A Day Of Apples

It’s been a day for Apple events for me. First there was the communications meeting at work today marking the launch of the iPhone. Very exciting stuff. Yummy yummy kool-aid :-)

Then, tonight, while en route to The Great Bear coffee shop in downtown Los Gatos to do some writing, I stumbled across the boarded frontage of a new Apple Store, right next to Andale’s and the Great Bear, both places I frequented heavily when I lived on Wilder Street downtown. How cool is that?

Yes, one might ask, “Dude, you work there. What ever would you find in an Apple Store of interest?” Plenty. There’s always something interesting to be found in the store, and more then that, just the experience of being a fly on the wall is entertaining.



Finally, due to a reference by a friend via SMS on my Treo, I stumbled across a reference to “line sitters” on ifoapplestore.com, and I thought I’d check it out myself. Damned if it’s not true, there’s actually people SELLING iPhones, or their spot in line to get one, on Craigslist. Ultimately, they’ll make a couple of hundred dollars for standing in line. Uh, just standing in line for 24hrs = $8.33/hour. And it’s likely there’s more then 24hrs involved. Clearly these entrepreneurs aren’t math whizzes.

At The Drop Of A Sock

I put on a pair of shorts to wear to work today. The “Cargo” style shorts. Loose, baggy and long. I spent the first 3 hours of the day driving to the office, walking about, getting up, getting down, moving around… the stuff one does. And then, while walking down the hallway outside of my office, I felt something lightly brush against my calf and ankle.



I looked back, and lying on the carpet behind me was one of my black dress socks. It must have been inside the shorts after they were washed and I never noticed it once I put them on.



I walked back, picked it up and took it back to my office, laughing at the fact that it’d somehow managed to hold on through a few hours of the day before finally dropping.



Then it hit me. I realized how lucky I was to have been all alone in that hallway, and to not have had it drop out when I was walking into or out of a meeting earlier that day. As much as I’d like to imagine that most folks would have bought the ‘dryer cling’ story, I can only imagine what others might have made of somebody having a sock drop out of there pants leg.

Cold Pizza

What is it about pizza that makes it always taste as good if not better, cold, the following morning. I’ve put this theory/observation to the test over and over again, and it still holds true. Even crappy Costco pepperoni pizza for the kids takes great the next day. But then again it’s not like it could taste worse, now could it?

Behind the Wall

My recent chance to see Roger Waters live re-ignited a long standing interest in and curiosity about the live performances of “The Wall”. The tour they did was extremely limited and elaborate, and I failed to take the reins and make the journey to LA when they toured. I was so young then, but it could have been made to happen. And from what I’ve heard, it’d have been worth doing so. The show featured a complete building of and subsequent tearing down of a huge wall between the performers and the audience. As a kid I’d have been trilled to have seen it, but understanding the back story and motivations behind the story and music make it all the more intriguing. I have read that it was filmed but Roger Waters has yet to authorize it’s release on Video. Still, I stumbled across a really interesting documentary about it on YouTube that I though others might find entertaining viewing as well. It’s broken down into 7 segments and it’s worth watching. 



YouTube – Pink Floyd – Behind the Wall

Great Lyrics : Glen Phillips “Drive By”

I distinctly remember the first time I heard this song. I was with my wife, the kids were newborns, and we were driving over hwy 92 en route to Half Moon Bay. I’d downloaded a live recording of Glen Phillips, one of the original members of “Toad The Wet Sprocket” and somebody we’d seen live a year or two beforehand. His show was great, but I was unfamiliar with some of the tracks on this live recording, including this one.

Although they’re simple words, there is something about the mental image of the Vega, the father setting out with a vendetta against a neighbor’s dog, the kid silently praying that he fails in his mission… it’s just something that hits a resounding note of hot summer nostalgia. Not that I’d ever been in the exact scenario, but I’d imagine we all have one or two childhood memories of a cigarette smoking father wearing a short sleeve white T-shirt and smelling a bit of stale beer. Right? Anybody? Or am I completely alone here?

Would I Do It All Over?

It seems like only a year ago that I'd taken a day to sit and reflect on the past year of parenting. It was on a day that held an abstract and relatively unmotivated meaning in my childhood, that matured into a day of longing regret and reminiscence as a young adult, and that now carries with it an instinctual desire to consider my own fatherly experiences and the future reflections my own children might have in many decades to come, as they look back at the father I am today. On Father's Day.

Slowing Down is Key

Wednesday morning, after daring to actually carve out the much needed 30min in my morning to get my long overdue haircut, which itself was delayed by a hunt for bearable wearable clothing suited to 90+ degree temperatures, I finally made it into the office in time to resume working on getting a coordinated plan of action around 3 or 4 concurrent projects I have on my plate. Only to, 30min into it, be visited by my manager with the news that the scrambles of the previous week, the same ones that'd sidelined my other project efforts at that time, turned out to not be sufficient, and there's a need to do it all over again.

Feeling like the dizzy kid that's just missed his last swing at the Piñata and, removing the blindfold, finds himself dizzy and facing a completely different direction they'd expected, I squinted my eyes, adjusted to the change, and set out on my scrambling path.

At the end of the day, just before a critical emergency 5.30PM meeting, I started to gather my belongings so I could leave from that meeting and go immediately to my car. I'd promised my wife I'd cover kids duty for her and let her have some downtime. But my car keys were nowhere to be found!

