes style we have all lost reason.

NY Envy

2004-10-21T01:07:00.000-04:00

Complain about the "culture of hate." Make casual comments how you don't care about the Red Sox - you've got plenty of trophies in your closet. Drink grain alcohol and rainwater, turn off your radio, and run away.

Face it. Your team got schooled. To all the Yankee fans who wrote off the Sox on Saturday night: it's too late to start caring, but at least you're part of history.

The Call

2004-10-20T01:39:00.000-04:00

Marketing had a few names kicking around for the new sneaker. Air Somebody was a possibility but sports stars were dangerous; you never knew who they'd fucked or what they'd injected. A NASCAR tie-in was more likely. Americans didn't like slow sports.

The engineers were working on the heel of the new athletic sneaker. For many years, the heel had been treated as the easy part. The talent lay in the design of the front of the shoe, to get the leather to wrap gently and loosely, caressing and supporting, with as little material as possible. Now with computer design programs, it was simply a matter of click-click and a design was optimized.

Now the team concentrated on comfort. The marketing folks felt positive about some focus studies on sneaker heels, which suggested that athletes' heels were just as vulnerable to damage as their many toe and ankle bones. The engineers followed up with some foot physiology studies, athlete visits and criticisms, and computer modeling. They'd make some mock-ups in the lab and test them out - nothing crazy or adventurous. The design optimizer had its own way of adding style.

That's when the phone rang.

Focus

2004-10-18T23:54:00.000-04:00

People who build more than one sand castle know that each one will be destroyed. There's no urge to build an indestructible sand castle. The construction is not enough on its own - there's got to be something else.

The motivation? Every grain placed is feedback towards the next sand castle. Maybe an extra tower, a deeper moat, a stronger channel. The sand is alive with inspiration, but only after it's been formed into shape.

When at work. I'm not designing the machine I'm working on right now. I'm designing the next one, or the one after that. There's not enough of a challenge in the present. What I see and what I can touch is just sand.

Noir

2004-10-18T18:35:00.000-04:00

Her perfume knocked me out like a sack of bricks, but the follow-up with her fists didn't go so well. "You... dirty double-crosser!" she panted. I didn't blame her - not many assassins can breathe after the seven flights of stairs to my office. The .45 she'd been lugging didn't help the situation. She reached for the revolver and landed on the floor.

"Looking for this?" I asked calmly, while counting the bullets. There were six. And that's how many minutes it took for her to tell me the whole story.

Free Cake

2004-10-17T03:30:00.000-04:00

I opened the door to find a man standing with an outstretched hand. In that hand he held his keys, in his other a cake balanced temptingly. He looked up, stumbled to avoid me and said, "Whoah."

I said, "I see you brought me cake."

His wife came up behind him, waiting patiently. He responded, "Want it?"

Free cake? A no-brainer. His wife prodded him. "Ted, give him the cake."

I walked onto the streets of Watertown plus one cake. Now Waverly - White - Trapelo - 60 - 2 - 16 - home. Stupid Red Sox.

Red Sox Fan

2004-10-17T01:42:00.000-04:00

Had a great time tonight, except for the baseball game. It's a good thing us sox fans have each other.

Dark

2004-10-15T22:14:00.000-04:00

There is nothing darker than wet pavement in the evening. The reflection of night upon nothing yields the zero equation - everything cancels out. Leaves float on puddles, orbiting silently in the void. Without support or motivation, they spin like planets. These heavenly bodies ignore gravity, narcissistically studying themselves from all angles. Does the mirror in your empty room reflect your shadow?

Winter

2004-10-15T08:44:00.000-04:00

Winter's here, in my mind. Fall has very little meaning by itself. Without the winter behind it, fall isn't exciting. To me, fall means cold rain and leaves. It's a pretty season but the beauty is an extension of the summer, and the weather is a preview of the winter. Soon the snow will come and turn us all into a Frank Capra film.

I can already hear the snowplows scraping their way down the street. Watch out cars, watch out people - Santa doesn't drive a sleigh. Santa's busy cleaning off the streets with his Ford 350 superduty pick-up / snowplow, clearing the way for the modern Dancer, Vixen, and Prancer: UPS, FedEx, and DHL.

