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I don't get Undecideds. Probably because in most things I like having 2 speeds: On, off.
Ok, let's pretend the Election is a big wild ass house party, like at the end of Weird Science, and instead of casting votes we're really all just trying to get laid.
Some people show up to the party with a date, so they already know who they're going home with -- in fact these people could've just skipped the party completely and stayed home with thighs covering their ears.
There are others who show up without knowing exactly who they want to nail, but they've got a type. Maybe they've got yellow fever and they go for Asians or Gaysians , or maybe love ass. Maybe they go gooey for bangs and big sunglasses, or hairy chests and ironic beards. Whatever; the point is they know what they like, and when they see it they all over it like gravy on a biscuit.
Some people don't have a type, they like to keep their options real wide. Let's say they're pansexual, and everyone at the party is looking good. This is a blessing and a curse, because they see a little sumthin-sumthin worth trying in just about everyone at the party. But let's say these happy, adventurous people are also pragmatic, and around midnight when the pickins are at risk of thinning out, they'll do a couple shots of tequila and hop on the next sweet thing that doesn't move faster than they do. If it doesn't end up working out, worst case scenario is they come back (in 4 years) and try for someone new and friskier.
But then there are people who can't make up their fucking minds. Maybe they're like our pansexuals -- except instead of everyone at the party looking Hot, to them everyone is looking really, really Not. The party would be a lot more fun for these people if they'd drink some of that tequila. Their options would certainly start looking better. Or maybe the problem is -- like the dummies on bad dating reality shows are always saying -- these people are waiting for what they think of as "the complete package." And wouldn't that be nice? But while they're waiting for that complete package to materialize, time's awasting and soon the party will be over.
These people who stand around while everyone else is hooking up around them are the Electoral Undecideds. But the problem is, unlike in the party metaphor, when they don't make the right decision everyone gets fucked.
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After brunch at Naomi and Scott's place I went wandering in the Mission. At some point I'm planning to pop into 12 Galaxies for Noise Pop's Pop & Shop where Ryan P is spinning, but at the moment I'm at Ritural Roasters working on my IA Summit and Web 2.0 Expo presentations. Or trying to work on it. I also popped into Borderland Books where I suckered myself into picking up The Town That Forgot How to Breathe and Neal Asher's Gridlinked. As if I don't already have enough fiction piled up at the bedside.
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Peter Stahl and I are preparing a talk for IA Summit and Web 2.0 Expo on an audit we conducted of eBay's many and disparate interactions. He lives in Mountain View, and after taking Caltrain up to SF a couple weeks ago, he hopped on MUNI. Peter was treated to a first hand example of the importance of good affordances and expectation when he tried to get off the bus -- he'd never 'stepped down' to open a door before. And MUNI's contradictory signs don't help things ("Step down" into the stepwell to open the doors, but "Do Not Stand In Stepwell" because you could get smushed) .
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I made it through the first week of Bootcamp without puking, grievously injuring myself, or flat out skipping one of the four class per week. The biggest pain in the ass is that my sleep schedule is like a new parent's. Class starts at 7am, so I need to be up around 5:45 to dress, eat, have coffee, and walk from my place to 20th and Sanchez. Surprisingly, I had no problem the first few days. But Wednesday night I went to the Dope Show, went home with badly ringing ears, and maybe got three hours of real sleep before it was time to go to the Thursday workout. Work, after the workout, was horrible. My brain was trailing about two seconds behind any conversation going on, any brainstorming that had to take place -- basically I was a retard until I got home and sacked out in front of the TV.
Regardless, that's one down and five to go.
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Slate podcasted this excellent review of a celebrity puff piece on Angelina Jolie. Everyone knows that celebrity profiles aren't exactly deep, and are mainly there to prop up the sexy cover photo. I think magazines usually get a pass on these since swallowing fluff is part of the public's responsibility in the social contract they enter with celebrities (the brussel sprouts that earn a desert of tears, cheating and DUIs), but a recent piece in Esquire on Angelina Jolie that intros by comparing her importance to 9/11 went too far for Slate. Sure, it's like shooting fish in a barrel (or just walking past fish in a barrel), but the article does a great job identifying the flaws, sins and shear stupidities of a piece that is so full of shit I wouldn't be surprised if toilets clogged in every bathroom the issue gets read in...
