Justin's Links

now playing

I re-figured out how to coax my computer to play multiple songs at the same time! (Winamp, multiple sessions). Today I'm working on my grad school applications, while this is playing:

- Blind Willie McTell (45 songs, random) 70% volume
- Tokyo Train Tones (44 songs, random) 45% volume
- Iggy Pop & the Stooges (8 songs, random) 13% volume
- Ghost Dog (DVD, linear) 30% volume

Like the electric eclectic; audio bath! A mix of urban memories from Japan, McTell's spirited warbling, Iggy's aggressive ranting and Forest Whitaker's low philosophy (with Rza's backing beats). Each peeks out from under another in scattered succession, rich media serendipity. Soon I'll shut off my speakers as the mix continues to play, and I'll return to my chair outside to read Free Culture in the Oakland sunshine.

I like Bahrain in June, How about You?

I'm planning a June trip to the Middle East, for purposes of studying technoculture. Mmmm, lovely 115 degrees weather you have here!

I have my timeframe, and my agenda. But I don't yet have my desination. Qatar? Bahrain? Dubai (UAE)? Lebanon? For my first solo adult foray into the Middle East, I'm leaning towards the more secular, developed locations. Once I plan my nations, roughly, then I can assemble a list of places and people to drop in on.

In the meantime, I'm very much enjoying The Religious Policeman, a weblog published from within Saudi Arabia, over an illegal satellite connection. The author, in perfect English with witty sensibilities, writes about the strain of living in a punitive postmodern absurdistic theocracy.

tonight's tears

I don't often leak from the eyes. But tonight something provoked that kind of emotion in me - longing, grief, joy, depth. And it was odd - it was listening to MP3s of Tokyo's trains. Memories of another phase in my life came back to me - light rain over Harajuku, smiling as the doors closed, standing on the platform transferring to the Chiyoda-line, listening as the train was announced. These voices and melodies were a rich and regular part of my life for 18 months.

I guess I'm looking at uprooting myself, moving to another place soon. So I'm ready to be moved by nostalgia, remembering times I've had and moved on. Man, I used to live in Japan! And I don't live there no more. Huh. Like that. Come and gone. Some day I'll sit in a chair and I won't be able to go many places. Maybe I'll weep again then too, happy to have heard saccharin sweet melodies as I lived my young adulthood alone traveling between the closing doors of tracks seven and eight.

[Three free short MP3 samples of the Tokyo tones I remember: Shibuya1, Gotanda1, or Harajuku1; more info in this Chanpon entry.]

I'll Make You a Bet, Chester

A friend could not believe I am planning to go to graduate school. "I'll make you a bet, Chester. I'll bet you're never going to get a Master's Degree."

"Okay!" I retorted immediately, "20 bucks! Why not."

"I'm thinking to raise the stakes," he replied. "I'll bet you $10,000 that you're not going to finish grad school."

My eyes popped out of my head, over the phone. "$10,000! No way - I can't afford that!"

"I'll give you 2:1 odds," he replied. "And twenty years."

So those are the terms. If I earn a Master's Degree ("none of that honorary shit, Chester" - I gotta slog through grad school) within 20 years, I win $10,000. If I don't earn a Master's Degree by 26 April, 2024, I owe my friend $5,000. "A PhD counts too," he suggested generously.

An odd incentive to attend, and finish grad school! And a long timeline. Like a personal long bet! I took him up on it; now I can start thinking of it as part of my financial aid package for grad school, or a long-term loan on nothing.

An edited sample of his rationale appears below.