If

2004-10-15T01:02:00.000-04:00

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. If it ain't right, don't do it. If you think so, say so, and if you don't know, ask. You're not alone except for your conceit. You're not a family except for your differences. Love, trust, and your heart grows stronger. No cowboy roams without a sunrise. No patriot salutes without a flag. Your dreams rise and your goals flutter -- stand up tall and you'll see them all to the end.

Realized.

2004-10-14T19:11:00.000-04:00

I will never be satisfied with a ten word answer.

That empty room

2004-10-11T01:54:00.000-04:00

You have an empty room in your house. It may be a closet, or a corner, but you have it. It's quiet most of the time and rarely gets used.

When you have company that need a place to stay and clean sheets.
When you have a crisis and need somewhere to lay down or cuddle or mentally curl up into a fetal position.
When you get really drunk and all your new friends or l@m3-a$$ old friends need a place to talk loudly and spill colored liquor.

When it's not being used, it's still alive, if just barely. It's your second grade classroom on the weekends or late at night. Who feeds the goldfish? Who plays with the blocks? Who scribbles on the special lined paper with extra tall spaces for the letters and dotted lines so you know exactly where to cross your t's?

You have that space, in your house or apartment or mind. Go there and curl up. I'll come by in a few minutes with a cup of tea, but the tea is for you. I'll leave it on the table.

Thought of the days

2004-10-10T19:15:00.000-04:00

Some thoughts take more than one day; they need to sink in, crystallize, and grow like rock candy. This is one of them.

Is the economy ficticious? Money is just a concept, a mutual belief. What about the economy? We don't really need fast food or chromed alloy wheels. It's nice - don't get me wrong - but unneccesary. I don't get worked up about people showing off their diamonds or gold or trophy wives or other things they bought, but can't we all recognize what it's all about? An incredibly fake desire for something real?

There's something about money that makes it work. Perhaps a need to believe in money creates a market for it. Let's see if this works for the economy too. Does creating false desires create a market? Maybe it has to be more specific. Desires change, but needs shouldn't.

Here's a proposal for your consideration: during the 20th century, we added to our needs. There's always been water, food, shelter / habitat. I believe we may have added time to our list, to benefit the economy. I don't know where this thought leads, if it's valid or what to do with it. More soon.

Class Presentations

2004-10-09T12:13:00.000-04:00

Highlight:
Dualing laser pointers - the light sabers of alpha nerds.

Fill me up

2004-10-09T01:22:00.000-04:00

with cold vegetables, bad 3-note music, illegally imported alcohol, and Made-In-The-USA foreign drugs. I believe I will meet my expectations - finally.

Feelings

2004-10-06T23:07:00.000-04:00

My grandfather used to say that people are important, not things. He said it so often that it seemed unnecessary. Isn't it obvious that objects are temporary? That only people can approach permanency, causing ripples through the future?

Too often I am limited by the machines I build, by the parts on my workbench. My frustration is misplaced and unappreciated when I level it at the unmoving. And so I strive to direct my feelings towards people, towards friends and acquaintances. They can reflect, amplify, and redirect my feelings. They can make me feel better or worse as appropriate. They can share and empathize.

People are important, not things. Art can be a transencence of feelings, when it becomes a sculpture of emotion, an antenna of persona. When an object becomes art, it turns into a living creature, a pet with which any person can play.

Candy

2004-10-05T21:30:00.000-04:00

Starburst remind me of roller skating, ice cream cakes and singing "YMCA". I remember a contest at a birthday party at the roller rink. The DJ held a contest where we guessed how many times the phrase "YMCA" is recited. Of course, the birthday boy won. Although I didn't count then or afterwards, I remember that the winning answer was fourteen. Now I imagine the confusion that event might have infused in me had the answer been wrong - if the Village People in fact chanted "Y M C A" fifteen times instead of fourteen. I know it's not the same scale as learning you're adopted (Mom?) but I don't want to find out I'm wrong about this one. Really, it's just two different shades of the same fish.

How I know I am alive #4

2004-10-05T18:38:00.000-04:00

I told myself so, in a hour.

Blogging

2004-10-05T17:32:00.000-04:00

What happens to lost blog posts? Do they enter the realm of the missing socks? As I write, data is still being transferred over my company's abnormally slow network, and I don't know if it's important data, something which the browser needs to go beyond it's name-limited functions. Enough with browsing! Here's one more addition to the internet, that l@m3 collective of the geek in all of us.