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I wrote about a morning encounter with an old lady who was peddling groceries on the corner near the court house a while back, but never posted it here. I saw her again this morning with a wire-framed pushcart half-full of shopping bags this morning, and I snapped a couple shots of her making a sale. Like me, the woman buying was trying to overpay for whatever product she'd agreed to "purchase", and like when I tried to overpay, the old lady insisted on giving back change. I got away because I didn't stop walking, but it looks like change might've actually been made in this case. After I wrote the bit below, I heard from some other locals that they'd seen the old lady before and suspected she shoplifted her wares, which, if anything, makes me think MORE of her.
May 31, 2007
I walk to work in the morning. It's about 2 miles, door to door, and in someways it's a better kick start than coffee, though I still drink a few cups when I get to my desk. It's the same walk everyday, so even though I'm super into all the building, people and scenery in SF, most days I tune out, listening to music or podcasts, and I probably tread the exact same path each way, step for step. It's like a trance, and that's why, when something unusual happens along the way it takes me a moment to snap out of it. Which brings me to this morning.
I was passing the courthouse on McAllister, where I always have to run an obstacle course of people who respond to the summons to jury duty with all the vitality and enthusiasm of the living dead. I'd just skirted the entrance, and was about to step past an old lady who I thought was another prospective jury, but instead she reached out and touched my forearm. She was little and round lady, with thin, greasy white hair covered in scarf that looked more like a dish rag, and her glazed blue eyes seemed to wander independently. I was listening to music and didn't hear what she was saying, but I saw she carried a generic brand bag of white rice and a soup can under one arm, and held a can of cranberry juice concentrate in her hand, which she offered to me. Normally, I ignore people who approach me on the street; if I didn't my 30 minute walk would take an hour. This one time, though, I decided to go ahead and take out my earbuds, even though I definitely did not want the can of cranberry juice concentrate she was trying to give me. There was something grandmotherly about her, and even though her clothes weren't clean, she definitely didn't look homeless, addicted or even more crazy than, say, my own grandmother. She just seemed desperate and fragile. I figured I could at least acknowledge her, before politely moving on. "Please. A dollar. Is good," she said. Her accent was Russian or some other Eastern Europe country, and she suddenly seemed very provincial. I shook my head and said No thanks, but she said, "Please," again, and held the can up higher, like maybe I only said no because I hadn't seen it clearly. The crosswalk countdown started, and I said No, again, and skirted around her continuing on my way.
I got halfway down the next block when guilt hit. Dodging open handed drunks, addicts and gutter punks is one thing, but I'd just walked away from a poor old lady trying to sell groceries on the corner. What an asshole I was, Asshole with a capital A. I turned around and saw her down the street, still on the corner, trying without much luck to stop other pedestrians. I'd go back and give her a few bucks, I decided, but when I fished out my wallet I found I only had a five. Why not, I thought. Walking back, I saw a woman stop and "buy" the old lady's can of soup; after she gave the lady a dollar the woman tried to give back the soup, but the old lady was insistent. She pushed the can of soup into the woman's arms like it was something precious. The woman smiled and shrugged, and then watched me as I came up and gave the old lady my rolled up five. The old lady took it and gave me the cranberry, which I also tried to give back. "You keep it," I said, but the old lady shook her head so violently and she seemed suddenly more fragile than when I'd first saw her, I was worried she might start yelling or crying or something. Then, when she unrolled the bill I'd given her, she did start yelling. "No!" she shouted, "Is TOO much. TOO much!" I said it was Ok, and smiled and said that she should keep it. But she kept yelling, and some of the people who'd been walking by, ignoring the old lady, now stopped and stared with confusion at her and then at me. "TOO much!" she shouted again. She waved a handful of money around like she was swatting at flies, and she was now on the verge of tears. The woman who'd bought the soup stood behind her and shouted at me, "She's ONLY trying to keep her dignity!" And then everyone around was glaring at me. I'd given the old lady too much money for a can of cranberry concentrate, and now I really was an Asshole. I hurried off before a mob could form to burn me at the stake.