"Let's analyze that bet a little bit. Even with the huge odds you're getting on this one, I still like my chances. Just to give you some perspective, since you don't have to pay up until 4/26/24, that gives you 20 years of inflation (assume a mean rate of 3%) to reduce your $5,000 in value to about $2,720. On the other hand, you could earn your degree as early as 2007, which would depreciate the $10,000 you stand to win to $9127. So, it would appear that you are getting better than 3:1 odds on your bet (3.36:1, actually). But, 3 years would be a very quick finish (especially for you), so I would put the expectation that, given you will get a degree, you will take about seven years to finish (remember, you may not even be able to start until 2005 or later), which would make my $10,000 worth about $8080, which puts your odds at just under 3:1 (2.97:1). So, what does that mean? It means you'll need to have better than a 25.19% chance of getting your degree in 20 years to make our bet a break even proposition. By the way, the 20 years time is largely irrelevant to your success in completing a degree. I figure if you don't get it in your first trip back, you never will. Anyhow, I put your chances closer to 5% or 10% tops, giving me a substantial edge. Perhaps you would disagree with that number, but I've been back to the Ivory Tower after learning the resplendant truth of what lies beyond. So too shall you, if you're not just lost in a pipe dream, and so too shall you learn why it just doesn't work."

Hah! I told him, you're driving me to grad school!

visiting mimi

I saw Mimi when I was in Los Angeles two weeks ago. Most of my correspondence with her concerns mobile technology and Japanese intercultural community. This trip was a nice chance to visit with her and her family at home.

Here Mimi makes a bento lunchbox, which she commemorated on her Bento moblog - a record of the Japanese-style Chanpon-inflected lunchboxes Mimi makes for her kids. This lunch is commemorated here.

Mimi reads with her son and daughter before bedtime.

Mimi's daughter waits for the ice cream truck.

sweaty rolling around smiling

I train with some tough guys at my dojo East Bay Aikido. Earlier in the week, I matched hands with a NFL player. Sure, he's a kicker not a linebacker, but as someone pointed out, he's accustomed to extremely large people rushing at him and having to defend himself.

The first time I trained with him, I couldn't move him. He was like a rock. Barely smiling! Tough and hard. He didn't even seem to take pleasure in my scrawny ministrations, my futile efforts to fling him around the mat. But fling me he did. I flew hard. Whew! I felt myself holding my breath - you're like no one I've ever trained with! I told him. He looked pained for just a moment and relented some of his tension.

This week when we worked out, I saught him out and I was glad to have a chance to go up against his stiff strong limbs again. Whew! I pushed and played with him, trying to get him to loosen up and fall. I wasn't entirely successful this time either, but we both had a smiling good session.

Picture by Tom Gambell sensei After class, I'm sitting on the mat in a spot of light, reading from his copy of Art of Peace; the text he used to punctuate the ceremony.

Today we celebrated the anniversary of o'Sensei's death (he's actually not Irish - "O" before a word in Japanese denotes respect). We celebrated by practicing the 108 meditation, doing one move 108 times with nine different partners, breaking for meditation and readings from o'Sensei's texts between. Sweaty hard rolling falling and pushing broken by meditation.

Aikido as I imagine it is supposed to be about relaxing flow. But today I was having fun pushing back a bit. One of our Black Belts is a short thick Russian fellow, built so compact and strong - I grasp him and I feel like I'm holding the arms of the Incredible Hulk. He's in complete control of both of our bodies when we train. Once a few months ago I asked him to practice a techinque with me. We never got past the first hand gesture of the technique because he had such evolved observations to make, and then he held me to them! Most people, when they practice with you, they let you get by with a little loose movement on the way to understanding. This gentleman is in the moment, holding you to perfection in each step.

I knew that he couldn't be that much of a stickler today - we each had 108 moves to practice in 90 minutes. So I sought him out, and I grabbed him hard with a big grin on my face. He went through his motions and I put up some resistence. He responded by making sure that he kicked me in the ass each and every time I flung him to the mat. I could barely keep from laughing. And so to with him!

People who are expert in this area have the capacity to play. Training with this guy tests everything you know, because if you're slack, he'll grab your leg and you'll end up flat on your behind. Few people in the dojo test you that way. I look at it as play. He's playing around, it's competitive perhaps, but with a smile and patient gesturing and teaching. Today was a great day for practicing Aikido. I looked around me at all the sweaty smiling rolling around and I was glad for the light.

sex and technology, amongst other things

I've been writing for TheFeature.com since 2000. Today they launched a redesign. It's looking good! They've elected to offer free journals and moblogs to registered users; so if you're looking to understand the evolving medium of mobile phones, you might join up and participate.