Clocks

2004-10-03T21:29:00.000-04:00

The VCR in my living room is blinking again. The time is --:--, which doesn't motivate me at all. It's harmless. I'm not going to make the effort to change the time since it's not technically wrong. If the clock read 3:29pm in the middle of the night, I might consider changing it. If the clock read 9:30am when I woke up in the morning, I'd get worried I was late for work. That worry might drive me to adjust the clock. But --:-- is not a time. And it's not even that bright. I can completely ignore the blinking VCR. The next smartass who comes into my house and says, "I thought you were an engineer and you can't even program your VCR, haha," ain't coming back. The cable box is smart enough to know what time it is, and it's located about six inches away. I only need one clock.

This week

2004-09-30T23:38:00.000-04:00

is seven days too long.

Stupid things

2004-09-30T21:09:00.000-04:00

No one can fight an ideology.

Thinking from a box

2004-09-30T01:09:00.000-04:00

While trapped within these walls, it's difficult to feel anything. Sometimes the walls are the off white of my home with paintings and the scratches of klutzhood. Sometimes the walls are the non-confrontational tan of work, with scientists poking at the mouse which is me as I search for cheese.

Today the walls are the flesh of my skull. I sneak out partially but run back in due to fear. There's a lot more outside than inside, a lot more to learn. When I realize that I can always come back in, I'll never see a wall again.

How I know I am alive #3:

2004-09-28T23:58:00.000-04:00

Walking tall with the rain drops soaking me.

It's my (your) life

2004-09-28T21:16:00.000-04:00

My commute to work is about 30 minutes each way. That's an hour a day. About 240 work days a year, that's 240 hours on the road, just to get to work. I'm a newbie, been at this company less than five years, so I get an industry standard two weeks of vacation. Of course, that's two work weeks, so ten days. On the time sheet that's 10 times 8 equals 80 hours, and I get the other 16 hours per vacation day free, or 160 hours. Add those up, 80 plus 160 equals 240. So my vacation time is roughly equal to the time I spend commuting. After all that effort, I'd better do something fun.

Maybe I'll go on a road trip this year.

Welcome to the future

2004-09-28T01:44:00.000-04:00

E-mail? That's soooo 1995.

Roadblocks

2004-09-27T13:03:00.000-04:00

What did your parents wish for you and for your future? Did they dream of their baby, the president? Did they tell you you could build a skyscraper, explore the depths of the ocean, see the stars up close? Did they recite the famous optimism, "you can do anything you set your ind to?"

Or did they bring you to the Somerville K-mart, where you can't buy a map of anywhere beyond your city limits? Where depressed sixteen year veteran cashiers have to ask permission to go the the bathroom?

There's more to life than that, even if you've never seen it. Build your own road. Drive past the roadblocks and never look back.

My car works

2004-09-26T23:17:00.000-04:00

My car squeaked for three months. At first it took a while after I'd start the car in the morning. When I left my parking space, I'd hear the birds chirping and the engine pumping. By the time I got to the highway a recurring squeak would drown out the rest of the world. As the months went by, I changed my driving habits. I didn't brake as often, and when I did I'd brake harder in an effort to scrape away the unknown scrap making the noise. Eventually I couldn't stand driving.

Now my car is quiet. I hear the leaves crunch and the pedestrians talk. I leave the windows open and let the wind stream in. I notice more. I notice other cars which squeak and rattle and squinch and blaf. My car works, and I am so happy.

Six minutes to live

2004-09-26T22:23:00.000-04:00

White shoes give me the creeps - nurses have choices, they don't have to wear those clunky old shoes anymore, but it's the whole scalpel and discarded cotton aspect of the white shoes which scares me. I can see the last moment of my life from a linoleum-floored hospital, faded green moments and blood-spattered footwear. And now there's six minutes left on the clock and all I can think of is the thick soles of death.

Room

2004-09-26T01:24:00.000-04:00

You cleaned your room but say nobody's coming over. Why do you lower everybody's expectations of you? You keep your confidence hidden but your floor is clean, you've put your books away, and you've made your bed (well, pretty close). Don't lie to me, at least. You don't hate as much as you proclaim, though the real message is almost drowned by your ocean of protest.

