Half Dome Header Image

Time for a new website header image, and this is a personal favorite for many reasons. This was taken from a single engine Cessna back around 1988 or so. I was working at a company call “21st Century Products”; a distributor of haircare and salon products like shampoo, conditioner and such. My boss was Jack Marks, a man I consider a dear friend to this day. He’d invited me to join his older son and he on a plane flight with his son’s friend who had his flying license, or was racking air miles, or something along that nature. So we met early in the morning at some airport around Fremont, and flew out to some remote airport where we walked through an old Ghost Town to some place for lunch and flew back.

All those details are foggy. But what I do remember are three very distinct events. One of which was the decision to fly into Yosemite Valley and “buzz” Half Dome. It’s apparently not kosher to do so, or perhaps even illegal, but we did it anyway, and it was incredible. We flew right over the top…. close enough that when I looked down all i saw was the granite surface below and a sudden drop as we crossed over the face and looked down into the valley. It remains one of my “deathbed moments” to this day. This photo was shot as we were circling around above it.

The other two distinct memories? Doing a momentary “free fall” that caused my camera to fly out of my hands but be caught by the experienced and aware son of Jack. And buzzing a nearby dam, where we skimmed above the water and pulled up at the last minute to avoid colliding with the cement dam at the last minute.

And yes, I literally did fall to my knees and kiss the ground when we landed :-)

Balls to the Wall

I've become fond of referring to my present workload and the related stress level by using the analogy of playing three concurrent games of tennis on parallel courts. Well today I feel like I just froze in place, overwhelmed and beaten down by the sense of futility of it all, while the sounds of the unreturned volleys echoed across the court surfaces and bounced against the long wall behind me. I just stopped running. It became too much. And although the weekend ahead may provide a moment to breathe between sets, the fact that I'll have the responsibility of walking about to gather all the shots I let fly by me in a moment of frustrated exhaustion weighs heavy on my mind.

Ambitextrous

I think it just might be an option to use my iPhone as a writing tool. Seriously. I realize that might seem like a bold statement, given the fact that the keyboard is considered by many pundits to be its greatest limitation. But I recently found myself responding to an email on the iPhone, and my response went on much longer than I'd expected, with startlingly accurate results. Was it as natural or easy as a keyboard? No. But it was far easier than I'd ever expected it would be. The predictive typing technology is a huge benefit.

After that email effort, I started playing around with typing on it a bit more. It's definitely not as easy with two hands as one might think. Yet using two fingers of the same hand is actually quite easy to pick up and run with.

I'm going to try working with It further. I'm going to see if I can develop a natural enough feel for the software based experience of the keyboard to be comfortable writing lengthy passages.

This post is an example of the effort. It's been completely authored on an iPhone. With relative ease. Frickin' amazing!

Anybody wanna buy an AlphaSmart Dana? :-)

All That It Takes…. All That It Takes…

There's no beginning to describe the chaos that has been the past few weeks at work, and last night, finally, I thought I'd wrapped up the final pieces of an effort that had come unraveled the day before. Unraveled, that is, from the wrapping up of the final pieces the night before that. As happened the day before that. And the day before that day. Seeing a pattern? Same as it ever was.... same as it ever was...

So today, I'm sitting here, going through these all too familiar motions yet again, and I'm in a dower mood. I've got my iPod on, headphones in, my office door almost shut and a "LMTFA" look on my face. I'm focused.

Or I was, that is, until the drumbeat of "Girlfriend is Better" started playing in my ears. Suddenly, my grim face is atop a pair of slightly bobbing shoulders. The body takes the hint, the mind rewinds to the absolute greatest party I ever held (at which the entire "Speaking in Tounges" CD was on non-stop play while the room danced and shuffled about) and suddenly, the day is not so grey. With a little help from the Talking Heads, I'll get through another long day.

♬ Stop making sense, stop making sense...stop making sense, making sense. ♬

♬ I’m Alright… Just Feeling A Little Sleepy… ♬

Allow me to preface this with the fact that I've made concerted efforts to teach my kids, and to practice myself, a high degree of respect for living things. We don't crush bugs or hold magnifying glasses over ants, and we capture and release spiders back to the outside. We're aggressively conscientious in that manner. But a few weeks after we moved in, my wife noticed a patch of dying grass in the backyard. Upon further inspection, it became apparent that we had a gopher. Or more. And they were digging up our yard something awful. Once we had to stop watering while having work done, guess what? He popped up in the front yard. And started leaving numerous piles of dirt mounds while burrowing away and destroying our front yard.