Yesterday I posted my latest article, "Cellular Cruising for Casual Sex." I interviewed numerous professors and grad students - I like talking to academics for my articles; it's like a brief, private personal tutorial. I bring them questions and they spend a while on the phone educating me. Being a journalist is like being a lifetime student! I'm lucky to be able to study sex and technology. Amongst other things.

the George W. Bush Coloring Book

A brief interview with GK Darby of Garrett County Press about GCPress's new George W. Bush Coloring Book.

Why did you decide to do a coloring book around Bush quotes?

It's a long story. The begging of the story is about family members bugging me about doing a political gag book. The middle of the story is about the book being a children's book with the title, "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire." The end of the story is about giving the project to Karen Ocker who turned a half baked political gag book into mesmerizing art.

Karen Ocker is a veteran book designer from New York who moved to New Orleans for love.

I came up with the idea for using Bush quotes after doing some research on Bush while the concept for the book was in narrative flux. As I went through his speeches using Lexis/Nexus I really couldn't believe some of things he was saying....His comments and speeches painted this completely hallucinatory world -- and this is from stuff that's on the record. What the hell do you think he says in private? For instance, you read enough Bush press conference transcripts and you begin to understand that when he wakes up in the morning the man actually talks to God. No doubt that he believes, without any level of abstraction, that he is a close conversational buddy of GOD. If that isn't artistic gold, I don't know what is. And Karen does a tremendous job of translating this gold into images. She doesn't go for yucks -- her illustrations are thoughtful and straightforward, and that's why they work.

What about Bush made him a good target for this coloring book idea?

I bristle at the word "target." There's a whole bunch of literature that simply goes out and attacks. It isn't that kind of book. Certainly, the people who worked on the book would like to see Bush removed from office, but there's more to the book than that. It goes beyond "STOP BUSH in 04." In fact I think the book goes a long way in helping people understand Bush's worldview. No joke. Isn't that what coloring books are supposed to do? Introduce kids to new worlds?

Joley Wood provides an information-packed, two-page footnote that further flushes out the Bush lexicon. "The Prisoner" was one of my favorite shows as a kid and I'm just so pleased he uses that show as an example in his footnote. Joley has previously written essays for Penguin Classics.

What's your best desired outcome for putting this book out?

I have no idea. The outcome is in the hands of the reader. That's what I like about books.

Which is your favorite quote/picture?

"People say, how can I help fight this war on terror? How can I fight evil? You can do so by mentoring a child; by going into a shut-in's house and say I love you."

When I read that I imagined scores of people breaking into houses across the country shouting "I LOVE YOU!!!"

I LOVE YOU!!!

the shadow problem of power

"Then, subtly the shadow problem of power insinuated itself, and he sought to shame me as an absent father."

This from an exercise recommended by Peter Merholz:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.

The nearest book was Under Saturn's Shadow: The Wounding and Healing of Men by James Hollis.

consistent molter

rackety racket! it's all bouncing around in my head. I ask people's advice. I'm somewhat impressionable. I like the last thing I heard - someone tells me a new story about myself. Maybe over time I calcify around a single image of myself. But I'm a consistent molter.

Current question: not so much whether I should attend grad school. But rather, what that signals about me. La la la this is most all of what I think about and talk about with my friends and peers and advisors these days. Each day, pick someone else from the rolodex or at random and run a short list of "i dunnos" by them. Someday I'll be completely motivated and I'll understand.

It's taxing, to be between cities, to be between focii. To be recasting or examining my sense of purpose or self-image! I find myself sitting and talking and trying to figure stuff out for hours and then I'm exhausted. I'm mentally and even physically exhausted just from thinking too much about stupid stuff! When I would probably be better off, um, cleaning up my house or something.

or updating my web page! (after kill bill 2 with CHecker) posted from the weekend this monday evening, pix and thots from a party, and a wedding. Part of linking in the community from the wedding involved fixing up and posting a page I'd 80% drafted in January 2002, but had never posted until this evening: Lesser and Matmos in Japan. And I added another mobile cartoon, about driving and death:

I already spent 30 minutes color correcting that doodle; now I want to rewrite that poem somehow. But I must sleep - aikido tomorrow morning.

jbev

This weekend: a wedding for friends Jay and Bevin. Bevin I met through Amy; the two of them attended Mills. Jay I met through Ryan, when I interviewed him for our TV show, and ran around Tokyo with him a bit. The two are independent musicians, playing independent and as part of Sagan. They live near me in Oakland, so I've been seeing them regular.

