13 Points of Articulation

While browsing a shop with the kids this weekend, the face on a boxed action figure along the end display of an isle of toys caused me to do a double take. Tell me this doesn't look like George W. Bush. I'd say his time at Golds Gym has started to pay off.



But the best part, the punch line here, is the one line reference on the box intend to denote the number of options for posing the figure. "13 Points of Articulation".



I've heard the man speak and that seems generous to me.

An Age Old Driving Observation

This morning, while dropping off the kids on the way to work, I watched a elderly lady slowly drive her car into, onto, and over the curb and down the wide walkway of the church next to my kids preschool. It was both comical and scary all at the same time. I stopped long enough to see that she'd realized her mistake and started working her way out, but it does raise that age old (pun intended) question about what it takes to get a license to drive, and if/when the tests need to be a bit harder and focused not only on vision and road rules, but also on alertness and attention span.

But then again, if they start testing for attention span, I'm screwed.

Lies And The Lying Liars

To start this out, I want to direct you to my good friend Jess' weblog, where he posted an email exchange with a family member and pretty much nailed down many of my own thoughts and observations about Palin. I could not have said it better. Slower, perhaps. But not better. And off he seems to be, with a few other political posts as he takes his place in the election-race starting blocks, awaiting the starting gun (and the confirmation that it wasn't aimed at Obama from a passing pickup truck) and racing towards a hopefully safe and sane outcome.

Meanwhile, I've been perusing web resources for election related information that's not partisan and actually tells the straight story. Something balanced, neutral and objective. Something that'll give me facts, not conjecture, and allow me to make an educated instead of an emotional decision. Scanning through Fox, CNN, NPR, MSNBC and other sources is completely futile. Anybody that actually believes that the major networks and publications, both conservative and liberal, don't have a bias and provide honest, neutral stories without an agenda needs to think again. Really hard.

The Poster Boy For Holiday Misgivings

Mentioning "Wings of Desire" in a prior post reminded me of a funny story. The movie has been a personal favorite of mine since the day I first saw it during its initial theatrical release. It was an art-house film playing at the Camera Cinema in downtown San Jose. I was so impressed with it when I first saw it that I subsequently gathered my mom, brother, niece, and several family friends and took them all, collectively, to see it the following week. I was, and remain, very inspired by the life-affirming message it has. In hindsight, I'm not entirely sure how deeply it moved those I took to the showing, because it's not a typical film and had some chaotic elements as well. But I did so, as sharing it was really important to me at the time.

It's TOO Quiet...

We just wrapped up our portion of a massive project. I'm exhausted. I've been on edge and on guard 24x7 for the last month or two. I've had to be in 'attack mode' for much of it, trying to anticipate every little possible issue, circumventing it, yet never seeing the ones that'd come up instead. So now the scrambling chaos turns to sudden silence. I spent yesterday waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it never did. Now I'm standing on the sidelines, having the opportunity for the much needed break from the chaos. But there's a part of me that's feeling out of place, suddenly, and a bit off balance. I spent so much time leaning forward that I don't remember how to stand still. And I suddenly understand, in the most abstract and trivial way, of course, how war veterans struggle with returning home to the 'normal pace' of daily life, away from the front lines, where they'd become accustomed to the adrenaline.

Who Cares What I Think?

"When the child was a child, It was the time for these questions: Why am I me, and why not you? Why am I here, and why not there? When did time begin, and where does space end?"

So begins one of my favorite films of all time: "Wings of Desire". The poem, like the majority of the film, is spoken in German, but the subtitles lay out a thread of thoughts regarding the innocence and questions of childhood in comparison with those of an adult. It also serves to illustrate the joy that can and should be found in the simplest daily things, such as the unique tastes of food, the warmth of a cup of coffee held on a cold winter's morning, or the recognition one finds when looking into the eyes of a loved one.

Brown Nosing

Early this morning, after stopping in the cafe and filling my large commuter coffee cup with an ample supply of coffee, a co-coworker stopped me between buildings, and commented that they'd been thinking that I had some bad skin condition, but they'd figured out what it was.



"OK" I replied as as continued to enjoy my fresh cup 'o joe.



They proceeded to explain that they had noticed a brown path on my nose a week or two back, and they had been wondering if there was something medical behind it, but over the course of the past two weeks they had observed it's presence, absence, presence again, and finally, it's origin.