Something had to be done.

I searched online for solutions, and none of them were practical or humane. In a perfect world, I'd just have put a carrot under an open, upside down box propped up at an angle using a dried and broken tree branch with a long string attached. In a perfect world, I'd have sat on the front porch, bantered with my son sitting by my side while sipping an ice cold beer (me, not my son). And when the gopher stuck his furry little head out of the hole, caught a whiff of the carrot and scooted under the box, I'd hand the string to my son in a mentoring fashion that only a father might experience, and whisper "wait for it.... wait for it... NOW!"

But we don't live in a perfect world.

Options for 'capturing" gophers are almost non-existent, and all of the resources I could find online were not about the capture and rehabilitation of the rodent, but about the placement of poisons that would be painful to the animal and hazardous to the kids. There were brutal traps that would snap necks or drive spikes through them from above. There were gasses that would affect their nervous systems over repeated applications. There were even suggestions of putting "Juicy Fruit" gum down their holes, which upon eating it their digestive systems would be blocked and they'd slowly expire due to starvation.

So many choices. Where does one start?

After some time of putting things off, I decided I had to go to the hardware store and see what other options were available. I'd gone with the expectation that my only option would be a poison of some nature. Yet amongst the various poisons and impalers, I found something that, although still resulting in their demise, struck me as the most humane and effective solution. So $15 dollars later, I returned home to execute my newfound plan. And the gopher.

The solution I found attaches a garden hose to a car exhaust. Stuck down a recent mound while the others are sealed, the hose delivers a direct and steady dose of Carbon Monoxide. 30 minutes of the car idling in the driveway and the issue is addressed. And instead of being skewered or subjected to a slow and painful starvation, the little guy just stretches his arms, yawns, and takes a permanent nap.

Of course, in a perfect world, my son would have been beside me as we caught him in the box, but when it came to see me putting the hose down the hole and onto the exhaust, it was a completely different story. So I had to advise him that the gopher would not like the smell and would move to the nearby field, where he could live without digging in our yard and could come to visit us any time he liked.

I know. It'll come back to haunt me.

And I know I'll never watch Caddyshack again with feeling a strange kinship with Bill Murray's character, Carl.

"License to kill gophers by the government of the United Nations. Man, free to kill gophers at will. To kill, you must know your enemy, and in this case my enemy is a varmint. And a varmint will never quit - ever. They're like the Viet Cong - Varmint Cong. So you have to fall back on superior intelligence and superior firepower. And that's all she wrote."

What Defines A Significant Contribution?

I frequently find myself lamenting that I’ve not “accomplished something important” with my life so far. I’ve not made a massive dent in the universe, per se. I’ve not made a significant contribution. I had a dream many years back that I’d write a prize winning book filled with social commentary and humorous observations, but that has yet to happen. I play a minor roll in helping to make the world a better place for Macintosh users, but I’m a relatively small cog in a very large machine. I took the idea of photographic confetti and helped build a business out of it, but it was short lived, and only a few of the thousands who gazed in amazement when they saw their lives spread out on a party table before them will ever know a thing about who the idea came out of, let alone the personal and financial sacrifices of all those who believed in the possibilities. Next, if all goes well, I might make yet another dash at something substantial, but it’s too early to talk about it, because as we all know that’d just Jinx it, right? Right.

Yet tonight, while cleaning up my email inbox and following up on some communications with family, I stumbled across the following on my Niece Marissa’s myspace page, in her “Heroes” section:

…My uncle Geoff for the breath-taking inspiration he throws out to the world and because he believed in me and encouraged me when I found it the hardest to.

Marissa was my test-daughter in many ways. She and I became close when she was in her late teens. When I’d go visit my brother in Lathrop she’d often hitch a ride back to the Bay Area with me, where we’d talk about life, philosophy, family, or just crank up “Stone Temple Pilots” so loud that our fillings would loosen.

It was a great time and a great opportunity to get a small sample of what being a ‘father figure’ or an influential adult might be. In fact, when she’d written a beautiful story for me and about me (she’s a great writer, and I still have it as a prized possession) for my birthday a few years back, my brother also thanked me for having been there for her in ways he’d been unable to at the time.