True to their style, Bevin and Jay's wedding was intimate, artfully quirky and suffused with community participation.

	Wedding Deputy Drew stands with groom Jay, in the lovely circular Mills college chapel. Drew is wearing a custom-tailored white suit from As4; Jay is wearing wedding colors of orange and white. The orange suffused the traditional white with some spring life - simple and elegant! Bevin's brother is standing to the right of Jay.
	Bride Bevin escorted in by her father. She's carrying an orange bouquet to complement her mother's white wedding dress. Once she alighted the stage, Jay and her held hands and Drew read from his prepared remarks - touching on Spinoza, he spoke of unity as a remedy for sadness, and the important of performative words. A poignant and philosophical vow-making.
	Martin was a hit as an usher wearing a gold medallion from "Cesar's Palace" in Vegas. Jane and Jesse were there too; not pictured.
	Ryan filmed the service and even the party.
	The reception was at Jay and Bevin's loft. The birds were sleeping in the music studio, the guests mingled amidst the media. Notice the brilliant centerpiece arrangement - a faggot of green reed grass, ringed by orange flowers.
	There were two cakes - one was printed with a picture of Jay and Bevin and Kiki. Weird! And a young coconut cake - scrumdelicious, as Grampa would have said. Not pictured - the fabulous vegetarian Indian food lovingly prepared by Annick and friends from Runaway Kitchen.
	Nat weilds Ryan's camera and a fun expression.
	Jay and Bevin dance the first dance - Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart - "Forever's Going to Start Tonight" - Drew smirked and pointed at me and followed that quote with "now there's only love in the dark"
	Jon Leidecker, aka Wobbly, DJs. A remarkable job of mixing appreciable, accessible dance songs and some cut up mashed up layered weirdness. The older relatives were still dancing either way! And that's success.
	Bevin's cousin Dylan and I danced a dervish - I was just trying to keep up.
	Until the Halo came on, and Dylan was completely spellbound by the onscreen action. I couldn't help but wonder if video games aren't the great Satan. I lost my dance teacher!

vanity

I did party harty this weekend. 17 hours worth or something - weddings, reunions, birthdays - friends gathering, different groups.

	Driving back up US highway 101 Friday day, fresh from the Madonna Inn.
	Rondeyvooed with Amy, here rifling through her bag, probably for her IPod - she was eager to play some Lil' Kim for me. Raunchy stuff!
	Later that evening, Amy gave me a hair clipping, cleaning up Cassidy's work.
	Amy and I hosted a small party at this old house Friday night.
	Somehow, as the party wound down, friend familiar houseguest Lulu realized what was always considered inedible grapefruit out front of the house is in fact Palmello. Here Eve and Lulu contemplate the sweet sour. I'm not spelling Palmello right.

After the party, still buzzing, I sat down at my computer and mused over this:

would a move to LA indulge my vanity? Engage sides of me that are more shallow, physical? Purity bothers me. It's possible to cite purity in adoration, but it's too often offered as proof of a sort of manifest destiny. So I think to myself, what - I'm going to stay in San Francisco, where I'm with my people?

At the Madonna Inn, waiting for check in at 10pm, I was flipping through a $47.95 coffee table book about the place. I saw pictures of the founders with several republican presidents and christian philanthropists. "They were Republicans?" I said to the staff, with some measure of incredulity.

The women behind the counter seemed nonplussed. Well, I don't know, the older one said. The younger one looked at me out of the corner of her eye and nodded, yeah, I think they leaned that way. I changed the subject. Later I felt bad; it may have been a worthwhile topic, but I broached it with some measure of shock. I am largely surrounded by people with small variations in their opinions about specific financial or social matters; they are almost entirely politically left in the United States. This homage to Liberace's sense of human potential was funded by the political right?