I was 4 minutes away from needing to be in the meeting, and the only place I could imagine them being, after scouring every inch and corner of my office, was in the cafe, where I'd been sitting and doing work and last remember having them. Knowing the cafe was already closed and likely reducing in staff by the minute, I opted to plead for forgiveness for being late to the meeting and focus on retrieving my keys. 10 minutes, 3 staff members and an impromptu exposure to the backstage workings of the cafe kitchen, I still had no keys. And no more time to waste. I had to get to the meeting.

Once the meeting completed I checked with security and no keys had been turned in. Fortunately for me, having had one or two experiences in this over my many years of driving, I've learned to hide a key on the car. And not using the typical easily found 'magnetic holder in the wheel well' method, which never survives my driving style. My hiding place requires hand loosening screwed and getting a bit dirty doing so. But it's there, and it was my ace in the hole.

I got to the vehicle, went through the process of retrieving the key, and as I approached the passenger door in order, a quick glance revealed that it was unlocked. And a moment later, once inside, my keys, having been left in the ignition all day, were retrievable. And although delayed, I'd be able to get home and still give my wife a break of her own.

Did I mention there were left in the ACC position? Yup. You guessed it. The car sat in the accessory position all day, slowing draining the battery until it was dead.

While lamenting the frequency of this little issues and occurrences in my days, she said stuff like this happens to everyone, and not just to me. I know that. I know these things happen to other people. I believe they do, once in a while, but my position is that they seem to happen to me all the time. These are daily occurrences. Things like this happen so fast I don't have time to write about them before the next one comes along.

Native Tongue Tied

I can't say enough about how much I enjoy a really good documentary, and Ken Burn's "The West" is one of the best I've ever seen. I recall watching the debut PBS broadcast back on 1996, clinging to every detail, and pacing eagerly as I'd await the next installment. Having been blow away by the Native American exploration, "500 Nations", the year before, this effort focused on a broader scope of people during a narrower time frame of the US history. It is so rich with drama, humor, intrigue and tragedy. It's unbelievable to imagine the things that took place throughout the 'settling' of the West. The conditions. The intentions. The politics. The ignorance.

Watching this tonight [part 6], while deep into the history of General Custer, Sitting Bull, Little Big Horn, Chief Joseph, the Nez Perce, Wounded Knee, and the atrocities of the displacement of a nation's original population, I was reminded of the night I went with friends to see "Dances With Wolves" when it'd first come out. That film was a staggering depiction of a peaceful people being brutally driven out of their homes, and it was hard to walk out of theatre without feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

I often make jokes when I'm uncomfortable, and at the end of the film, as the lights came up and as we silently rose and shuffled our way out of the theatre, there was an unspoken tension in the air. Intending to break the mood, as we entered the lobby, I made an 'eye rolling' and clearly insincere statement to my friends, attempting to lighten things a bit before having a serious discussion.

"Hey, I don't know about you but I'm still proud to be White" I said. Jokingly.

And that's when 'Chief' caught my eye.

I wish I could say I was exaggerating, but I'm not. Standing in the lobby, painfully within earshot, only about 3 feet to my left, stood a large, looming figure of a man. A Native American. He was roughly 6 foot 2, broad, stocky, and a ringer for 'Chief' from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". This guy was huge, and there's absolutely no question that he not only heard my comment, but was not amused in the least. I felt the sharpness of his stare as my eyes caught his, and I realized that what I'd just said as an awkward jest and release of tension was being taken to heart. I was dumbstruck. Literally. I turned my gaze away, shut my mouth, and continued out the door. Just outside of the theater, I glanced back in his direction, and found him facing directly towards me, still looking into my eyes, still looking stunned and disgusted, with distain running a close 3rd.

I wanted to venture back, to approach and apologize for my thoughtless comment, and the obvious misinterpretation of my true feelings of shame and sadness for the suffering of his ancestors and the hands of mine. But I did not. I could not bring myself to do so. Instead, we walked to and stood outside of our cars in the parking lot, talking and reflecting for a few minutes on the movie and the history. And once again, from well across the parking lot, I glanced towards the lobby. He was still there, only now, standing facing me from inside the lobby, behind the glass, and unmistakably staring in my direction. His stance, stare and general body language made it clear that I was still the object of his disgust. And by this point, I'd not felt that there was any option beyond driving away, which I did.

I've never forgotten that experience, and it's haunted me ever since. I'm actually quite sympathetic to and conscious of the historical mistreatments and of the honor and spiritual nature of many tribes. This is a favorite quote from Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce tribe, which is just being referenced in this video as I type this line.

"Good words do not last long unless they amount to something. Words do not pay for my dead people. They do not pay for my country, now overrun by white men. They do not protect my father’s grave. They do not pay for all my horses and cattle. Good words cannot give me back my children. Good words will not give my people good health and stop them from dying. Good words will not get my people a home where they can live in peace and take care of themselves.

I am tired of talk that comes to nothing. It makes my heart sick when I remember all the good words and all the broken promises."

- Chief Joseph

Without being preachy, I hope my continued interest in, and my recommendations of these materials, helps other's learn from the past and have a greater insight into these matters. Not so they might have a bleeding heart or feel responsible in some way, but so, as a people, we'll avoid making the same mistakes twice.

Including making poorly timed jokes.