She’s since moved to Seattle where she’s been living the self-discovery and self-focused life of her 20’s. We hardly ever speak or write. And that’s OK. There’s no distance, just space. And if all goes well she’ll be living back in the area soon enough, and can be involved in the lives of her cousins as they grow up.

So yeah, I’ve lamented not doing something important. Then I read a simple compliment like that and I start to wonder what could be more important than being an inspiration.

She was one for me as well, and the opportunity to have been an inspiration to her played a strong role in the reasons that I’m a father today.

You Gotta Do It Till You’re Through It So You Better Get To It

I know I do it. I know I whine and moan and lament and kevtch and bitch and rant and wallow. But as the adage goes, “just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you“. And just because I highlight the hardship doesn’t mean I’m not busting my ass trying to stay afloat. And oh man, I’m in deep. I’ve worked harder in these last 5 weeks then I have in the last 5 months. I’m exhausted. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it here for the record… there’s no shallow end in the Apple pool. Although I’ve been told it’s a highly unusual situation that will pass in the next month, the 5 – 6 concurrent projects that I’m working on daily, many of which I’m still learning the ropes on, are making me feel like I’m playing multiple tennis games along adjacent courts. I’ve got no time to be remembering scores or players or even technique… I’m just trying to return volley’s before they bounce twice and still be able to get to one of the other courts and do the same.

I’ve got a week’s vacation looming on the horizon. That (and the stock prices of course) are keeping me going. Oh, and the fact that I really like what I do helps too. :-)

Welcome to the workin’ week.
Oh I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you.
Welcome to the workin’ week.
You gotta do it till you’re through it so you better get to it.
– Elvis Costello : Welcome To The Working Week

The Lowest Comment Denominator

I had a couple of comment related experiences a few weeks ago that I feel compelled to, well, comment on. One of them was in response to a post of mine, which started a brief volley of comments between myself and the author of the comment, or as he’ll be referred to from this point forward, the ‘defendant’. The second was actually the result of my own desire to post a comment on Endgaget, and the subsequent replies to my comment.

STRIKE ONE

Both of these have served to cement my firm opinion that comments are far from a functional component of most websites.

The first case on the docket for today is the domain of geoffmitchell.com vs MC poster. MC saw fit to post a comment on my Spoiler Warning entry, negating the rational and reasoning behind the thoughts I’d expressed about what ruins a film. I, in return, felt compelled to, patiently, and with sincere consideration of his feelings, rip him a new asshole. He responded in kind, somewhat, still standing firmly on his position that my perspective was incorrect.

I held back his 2nd comment for a day or two while formulating my response. Then released it. Then deleted it. You’ll learn why as you read on.

My response was simple, in writing and in a face to face discussion that followed. You’re wrong, MC. You’re wrong. And not only are you wrong, you’re also unable to admit it. Admitting you’re wrong isn’t easy for any of us. Or at least that’s what i’ve been told, having never experienced being wrong myself. But I know it and believe you know it as well. You’re wrong. A film might not be ruined by knowing the ending, but the experience of seeing it the first time certain is when you’re told the ending in advance, especially when that ending is clearly meant to be a surprise to the viewer.

End of story. There’s no arguing it. You’re wrong. And if you don’t like it I’ll take my blog and go home. I’ve got plenty of Matt’s to choose from.

STRIKE TWO

The second issue came in the form of a response to a comment I posted on Engadget. I’d recently written my own summation of my experiences with a Chinese made iPod Shuffle copy. It was cheap as hell and lacking many important features.

Jess subsequently sent me a link to Endgaget where an article and subsequent string of comment postings were discussing that same product. I felt compelled if not obligated to my fellow shoppers to post my list of issues and to make the buyer aware of what they’d be getting and not getting. The point was simply that you get what you pay for, and functionality was not in this item’s feature set.

I used the list I posted on my blog entry, with little revision.

Shortly after posting it, a response questioned if I was an Apple employee because I sounded like a sales rep. Flattering, perhaps, and half right, but not a big deal. I didn’t feel a need to respond.

The second response was three words. No, strike that. Two words and a symbol.

“Geoff == idiot”.

Huh?

I didn’t feel compelled to reply to that, either. The only thought that crossed my mind was that the author appeared to be versed in PHP programming due to his use of two equal signs. And it was rewarding to see that the follow up posting was one in my defense, questioning the reasoning behind the accusation that somebody sharing their experience might somehow merit the moniker of “Idiot”. At that point I did post a brief response thanking the defender.