And so maybe Bay Area self-righteousness has rubbed off on me; I was shocked to see decadent human creativity springing from another end of the political spectrum.

During the party, I played the Pillow Book. I love that film - beautiful onscreen. Suddenly, standing in the doorway with sweet Amy, I saw the movie's lugubrious sextext onscreen and I snorted - I was a pretentious fuck.

This had to be the coldest party I've ever thrown - two or three doors open over the course of the evening, as smokers and the people that speak to them congregated outside. I counted myself a grillman, slow-browning sausages. Since I was wearing a tank top, I stood close to the grill with my arm over the open lid, warming my armpit.

The house and the outdoors equalized temperatures. My friends were sitting, huddled in corners, pulling their parkas or sweatshirts around their shoulders and leaning forward over themselves.

Friends-of-friends-of-friends I'd never seen before were standing close to the front door holding their coats in close. They looked more than cold, they looked tentative about joining in with so many strangers. I greeted them, and when they realized I live here, they gave me some feedback. "Well, it looks very cultural, you know. I looked through their eyes; a urban tribal mask, a large oil painting about technology, Bill Gates holding a cheeseburger, a double-decker typewriter. They were more specifically complimentary of the dining room - a deep shade of crimson chosen by Jane. Inside, the red surrounding an old Salvation Army dining table of "oriental" style resembles an alcove in a Chinese restaurant. Through my friends and packratting I've accumulated some taste. Leaving for Los Angeles would upend that, and maybe keep me from getting stale.

bikrammed madonna

I left LA around noon, to make it back up to Oakland by 10pm, maybe time to meet Amy after her flight and eat some Korean food. And I had a brief Scream screed due for TheFeature.

Just partway up Highway 5 from Los Angeles and Allison makes contact - I met her through this site, emailing and posting comments. I interviewed her years ago as part of Links.net folks but I haven't posted it yet. "I have a lot going on," I said by way of apologizing. She verbally punched me.

That was over oysters. She invited me to take the road past Santa Barbara to get back to San Francisco. It's a longer road but I had already missed meeting her on my last drive in February. So I arranged to stop in her town yesterday. I suggested we grab a bite to eat before I hit the road. She insisted we do some hot room Bikram yoga. That was her plan last time and she met all my whining about deadlines and driving with teasing and pushing.

So I found myself in a bikram yoga studio in the prototypical California resort town. It's like doing yoga in a sauna. This Bikram guy was pictured on a poster in the room, twisted around himself with immaculately coifed hair sitting on top of an animal skin, on the beach. What kind of a yogi sits on a pelt?

The room itself was a non descript facility in a mall, with extra heating units abounding. Man that place smelled strong. The funk. Months and years of hot human dank. I'm imagine if that yoga sweat studio ever moves out and some poor clothing store tries to set up there, that room will never stop smelling like old pores.

Our class was lead by a late middle-aged looking man wearing a headset. He kept up an incredible steady banter - sportscasting our suffering. This was only possible, I figured, since he wasn't performing any of the incredibly ass-kickingly hard exercises he was describing. Sweat was running into my nose, into my eyes, my knees were slipping against each other, my shorts were wet, I touched my slick and slimy skin. The towel beneath me was wet with sweat. I did all that I could, skipping parts of only a few exercises. 90 minutes of hard yoga in a hot room - I couldn't decide whether to vomit or pass out. I drank a ton of water. I threw death threats at Allison with my eyes - for inviting me into this hell.

All the while, this guy is talking about the monkey mind and encouraging us to look at ourselves in the mirror. Never been to a martial arts or yoga tai chi type class where I was so encouraged to look at myself. Red face ribs showing huffle puffle wet hair and bony knees. I kept trying not to look at the lady in front of me, with a tight body and a massive boob job. Boobs popping out the side of her tank top, as she's standing on one foot, grabbing the other and lifting her arm. Crazy boob job and yoga.

It was a throttling experience - I did feel quite high afterwards. Like I wanted to sit in a swimming pool or lay on a wood bench and feel all my chakras coursing with chi. Drink an assload of gatorade and eat a pile of cheeseburgers. Here's a picture of Allison and me, just after class.

