This was posted on one of my more laconic co-worker's cubicle: Asocial, rejecting or lacking the capacity for social interaction; Antisocial, hostile or harmful to organized society; If you feel the need to label somebody, get it right.
Tolerance, the allowable deviation from a standard. But what standard? The default standard is of course, my standard. I have very little tolerance. This not a good thing. If you've ever been in a car with me, you may have noticed this. Of course, I don't pretend to be alone in this. As George Carlin once wittily remarked: Have you ever noticed? Anybody going slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac." I think I'm a pretty tolerant person when it comes to beliefs, religon, social and cultural differences ... but what about everyday tolerance. How do you accomodate the little deviations from your routine?
My day's been pretty hectic, scatterbrained, and ineffectual so far. Let's see if I can't make something worthwhile out of it yet. Oh, if you've got the time and are looking for a book to read, visit Brian's website for some literary insights. I think if we got all the bloggers together we could put together an e-periodical of some sort, each contributing their own column ... I wonder how you'd work the security protocols for that....
It looks like I'll be getting a roommate finally. The really great thing is, I didn't have to do any leg work. It's always great when your friends have friends. Which I suppose is always the case ... so does that mean it's always great? Hmmm ... darn me and my skew logic. Anyway ... a big shout out to Richard. Thanks yo, you da man. Oh ... and if it turns out that she's a psychopath, I'm gunna kick your ass. J/K.
I was in the elevator with one of my co-workers yesterday and just to make some conversation, I asked if he was golfing enough these days. His cheeky reply was, "No. I quit." Sometimes I don't think fast enough to catch the ridiculous stuff that comes out of my mouth (actually I know quite a few people like that. You know who you are!) My immediate response was, "You don't quit golf, it's like crack! You don't quit." He looked at me for a second before smiling and saying, "I never thought of it that way...." Ah, ain't work great?
Seabiscuit. I’ve heard more than a few friends chuckle at the movie trailer. When Allison first mentioned the book, I remember thinking to myself, how exciting could a book about a horse be? After reading the book I thought, what a great story. Now that the movie is out, I wonder, how can anyone afford not to know this part of American history? Here’s an excerpt from the preface to the book by Laura Hillenbrand:
“Tuning in to radio broadcasts of his races was a weekend ritual across the country, drawing as many as forty million listeners. His appearances smashed attendance records at nearly every major track and drew two of the three largest throngs ever to see a horse race in the United States. In an era when the United States’ population was less than half its current size, seventy-eight thousand people witnessed his last race, a crowd comparable to those at today’s Super Bowls. As many as forty thousand fans mobbed tracks just to watch his workouts…”
It’s more than a story about a horse. It’s a story about perseverance, about believing in somebody else, about being true to one’s self, about defying conventional thinking on what your place in this world should be. Personally I don’t think the movie captures all of that, but the book is all of that and more. And if you managed to catch any of the interviews with the author, Laura Hillenbrand, you’d know that her story is just as moving. Crippled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, it took her four years to write this book during which she almost never left her home. Pouring through the documented material, she would often get vertigo from looking down at the floor she was sitting on. I only caught a small part of the NPR broadcast though. If you get a chance, read the book, or watch the movie, or just listen to the author’s story on the radio.
Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted. - Albert Einstein
At best count, there were 82 people that passed through my house on the night of my birthday. Friends that I’ve known my whole life. Friends I’ve known since high school. Friends I made in college. Friends I’ve met since. Some I saw just the day before. Some I hadn’t seen in ages. Of course, with so many people I was only able to spend a fraction of the time that I would have liked with each. Yet with all the bedlam, I did manage to get something to eat, so thanks to Eric and my brother David, for manning the grill all night long (I swear, cooking in the dark makes it taste better!). A special thanks to Richard for bringing, among other things, shot glasses, an extra cooler and extra charcoal. Thanks to everyone who brought drinks, especially to Ji and Greg who brought the Chopin and the Johnny Walker Red respectively. Thanks to Anita, Yu-han, and Mia for the wonderful cakes, some of which are still being eaten on a daily basis. Thanks to Brian for not only bringing DDR, but also for taking all the great photos throughout the night. (They will be posted soon, I swear!) And lastly, but certainly not least, thanks to Erwin, Amanda, Lila for coming early to set up and Audra and Kai for staying over cleaning up and cleaning up in the morning (Especially to Audra. I was in no shape to clean up in the morning, I am so glad that you were there.)
I am grateful for each and everyone who came by to see my new house and to wish me a happy birthday. In one moment, with twenty and seven candles lit and more good friends than I have years in my life to count, singing happy birthday, I was as happy as I had ever been in my life. I think it was at that moment that I finally felt like my house was a home. Mi casa es su casa, you are all welcome at my home anytime. So finally, thank you all, for coming, bringing food, wine, spirits of both sorts, games, gifts and most of all, thank you for having fun and making my house a place full of memory. I’ll see you all at the next party!