Riverdance

2004-09-25T01:14:00.000-04:00

The sounds of Riverdance drifted down the hallway as James played with his new toys. Magnets! Those magical elements which delight the child in all of us inspired James to attach his magnets to everything in his room. On the door, on the bookshelf, even to the nails in the floor. And with the sounds of Irish dancing in the background, James explored his world with the toys he knew all the other kids in the neighborhood would envy come school on Monday.

Toilet Humor

2004-09-22T23:25:00.000-04:00

The bathroom door creaked like in a spaghetti Western, and slammed shut with an echo off of the hard tile. Almost everything was loud, from the door to the metal stall with turn-one-way screws. The sticky floor blended in the cacophony, adding a dissonant rhythm to the fray.

It was only after I stopped moving that I heard the music from the ceiling. The door had shut, the stall was locked, and my shoes had glued themselves down. The bottom 40's station played quietly, just loudly enough to draw my attention. I couldn't help but listen to the sad tales of rivers in California, boys who never grew into men, and the lover who hung himself with a guitar string.

Thankfully, my stay was short. I entered the bar din, the sound from everywhere which drowns out sobs and broken glass and cell phones and even very bad, somewhat sad, music.

How I know I am alive #2:

2004-09-21T13:57:00.000-04:00

The air conditioner kicks on.

Radio Life

2004-09-20T21:54:00.000-04:00

Silky sounds stream down the hallway, moistening my ears as I relax in my reclining chair. The last minutes of the day are calm and quiet; seconds float nearby. What I haven't done I set aside. There's suddenly plenty of time.

Working

2004-09-20T01:47:00.000-04:00

The TV in our apartment is being repaired. This brings to mind all those sitcom moments - what does the Simpson / Cleaver / Bunker / Cosby family do when there isn't any television / teevee / boob tube to watch? We use archaic yet inexpensive and effective building instruments to build high quality furniture and room accents. We work in the garden, pulling weeds and mowing the lawn, to get the yard in shape for next year. We go shopping and make fun of townies (which we have become, incidentally). We write and say obnoxious things because we can.

All in all, an enjoyable weekend. And so ends my first official vacation since last year.

Timing

2004-09-20T01:05:00.000-04:00

I never feel on time for anything. I've never walked in the door at 9:00:00am. Somehow it's always early or late, no matter whether the sun is shining or punching its red, orange, and blue timecard. I'll be on time someday, the same day I feel neither smart nor stupid, neither tall or short, neither hungry nor full. That day I will move my alarm clock fifteen minutes earlier and start over.

Noise

2004-09-19T01:45:00.000-04:00

The room is dark and noise invents itself in my head. The music from that dorm window as I walked down the street now spin mildly and I can't seem to pass the chorus or rewind to the verse. The yellow and purple which always swirls in front of me at night takes on the shapes of my visions: the house from The Cat In The Hat, the project at work, my friends' faces. Sound and vision fill the emptiness which I know does not exist.

I open the window to hear reality - crickets and leaves. Rain and wind, remnants of destruction which only days before killed dozens, are burdened by their awful duty and proceed delicately now.

Sleep, when it comes, sneaks under the door, through my blankets, and warms me.

Family

2004-09-17T23:08:00.000-04:00

My brother and sister are almost complete opposites. My sister tries to understand where nations and behaviors come from, but she's impatient with individuals. My brother has a strong moral compass and is continually trying to influence and direct people. They look at different parts of the same equation.

My sister looks at the variables. What makes groups kill or fight or rebel or ally. She looks for people she hasn't met before and sees a culture to learn. She wants to help them do what they want to do.

My brother looks at the output. What a group has done or plans to do or what's going to happen. He looks for people he hasn't met before and wins them over. He wants to work with them on his plans.

I am proud of my family for many reasons, and my siblings are one of them. May they expand their abilities instead of limiting them to their current expertise. May they continue to find new people and new possibilities.

You know the place.

2004-09-15T16:43:00.000-04:00

From the Worcester, MA Price Chopper parking lot:
I'd see my entire childhood if I stayed in this store long enough. A friend of my sister's, a high school history teacher, the older girl who had always been in a long-term relationship - they're all here and shopping. Now I'm going home after checking with my mother that there is absolutely nothing more that she wants at the last minute.

Squirrels

2004-09-14T09:04:00.000-04:00

A squirrel had a near death experience this morning, as I nearly ran it over with my car. There's a lot of fur-blood spots on the highways, from squirrels with different reflexes.