Driving back, scenic tour through Santa Barbara - I blasted Prince's "Let's Go Crazy" off her IPod, "a place of neverending happiness, you can always see the sun, day or night" and I watched some very white teeth and light colored hairs turn towards our cruising station wagon. She pointed out Brophy's near the ocean, and I suggested we top off our workout with a dozen raw oysters. We traded stories and laughed good and hard.

Then I did have to hit the road, for all my work and wanting to sleep in my own bed. 8.50pm at a small rest stop near Gaviola I talked with a lone-riding biker lady, coming back from her place in Montana, at the end of a three days ride. She suggested I had at least five hours to go. Shouldn't I drive across the state some, to hit the straight-shot 5 freeway? No, 101 is a beautiful drive. At night? I asked, incredulous. It's not worth driving over to the other freeway, she promised.

Another hour of driving and I realized I was tired. Too tired to keep on - I could have had a Red Bull energy drink to stay awake. But what would Bikram say? I decided not to push myself hard and bleary eyed pulling towards Oakland two am no food no lights not safe. Why not sleep full eight and drive straight in the day light?

Working mobile/internet, CHecker tried to find me a room from some OddWorld local San Luis Obispo Indie Game Jam veterans. Too short notice - happily, I ended up in the magic grounds of the Madonna Inn. One of America's great hotels - kitsch embraced and extended through every fixture - each room a unique homage to some aspect of travel or location. A great attitude too; this solo driver was offered a $95 rate for a night in Swiss Bell. Stone walls, waterfall shower, wooden ceiling. As close as I've been to the style and brilliance of Love Hotels in my birth nation.

I sat in a chair and pounded out my assignment, using my Treo 600 mobile phone as a 150k bps modem since the Madonna Inn may be the last bastion of true 'merican taste but it only has dial-up.

Then I laid in bed, admiring the hand-painted broad wooden armoire, very much Swiss-like. I watched Hosni Mubarak on C-Span, waiting for him to give some insight into modern Egypt. Instead he was asked mostly about Israel and Palestine. Sigh.

When I woke up this morning, the stained glass swiss cows and flowers had come alive. Behind the windows, trees and a grass covered rock pile. Beautiful!

independent media artistry

Talking to Kurt at USC interactive yesterday. He's doing research on weblogs and location. Cool stuff.

What do you plan to do after the program? I asked. I'll probably be an academic, do research, he replied. I'd like to be an independent media artist, but we know how hard that is. [to support oneself, I believe he meant].

Independent media artistry. Holy shit! Here's a poem and a picture for today.

pacifier

leaving late for los angelees

Running late leaving for Los Angeles - the long drive past the factory farms of freeway five. Tomorrow I tour USC Interactive and see if the MFA fits.

But before I leave I managed to put pictures and links and some polish on the Indie Game Jam 2 web site. And I turned in my article on the topic to Gamasutra. I dispatched a gift to my sweet Mama, who has her birthday today. And I made myself a potion -

I loved making potions in like second grade. Choosing a random mix of spices and liquids in the kitchen to see what kind of infernal smelling brew I could cook up. This morning I put that inclination to good use - four echinacea tea bags, three emer'gen Cs and a pile of honey. Immune boosting for the road.

[picture: filming the Indie Game Jam, photo by Sean Barrett]

msging

Hello Fellow Americans -

Have you tried sending a text message from your mobile phone? Chances are you can. Most modern mobile phones have this capacity, and now it's possible to send messages across providers in the United States. Try it - find the messaging function on your phone, and type in another friend's mobile phone number. Key in some text and it should appear on their screen, wherever they are. Magic! Messaging.

Messaging is a totally handy way to clearly communicate in loud circumstances. It's a gentle, discreet way to ask someone a question if they're in a meeting or otherwise engaged. And it's a fun way to tap someone on the shoulder with a casual greeting or a joke.