 
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When I first heard about Chess Boxing I figured it must be more complicated than it sounded. I was wrong. Chess Boxing is exactly what it sounds like -- boxing and chess at the same time.
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I posted a couple new mixes. I finished the BBQ mix a while back, and I just go around to uploading it. The other mix, Deckless Modifications, was born of tracks downloaded from the Modyfier Modifying blog -- it's longer than the Deckless Wonder mixes, about 2hrs and instead of doing quick cuts, there are long blends. I thought it would be a mellower mix than the others as well, but I was listening to it when running over the weekend, and it's actually quite energetic.
Deckless Modifications
01. jacob london / i love pressure washing
02. jeff samuel / night ride
03. drei farben house / close enough
04. luke sardello / somebody said
05. toka project / people
06. monoroom / memory inc. part 2 / gui boratto rmx
07. juho kahilainen / sleeping with the lizards / mymy rmx
08. kenzo / workin it out / audiofly rmx
09. the timewriter / so much pain inside / terry lee brown junior rmx
10. claude vonstroke / who’s afraid of detroit / paul woolford rmx
11. slok / latin world
12. the screetch / the screetch / dusty kid rmx
13. daniel mehlhart / der tonkopfreiniger
14. dirt crew / deep (we are) sasse rmx
15. jussi pekka / federal escape / duplex 100 rmx
16. jussi pekka / the line in between / alexi delano rmx
17. acid circus / minimal junk / jason emsley rmx
18. pinktronix ft chelonis r jones / crash!
19. jupiter black / we like moroder / divider rmx
20. square one / vesuvius / justin martin rmx
21. eyerer & chopstick / haunting / sleeper thief rmx
22. djosos krost / better place
Here's the link...
Deckless Summer BBQ Mix01. mary j blige / family affair / dj copy rmx 02. herbalizer ft what what / mission improbable 03. jamie lidell / a little bit more 04. big boi / last call 05. lyrics born / callin out 06. missy elliott ft nelly furtado / get ur freak on 07. queen v weezer / we will rock b.h. / nick foster mashup 08. timbaland and magoo / luv 2 luv u 09. lily allen / smile 10. go home productions / return of the weather 11. 2pac / california love 12. white stripes v eric b & rakim / pump up the door bell / party ben mashup 13. ying yang twins / bad 14. bill withers / lovely day 15. mark ronson ft ghostface killah & nate dogg / ooh wee 16. pharell ft jay-z / frontin 17. spoon / i turn my camera on 18. soulds of mischief / 93 til infinity 19. brandy / talk about our love 20. tweet / boogie tonight 21. bun b / get it girl Here's the link... 22. sharpshooters / feeling fine 23. munk ft james murphy / kick out the chairs 24. hot chocolate / every 1’s a winner 25. the coup / laugh, love, fuck 26. prince / black sweat 27. nas / hip hop is dead 28. r.e.m. v usher / crush… yeah / jimmi jammes mashup 29. digital underground / the humpty dance 30. bell x1 / flame / chicken lips rmx 31. big boi / knowing 32. the goats / aaah deee yaaa 33. steve miller band / keep on rocking me 34. fort knox five / blowing up the barrio 35. akon ft eminem / smack that 36. the coup / we are the ones 37. fleetwood mac / dreams Here's the link...
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Yesterday a co-worker forwarded me an email from a guy named Brian Singer, who is not the same guy who directed Superman Returns. This Brian Singer is the guy who is Someguy, and Someguy is the guy who started the 1000 Journals project. The email said:
From: Brian Singer <brian@###.com>
Date: May 2, 2007 8:01:47 AM PDT
Subject: 1000 Journals Book Launch Party / Sketch Tuesdays
Hi Everyone,
I wanted to invite you all to the "official" 1000 Journals book launch party. We're partnering with 111 Minna's Sketch Tuesdays, so it should be a pretty interesting evening. You can come watch artists create original works, or even contribute to actual journals from the project. Feel free to bring friends.