STRIKE THREE

That same week, I was looking at an online article, and in the comments, one of the more articulate entries ripped into the stupidity and ignorance of the childish bleating and grunting of the prior posts. I wish I remembered the site so I could quote him verbatim, but he was dead on. He nailed it. Viciously. And although one could accuse him of being mean or harsh, I don’t see it that way. I see him as having reached a breaking point after being subjected to far too many poorly spelled and illiterate four-word, gibberish, grunting, mook-boy authored, spittle-riddled comment posts. Ones likely authored on a full size keyboard, yet still typed as if they were text messaging with one hand while doing god only know what with the other.

The comments sections on business websites is bullshit. It’s ridiculous. It’s as if the 90% of the comments are made by snickering 14 year olds tapping away on their daddy’s 386 in the basement, between shooting YouTube video uploads and accepting bot-generated mySpace friend requests.

GAME OVER, MAN

The potential for comments seemed really unique. It brought a utopian vision of articulate, educated and rationally polite contribution. A sort of online town meeting of the nation. A chance to listen, be heard and perhaps be inspired.

Sadly, that utopian vision is about as far from realistic as a Michael Bay film. No, the reality is that the comments section, with rare exception, is the online equivalent of either a political soapbox for agenda driven drivel or the graffiti scrawled sides of a bronx subway train.

As far as comments on my own website go, I greatly appreciate any and all comments. Sincerely, I do, even those that challenge my assumptions on the everything from the value of an electric toothbrush to confronting my neighbors about shredded pornography. I don’t solicit or anticipate comments but they’re always welcome.

Sorta.

What’s occasionally difficult, and greatly my own issue to contend with, is how I might choose to manage a comment that rubs me the wrong way. Case in point, the “defendant” MC poster’s response. In hindsight a simple “I disagree but we’ll take this offline’ would have been more appropriate, and then I’d have ripped the new asshole in a direct email and not a public forum where the debate might rage on.

And when it does rage on, although it’s a dialog I enjoy and will continue to have, it takes away from the time I’d prefer to spend recording the memories, rants, stories, ideas, and off kilter observations that are what I want to do with this website and my time here.

I still hold strongly to the desire to make this a resource for friend and family to have a laugh, find a movie recommendation, or get some insight into the chaotic and dysfunctional mess that is my psyche. But not a debate forum. And it’s for that reason that I’ve removed the back and forth debate about Citizen Kane…. to preserve my own vision of this effort, and of course, to avoid my dear friend MC from any further embarrassed or humiliation from his painfully off-target perspective. :-)

A 4th of July, A 3rd of The People

We took the kids to downtown Los Gatos today for the 4th of July celebration. The last time we went was 2004, and the event was far more vibrant and with far more attendees. The gathering today had all the excitement and enthusiasm of a bathroom break between shuffleboard games at a convalescent home. Come to think of it, about 2/3 of the people there would have fit into that scenario quite naturally.



Perhaps it was the heat that peaked at 94 degrees. Perhaps it was that we got their too early. Or perhaps it was the complete and utter distain the majority of the community has with the current president and administration, combined with an embarassment at things that have been done in the name of the United States without majority support, that instilled an apprehension to “strike up the band” and wave old glory.



I suspect a mixture of all three.



Do I believe our system is highly flawed, that our government is driven by special interests and greed, the our leadership is the worst we’ve had during my lifetime, and that we blindly accept more inequity then was cause for our revolution in 1776?



Most certainly.



Yet do I appreciate that I have the freedom to say this, to express my opinion, to exercise my freewill and to rouse the rabble without fear of severe retribution from a governing body?



Most certainly.



Independence. Although I’ve never been a patriotic person, it seems worth celebrating to me. I’ve never viewed the day as one tied to the government or administration of the time, but as a remembrance of a break from tyranny, and the principles of justice and freedom that were the basis of a new nation. Come to think of it, nothing about my view of being grateful to be living in the US changed in the last 10-20 years. Just my views of the leadership. And that’ll change soon too.



Meanwhile, being far from a flag waver, it seemed sad that there was such a small turn out today. The flag’s still the same one that there was a shortage of during the latter part of September 2001. As are the principle’s it’s intended to represent.



Ideological? Perhaps. But is that necessarily a bad thing?