In short, I love it. And as I wrote on my mobile phone journal today, I'm glad to see that text messaging is finally catching on in the US. I've been posting irregular cartoons about the mobile lifestyle; today I posted a new one about the joys of text during my morning meditation.

photos of Howard

On a bit of a web tear, today I rounded up some photographs of Howard. This one is my favorite:

more here.

pie any means necessary

I'm studying martial arts - Aikido. In Aikido, atemi describes a blow from the hand. In my dojo, we use non-striking atemi - pushing our hands in front of someone's face to cause them to back down, or at least forget their attack. Ideally, we don't ever strike someone, but we shock them and hopefully defuse the agression.

The Biotic Baking Brigade walks that line - they push soft creamy things in people's faces. They make contact. Last month I took a break from the Indie Game Jam to run over to the AK Press warehouses - Agent Apple was there for a book signing, to celebrate the launch of the Biotic Baking Brigade's Pie Any Means Necessary - a book recounting aggressive culinary protest.

Agent Apple with pie on his collar; view from the AK Press stacks

I was glad to see AK Press carrying the writings of Clarence Darrow and they smiled when I mentioned Garrett County Press.

bare naked ben and mena beta testing

A picture of Ben and Mena Trott, the still-cherubic but increasingly professional couple at the heart of the Six Apart company developing Movable Type, the weblog management software I use here, and Typepad, the weblog hosting service I recommend to most people:

Ben and Mena - January 2004, July of 2002

I use Movable Type almost every day - posting to various web sites, and especially for deleting spam comments (really, if there are going to be dozens of links to scat porn posted on my web site in a day, I should really be posting some first, to get things rolling).

The new version of the Movable Type software should stop comment spam, at least for two weeks until enterprising offshore internet businesspeople figure out a workaround. And besides that, the next version could allow me to write to the web more better and faster!

So this post isn't to say much, except that I hope the Trotts will let me beta-test the new version of Movable Type soon.

exhausted, unsure, rich with experience

It was quite a weekend - I'm just catching up. I arrived home from a blind sex party at 2.40am, rearranged a few slides on global mobile technoculture, and woke up for a 9am panel for the Industrial Design Society of America's Western District Conference. I did decide to shower between the events.

The IDSA gathering was composed by Steve Portigal, addressing cultural differences and ethics in technology design. Before things got rolling we were sitting up there in silence for a few moments; I grabbed my mic and rapped out a few lines from Masta Killa's performance in Da Mystery of Chessboxin'. A friend of fellow-panelist Katrina Galway snapped a photo:

I'm happily reppin' a SAME shirt Galway and Pam Van Orden talked about ethics in design - that industrial designers are at the root responsible for so much of ecological impact of consumer goods. If they can design products to use commonplace, recycled materials, to be built without exploitative labor, it's possible that industrial designers can make a better world.

The panel's purview was quite broad - we didn't have time to dig into the morality in product marketing and specific case studies. But I was fascinated, glad to be a part of a discussion that included ethics. Mostly I had prepared a tour of mobile technology, I didn't speak much to the ethics involved. Except to say that these mobile technologies are changing the way groups interact and the way media is distributed, and so I encouraged the people in the audience to participate, to ensure the mobile internet remains a one-to-one medium, and to ensure that the mobile internet becomes a viable place for personal publishing.

There are more nuanced ethics, to be sure, which can be cast in high relief by comparing cultural contexts for mobile devices. Unfortunately, I'm seldom in conference situations where there's a sustained discussion of mobile mores. Some day. My participation was briefly written up by Bruce Sterling on his Wired blog.

Then I came home and wrote up my CV, to possibly push myself into a new life Realizing that I may soon be uprooting my life, where I live in Oakland, and moving to Los Angeles to go to grad school, added some rich ambient tension, made the pleasures of San Francisco and Oakland seem deliciously fleeting. And it cast a bright warm light on my life as a wandering freelancer: making that life glow with appeal enough to make me reconsider my pending committment.

This weekend I was building some large scales in my head, weighing between life choices. Hah! Heavy scales, silly boy. This weekend's activities and pace were a blowout, brain clearing air rush exhilaration - crawling around in darkness to augment my senses and reaching into my future to clear my path. All silliness! I began the week exhausted, unsure, rich with experience.

whoa, ho - cooter lake

Just got back from Cooter Lake!