Oh, and if you haven't checked out the book yet, here's a preview:
http://www.1000journals.com/index.php?view=Book%2FIndex
The event didn't start until 8pm, which is really late for me, but I decided it was important for me to go since my co-workers accuse me of never going anywhere. So I went. First thing I noticed when I was walking past 111's windows was Frank Chu's protest sign bobbing above all the hipster heads, and I knew that this was the place to be. Oh, man.  The 1000 Journals project is pretty simple -- Someguy sent 1000 journals out into the world, the world ate most of them, but filled some of them with art and returned them to Someguy who then published samples from the survivors in a beautiful hardcover book that was on sale at the launch party for $24.90 (including tax). The party had a few of the journals on hand, and people were contributing their creativity to the project, which I guess is still going on. Today my co-worker told me about another cool project this cool guy, Brian, came up with, that has, in my opinion, much broader appeal, because, like the book says, "Everybody Poops." It's call " Made You Think", and I guess it was inspired by George Bush's glowing review of former FEMA director Michael Brown's nimble response to Hurricane Katrina: "Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job." People stick little flags printed with Bush's face in a pile of poop, take a picture and post it online. This Brian Singer guy is my new San Francisco hero.
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I was one of probably 5 people who were actually excited enough to catch 28 Days Later when it came out in theaters -- I wanted to see where Danny Boyle's train of thought would go next, after Trainspotting. When the film kicked off, I thought only the opening sequence would be shot in DV, and I kept expecting the image to flip to the standard cinematic look and feel, and after realizing that the whole thing would look digi I was distracted and mildly annoyed. At least until the scene where the protagonist is walking through the dark building, and he passes a wall with blood scrawled graffiti, "The End is Fucking Nigh." I was all on-board after that. It was the story that hooked me, and later I found out it was written by Alex Garland, who authored the novel The Beach, and a complex sequence of intersecting character arcs that threatens entropic discord but ultimately harmonizes as a novel, The Tesseract. (That is to say, I enjoyed it.)
I love the Zombie genre. I just do. (Note: Spoiler for first movie in next paragraph)
But for some reason I'm not as excited about the upcoming release of 28 Weeks Later. Maybe it looks too polished, I know it has a lot to live up to, and it would be a shame if it adheres too much to the elements of the original -- scenes of flight from a zombie chow line and endless zombie decapitations are to be expected, but the realization that we, humans, are the real monsters only works when it isn't telegraphed, when the audience doesn't see it coming, and when the stakes are as high, say, as the potential gang rape of a child (see first movie). From the trailers, I see the uninfected dodging gunfire, and there are lots of shots of the military -- and where there's military in movies, human monsters are never far behind.
I'll watch it, I'm sure. But in the meantime, I downloaded the audio version of Max Brooks' World War Z, which will provide me with 5 hours + of Zombie vs Human melee pleasure during my walks to and from work. (Also soon to be a movie.)
I know I'm a geek. But it could be worse...
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The day after I got back from Japan a new project at work carpet-bombed my schedule, and for the last 3 weeks my current project has consumed my day, followed me home at night, and frequently invaded my sleep. Last week, when I was pedaling in the truly higher gears I didn't even have time to complain about being busy, so the fact that I can even write this means the pressure must've let up a bit.
Another indicator that the pressure is letting up is the couple of extracurricular activities I've managed to attend this week.
Monday I got a call from Simsie, who had a few hours to kill after a day of interviews at the Do-No-Evil Empire. I met him at Mad Dog in the Fog, and we talked about that fucked up shit at Virginia Tech, talked about the differences between designing as part of an in-house team vs. as a consultant, and he marveled over the differences in climate (environmental and social) between SF and NY, where a cat and his collection of books and laundry reside.
My sister popped in, Simsie scooted off to SFO for his red-eye east, and the two of us hopped in a cab driven by a black militant cabbie listening to the Africa Today on KPFA, who give a very slight approving nod when we asked him to drop us at Booksmith.