There are 10^11 stars in the galaxy. That used to be a huge number. But it's only a hundred billion. It's less than the national deficit! We used to call them astronomical numbers. Now we should call them economical numbers. - Richard Feynman, physicist, Nobel laureate
Numbers. It's so easy to contain something by quantifying it. A hundred ... is a hundred a big number? It's less that the average number of words in my journal entry. A thousand? Less than my monthly mortagage. Ten thousand? There will be close to or over eighty people coming to my house tomorrow. Eighty seems like a pretty big number to me right now. Let's hope my neighbors and the police don't agree.
Yesterday, an elderly man killed nine and injured 45 people when he drove through a farmer’s market in Santa Monica. This is what I felt when I heard this: Oh my god. That’s awful. I’m glad it wasn’t me. I wonder what it was like. I’m going to be more careful when I walk around street fairs from now on. That guy should be shot….
Blood call out for blood. But is that right? If it was an accident, then does that make him wholly non-responsible? What if it was a middle aged person? What if it was a teenager? What if he wasn’t white? But wait … I don’t even know if he was white. Did the news say? Does it matter? If you prick me do I not bleed? I’ve read some comments saying that the family is responsible. Sins of the father. Other comments say that the city is responsible. Some how I think people would start protesting if they installed ugly k-rail in front of the farmer’s market. Nevertheless, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Do we seek revenge or justice? What is justice? What is a just consequence for accidentally plowing down nearly sixty people? All I know is revenge. And I know that isn’t right. So what we have left is the law. As flawed as it is, in times like this, it is what ties us together. So, they should take away his driver’s license and never let him drive again right? Probably. But that doesn’t mean he won’t ever drive again. And what if it were some teenager with narcolepsy or schizophrenic middle aged person? Does that mean the person will never get over their disability? Of course, they haven’t found a cure for age yet, so most likely if this old man gets behind the wheel again, this will happen again eventually. So they should definitely take his license away. But what if it was something curable? Shouldn’t the law apply equally to everyone? Are we all really equal?
As it turns out, I was born three days late. I was due on my father’s birthday. He was a very punctual man, always solved problems as soon as they had arisen. Me? I’m a procrastinator. I guess some things are decided when you’re born. Does that mean I’ll always be putting off ‘til tomorrow what I should have done today? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have the drive that some people have when it comes to getting things done.
Fortunately or not, I don’t have the luxury of any more procrastinating. Three days and counting until I get to show off my new place. The A/V Receiver and DVD just arrived today and I’m looking forward to finally hooking up the system. There’s still a bit of gardening to do before the walkway is accessible and there are a couple of other things that need fixing before the house is ready. I don’t think the doorbell is one of them though. I’m not quite sure what’s not working.
On a side note, I didn’t lose my job yesterday. The CEO asked the Board for a little more time to work out the details of how to make up a 17 million dollar shortfall. I’d hate to be in his shoes.
I met my neighbors for the first time yesterday. Anna and Luiz live to the right of my house and to my left … oh god, I’ve already forgotten! … I think his name is Jason. Anyway, as you can tell I’m not much for last names. In fact, I’m not much for names in general. So if you catch me purposely not saying your name, it’s not because I don’t know it. (Though I suppose it might be) It’s because I’ve never felt very comfortable saying names. There’s something very personal about a name, especially the way certain people say it. I had a good friend in High School, Rebecca. She used to comment how she liked the fact that I pronounce it Re-Beh-Ka instead of Rah-Beh-Ka, just because it was so very me. Note the hard Ks, also very me. I digress. It’s curious how intimate a name can make a conversation seem. The way that it make the world fall away. The way that it can make you smile when intoned just the right way. Curious because so many of us share the same name.
Four days left. What has being 26 meant to me?
A bird does not sing because he has an answer. He sings because he has a song. – Joan Walsh Anglund
Once again the weekend has flown by without an update. This makes me wonder, do I update just because I don’t want to do work? Or do I update because I think people are reading this and I don’t think they’ll check on the weekends? I’ll have to admit, I do relish the idea that people might be hanging on my every word. However, I don’t really don’t have such delusions of self-grandeur and I’m satisfied knowing that some people skim my blog periodically. I think though that is just a fringe benefit of writing. I write because I want to create and because I want to remember, not just because I want people to know me. Why then do I not write on the weekends? I guess because I sort of view it as work. Pleasurable work, but work nonetheless.
Five days and counting.
The layoffs I mentioned a couple of weeks ago draw nearer. Next Tuesday to be exact. At the time there was some hope of avoiding them. Now that hope seems to be dwindling. Scarier still is that that eight percent reduction comes on the heels of the departure of most of our temporary and consultant staff, about four of which of which I know personally. They're the ones I feel sorry for the most. They all had a week or less of notice.