Last week, in the swamps.

scheduling nothingness

I have this upset feeling in my stomach, I can't shake it. Like I'm hungry but I can't eat. Like I'm nervous but nothing's about to happen. I'm tired but I can't relax.

Sigh. I'm breathing shallow. I think I have too much happening - days full of fun and folks and work always work. Spent yesterday editing Indie Game Jam video with Ryan. Now home white board covered in notes. Full task list and always something. This freelancer forgot to schedule a weekend, i.e., time when nothing happens.

Couch beckons. I want to play a game. Watch a movie. But shouldn't I be reading? Painting? Shouldn't I shouldn't I? This is an exercise today in understanding me. Maybe I'll go back to bed!

Everything I need to know about grad school I learned from Walter E. Kurtz

There's a point in the Apocalypse Now voice over where Willard is talking about Kurtz, the mystery man at the end of the river, how Kurtz gave up rank and respect in order to keep learning and challenging himself.

I last quoted that passage on this page when I was writing about going toobin' in the Ozarks. Because that was dangerous and painful and seemed stupid to me. But you must continue to challenge yourself, I figured. I ended up with bad rope burns and wrenched limbs.

This morning that passage came to me as I scraped some salty cheese on toasted bread. I had just finished a third revision of my CV, my life summation at greater length than a resume. I was compiling this survey of my work for an application to grad school, specifically the Master of Fine Arts in Interactive Media at the University of Southern California School of Cinema-Television. I'm looking over all I've done, and I think to myself for just a moment - wait! I have so much of my own momentum, don't I? I'm making things, collaborating with people. Why would I submit to someone else's notion of content creation? Required classes that may be redundant? Structured activities like training wheels? Tied to a place and a program for three years?

Because the point of the program is to learn to make things. To practice craft, not writing, no, but the craft of media creation, content in the modern sense. Not so much academic analyses, papers, but screenplays, short films, interactive media. Because I'd be surrounded by smart working minds, with access to tools and ideas.

I talked to Ryan, he expects me to thrive in that academic setting.
Howard said something along these lines: if you're going to be a writer, sit down and write a book. But if I'm unable to focus that way, then going to grad school could be good discipline.
GK said right on. No, I wouldn't be learning about writing per se, but I would be studying narrative and storytelling.
Mom and Colin both said it sounds like a good fit and a great opportunity.
Abbe pointed out that this kind of training, an MFA, is perfect if I expect I might to teach later in life.
Larry said the only concern might be that I might be just about too old. But that's not much of a reason not to do anything; he rather cheerily suggested that grand school would be grand.
The I Ching says Hsu/Waiting (Nourishment): "Waiting. If you are sincere, You have light and success. Perseverance brings good fortune. It furthers one to cross the great water."
Most of my friends and family agree I have a somewhat academic leaning. I'm just remembering that I designed and taught a class and workshops while I was in college. That all makes sense. I like to teach, and learn. So I'm applying to head back into the academy, officially.

boy good fun

I've been a part of many communities. Travelling a lot makes it hard to keep up. But I find that if I can manage the major group holidays - reunions, weddings, I continue to be nourished by the edgy weirdos I've known and loved in years past.

I used to work on a web site called Gamers.com. Quite a number of folks have stayed in touch and stage reunions of varying sizes. Last week there was a rather large Gamers.com gathering; I missed it because I was visiting a swamp for a wedding.

Looks like there was some good boy fun, definitely !

Saturday Process Notes

Bottleneck on Links.net - a recent trip memory beckons constantly with pictures and recollections that will be posted. And until I post them, the casual writings seem unworthy.

In the meantime, taxes demand my attention. I'm applying to grad school. More article deadlines.

I re-orged my Oakland office - four monitors still; my TV used to make my monitor shake when it was turned on - I fixed that, so now as I prepare my next entry, some guy with a light perm is struggling to carry jewelry across New Zealand. Playing Iggy Pop and the Stooges over the movie soundtracks keeps me able to singletask, surrounded by ambient, unintelligable human voices.

blogging interview - WHYY

WHYY's Radio Times is doing a program on blogging - I'm going to be interviewed in about 20 minutes.