I really enjoyed Motherless Brooklyn, and though I hadn't cognitively decided I was eager to read the next book by Jonathan Lethem, I was excited when I learned from Flavorpill that he would be reading from his latest novel, You Don't Love Me Yet, at Booksmith. Best as I can tell from his description and the selection he chose to share, the book's a band's coming of age yarn, set in a hyperreal version of the already hyperreal Los Angeles. He read from a scene where protagonist band, Monster Eyes, plays the late night radio show of one of those iconic scene fixtures and taste-makers, who reminded me of Rodney on the Rock meets John Peel meets Andy Warhol meets an thought-center changing overdose of acid.
After the reading, Lethem talked quite a bit about his Promiscuous Materials project, and spoke about the social stigma attributed to plagiarism. Boiled down, because I actually am busy, should be working and not blogging, was that the social view on plagiarism is fairly monolithic, and doesn't take into consideration the merits of the output. If a work is plagiarized, sampled, say, and the result is something that adds a spin, a new perspective, on the original work, then something new is created, and there maybe some inherent value in such a work. And to walk this talk, Lethem has made a bunch of short works freely available for adaptation by screen and play writers, and he is also planning to give screen rights to his latest novel to the film maker who presents the most compelling (in Lethem's opinion) proposal for adaptation. Lethem went on about the important role public works have always played in the creation of new works, and about the creative discourse that happens when ideas are sounded and echoed from one artist to another. Cool ideas, modern thinking, and the stance earned him a short, but heartfelt round of clapping. But what amazed me was that he did all this without once mentioning Creative Commons. It seemed genuinely strange; here's a writer who's obviously socially active, he's written for Rolling Stone (1, 2), he's thinking and talking about these topics, and yet he doesn't verbally recognize the movement that's directly involved in pushing the agenda he's advocating. His entire speech on usage and plagiarism covered key talking points for Creative Commons licensing, but he just kept hovering around it – it was almost like he said, "What we need is some sort of new license that allows common sharing of creative work… some sort of, I don't know, common creative what have you…" I tried to imagine why he wouldn't mention CC or Larry Lessig – perhaps he didn't wholly agree with the CC agenda, but if that were true I would expect him to also present that thinking as well, or perhaps after touring the Midwest he forgot he was reading in SF where 80% of the audience would be familiar with CC, and 40% would already be using CC attributions on their Flickr photos, and 20% would own CC tshirts that wear proudly to the bi-monthly CC Salon at Shine (happening tonight). Either way, I found it distracting, which is obviously my problem more than any one else's, since my sister was good-natured enough to simply enjoy the heck out of the Lethem event. He was a great speaker, and illuminated his thoughts with turns of phase that were original and surprising, but also very clear and easy on the cognitive load.
And now, back to work.
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Not sure about the details of this detainee's case, but according to BB, in the more than 4 years he's been at Gitmo, the guy's attempted suicide 12 times. The LA Times printed an excerpt from a letter sent to his attorneys.
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Plan A was I go to SXSW, soak in IxD and innovation for a few days, catch a Spore demo from Will Wright, then back to SF for a few days in the office, then the wife and I would fly to Tokyo for a couple weeks of familial interaction and convivial consumption. We're planning around her brother, however, and his touring schedule just threw us a curve; so no SXSW for me this year, instead we'll hit Japan at the beginning of March, which almost guarantees the absence of cherry blossoms and spring weather. This schedule change does mean, however, that I should be able to join the rest of my office's UxD team at IA Summit in Vegas, which is just a couple days after my birthday... so I've got that going for me.
I RSVP'd for a SXSW party being held at Madrone Lounge tonight, but now that I know I'm not going to make it to the conference I'm not sure if I'll go to the party. I heard that they got way more people interested in attending than Madrone can hold, plus I'm still dragging ass after spending Saturday night around a fire pit, drinking moonshine made in Fuck-tomorrow Man's still. At 120 proof, it was good shit, and flammable as rocket fuel. Anyway, I've got 2 hours to decide...
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Looks like we're doing another round of Korean BBQ for Xmas eve this year. Mmm, smells meaty.
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Yeah, it's a school night.
Yeah, it's 32 bucks including corprape service charges.
And Yeah, primetime was 20 years ago.
But i'm going to see Public Enemy tonight at Mezzanine anyway. Because Fuck "Yeah".
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