I mention this because some of those temporary employees' last day will be tomorrow and there were more than a few good bye lunches thrown. I remained blissfully unaware of this (for up until that point it had be a rather good day) until after lunch. People seemed to be in good enough spirits though. As though everything that happens, happens for a reason. And so the day resumed it's goodness and ends here, well. That being said, I think I'll give some thanks tonight. For those Tad Williams fans out there, Code Dephi. Start here.
As I was sitting on the BART train today -- directly across a girl who was simultaneously reading a book, bobbing her head to music and skillfully holding her bike upright with her leg -- I stared at her piercings and had an imagined conversation in my head. I thought about what she might answer if asked, why do you have so many piercings? Prehaps she might say, "You know, it's not that I think it represents me. But rather, it's because other people think that it doesn't represent me, so I do it to prove them wrong. Sort of a, oh-yeah-what-the-hell-do-you-know-anyway." The way I figure it, when ever you rebel against or try to resist something you always invoke that which you are rebelling against. If you protest violence, it is almost inevitable that violence occurs. Why? Because for protest to be effective one of two things has to happen. Either the protest has to get people to listen; for example, by shutting down businesses in downtown SF, thereby making a lot of people angry and violent; or violence is used against the protester, thereby invoking sympathy for the cause. What is the point then of resistance? Does it prevent the inevitable? Or does it mearly deflect it, re-routing it to a more accepting party.
At that point I started to realize that I think way too much. Should I then resist thinking? The BART train reached my stop shortly after that and as fleeting thoughts go, I got up and left
We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies? -- Edward Young
I watched Spell Bound last night. It is, at it's most basic level, a wonderful documentary about a spelling bee. (The 1999 National Spelling Bee to be exact.) What I took away from it was an appreciation of the cultural differences and similarities in families and communities across the country. The most remarkable thing to me was the fact that at first glance, these children seemed so different, in race, affluence, and education. Yet, I could not help but notice that for the most part they seemed like kids that I’ve seen in my small part of the world. And then I began to realize that what was really different wasn’t the kids themselves, but rather their environment. Though they definitely each had their own individuality, they had not yet made the choices that would really help define who they were. They had in fact, each made the decision to, or allowed themselves to be forced into, participating and working toward the same goal, to be the best speller in America. But don’t take my word for it, go out and see this movie. You’ll laugh, you’ll bite your nails, you’ll cheer, and it’s all real.
Sometime during this past weekend I had a conversation that seemed to weave itself between several people and I never knew quite who I was talking to. Maybe I was talking to everyone. Maybe there were all talking to me. Like in being in the center of a ball of multicolored yarn, all these different threads crossing over each other. Or maybe it was more like the fireworks, which seemed to me dazzling technicolor blooms interlaced, interwoven. My favorites were the spiralling white ones that dove straight into the water and extiguished themselves. You almost felt as if you could reach out and catch a piece of the heavens if you were just fast enough. And sometimes the sky simply exploded with color and we just had to laugh because we didn't know what else to do with the giddiness that we felt. And when all of the festivities were over, we took our leave. So many good byes in one weekend, wrought of so many long awaited reunions. And so I was standing there, waiting for my turn to talk to the bride. A long embrace and some words of thanks and congratulations later, I took my leave. Yet what struck me about the whole weekend was that in every case, amidst the various chaoses, I still felt singled out, and that there was time for me.
It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory. – W. Edwards Deming
Here’s an interesting idea: Swapping copyrighted material, most notably music files, is an act of civil disobedience. The idea behind civil disobedience is change. But what should change? Should music be free? I don’t think so. I, for one, don’t mind paying for my music. What I have trouble with is shelling out $17.99 to get a CD that has maybe one or two songs that I’ll ever listen to and is physically a hassle to deal with. Others like to get things for as cheap as possible and you can’t get much cheaper than free. Of course if music were free all the time, artists wouldn’t get paid and we wouldn’t have our music. So, what kind of change are we looking for? I think most of us are looking for the same thing. Music that’s easy to get, easy to find, free to sample and cheap to keep. So when’s it going to happen? Who’s going to make it happen?
There’s the other side of the equation, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), which is currently trying to sue people with a substantial amount of infringed material on their computers. They are perfectly justified in doing so, of course, they have the law on their side. And it's not just profit margins that they are trying to protect, it's people's jobs. But if we are always concerned with what we have now, if we are always trying to maintain the status quo, then where are we headed? I figure, if they aren't to ones that are willing to take us into the next generation of music distribution, then others will. And eventually the artists and entertainers will follow the technology that garners them the largest fan base.
It's a fine line to walk. Change comes at a price. So I think I'll continue to download some of my music and continue to buy some of my music and hope that someone over realizes that there are more possibilities in the future than in the past.