It's almost fall. Soon the blood of squirrels and raccoons will dye the trees beautiful colors, and those darting animals we mourn will live again.

Heard one the Minuteman Trail

2004-09-13T21:43:00.000-04:00

"...yeah, but women..."

To What I Aspire #1

2004-09-13T21:36:00.000-04:00

"If the sun stood in its orbit still,
[everyone] would tire of the sun,
And if the full moon did not wane and set,
No watchful eyes would the moon's rising mark.
If in the lair the lion stayed, in the bow the dart,
neither would catch the prey, or hit the mark.
Deep in the mine, gold dust is merely dust,
And in its native ground, fuel aloewood.
Gold, when extracted, grows much in demand.
And when exported, aloe fetches gold."
-The Arabian Nights

Lonely (?)

2004-09-11T23:28:00.000-04:00

What is it that makes us lonely but enables us to describe the function to (potentiall) millions of people? Across the world? The radio frequencies we emit will someday be decrypted by funny people with antennas on their skulls. Someday they will laugh with the curiousity of another nameless race. With the Klingons hot on their trail they will be amused enough to write a universeblog about us but not intrigues enough to care beyond the comments they receive.

Or maybe that's us. What makes you care? Why do you contribute to the same society that you mock? What makes us criticize constructively instead of just being cruel?

How I know I am alive:

2004-09-09T01:04:00.000-04:00

Planes fly overhead.

Reflection

2004-09-08T20:59:00.000-04:00

I looked for my reflection and saw a strange man, fat and messy. I saw a stained shirt with drops of ketchup in an cluster where a hamburger would be. I grew depressed as I gazed at holes in my pants, one in an important location.

While I wondered, he smiled and stood up straight. The image wasn't me - I hadn't been looking in a mirror. My once-duplicate walked away and I cleaned my glasses on the tail of my shirt.

Audio Battel

2004-09-07T23:10:00.001-04:00

My roommates are not fighting. You can tell they are not fighting because they're not talking. Perhaps they're not used to each other yet. Rob's been here about a month, but James has been here for over a year.

Stereo versus stereo finds the resonance of this old building. The house is shaking from the fierceness of their not fighting. It's late and I need to go to sleep - I am living in a DMZ of sound.

College begins

2004-09-07T15:30:00.000-04:00

Ah, the first day of school! For the 23rd time! Pre-school, kindergarden, 1st-12th grade, each semester in college, and my first day of grad school this Friday. Each time is still exciting. I love the feeling of expectation when the professor begins to speak.

I love opening a notebook to the blank first page. This will be the only time all year that my handwriting is smooth and legible. No pressure of homework or exams or final projects will distort my penmanship, not on this day of beginnings.

By next week there will be work to do, work to get done, work to be done with. This week there is only my writing on the page. No classmates have scribbled in the margins, no TA's have made comments in red, no pages have been torn out to make hasty drawings. As with the rest of my life right now, there is more promise than practice.

Memo to the people of the world

2004-09-06T12:43:00.000-04:00

Re: Surpassing our parents

Welcome! You've been here longer than I have, but that's no reason we can't work together. Youth and youthful ideas have always led to the betterment of humanity. By this I mean that only someone who does not live under a cloud of predictibility can feel the sunshine of hope.

The privilege given to the sons and daughters of a few select countries will soon be available to the sons and daughters of the world. WWII policy dominates the United States, Asia, and Europe to this day.

Herein lies our challenge. Can we turn over the keys from one generation to another peacefully? Can an older generation trust a newer generation? Can we dominate over the patterns and policy we usually obey? There is so much to do, and we must start while we are still young.

Seasons

2004-09-06T04:09:00.000-04:00

Five days ago the weather changed and it smelled like fall. Tonight it smells like winter, even though it's 50 degrees out. The streets are too empty for ten feet from a college campus. The songs of lone drunks echo between the wood houses and even the wind tires of blowing. Life has escaped for these hours, leaving remnants an archaeologist would ignore.

My roommate makes a decision

2004-09-06T01:11:00.000-04:00

The house shook more, then less, then more still. Rob was deciding how much he liked me. Since I'd asked him the day before to turn down his music, he would have these periodic mental battles. "I like the music" - volume up. "my friend asked me to turn it down" - volume down. "It's my fucking music" - volume up. This round our friendship lost as he found some louder music to play.