They sit in daily morning meetings with me and noticed that, after drinking from the cup, the brown spot would appear. Sometimes I'd be conscious of it and wipe it away, and other times I'd be oblivious and walk through the rest of my day with a small coffee marking discoloring the tip of my nose.



Sadly, I'd been made aware of this awhile back by another co-worker that simply pointed it out the moment it occured. I have tried to adopt a habit of sipping differently but this particular coffee cup has a flip-back seal that retains just enough coffee splash and it's position when drinking is to rest directly on the tip of my nose. Leaving the coffee residue behind. Resulting in the opportunity for others to refer to me as a brown noser with valid reason to do so.



Time for a new commuter mug.

Inconceivable!

I installed an application on my iPhone that lets me make voice recordings. I thought I would try it out on the way to work, so I started it up and, using my Bluetooth headset, recorded a minute or two worth of my rambling on about one thing or another. Then I did the worst thing that I could possibly have done. I played it back.



Was that really my voice? Is that really what I sound like? Do I honestly have that subtle "Wallace Shawn" lisp and a high pitched whining undertone? I am aghast, I am absolutely dumbfounded, I seldom listen to my own voice and to hear it just boggles my mind. I've had this voice all my life, and that is not my voice that I am hearing when I speak. It simply can't be, It's not possible. It's inconceivable! Inconceivable!

Apple Stock = Oh. My. God.

A few years back, I was mountain biking with my friend Tom in the hills above Santa Cruz. We'd set out to make it to the top and back and I was dead set on achieving that goal, which we did. But along the way up, we encountered a biker on his way back down the hill. He had taken a bad fall, had blood on his legs, arms, and face, and we stopped to ask him if he was OK. He was, but shaken, and clearly just trying to get back down, regroup, clean up and address his wounds.



Without thinking it through, Tom craned his neck forward, tilted his head and looking at the side of his face, said "Man, that looks bad!".



The guy just stared back at him for a second or two. Outside of the wind gently rustling leaves as it blew the trees, there was dead silence. Then he mounted his bike seat and continued down the hill without saying another word.



I've always remembered that as a perfect example of how, without knowing it or ill intention, people feel compelled to point out the obvious, even in situations where there's nothing that can be done and everybody knows it's not pretty.



That's kinda how I feel about the fact that in meetings, and from friends outside of Apple, people are continually commenting on Apple stock dropping. Yes, I know, it's down. I get it. And I'm working as hard as I can to turn it around. Some great products on the horizon would help. But for my sake, please, stop pointing at the open wound and going "EWH! THAT LOOKS HORRIBLE!".

Hot Potato Chip On My Shoulder

Do you remember the childhood game "Hot Potato", where somebody will have what is supposed to be a "hot potato" and when it gets passed to you, you end up bouncing it from hand to hand until you can pass it off to somebody else. Well, welcome to "Hot Potato 2.0". Only now it's called e-mail, voice mail, text and instant messaging.

The amount of emails I receive at work are insane, but at least I have the freedom to check and respond as I wish. But my instant message is either off or indicates a status of busy, and I typically do not to answer my phone unless I am actually available to have a hot potato dropped in my hands. If I pick up the phone and somebody is on the other line, regardless of how busy I indicate that I may be or how many hot potatoes I have in my hand at that time, they still spew out their request or need, as want to give me theirs, too. Well I don't want it. I don't have room for it. So instead of having it forced on me by their having called or caught me on chat long enough to have placed it in my hand, I make them leave it for me to come get when I can.

I'm at the end of a very difficult project. In the fast paced, high demand world that I am living in these days, the only way to achieve anything is to not answer the phone when I'm already busy, not respond to incoming SMS messages that'll pull me off task, not be available on AOL chat that distracts my current focus, and instead to just let things get tossed over the fence where I can sort them out without somebody tapping their foot and looking at their watch as I do so.

If the phone isn't answered, it's me.

The Poster Bearer Cried

It's certainly no secret that I'm a fan of Pink Floyd, especially "The Dark Side of the Moon". There are references- a-plenty to their music throughout this website, from direct ones to subtle post titles as well. So it was with sadness yesterday that I heard the news of the death of Rick Wright, one of the founding members of the group, and a strong contributor to many of their most recognizable selections.



It's an odd feeling to be getting old enough to have people who's work played some role of relevance in my lifetime, passing away. It was one thing to be younger and hear about the deaths of people like Dean Martin or even Elvis Presley, because I didn't feel a personal experience or connection to them in my generation. That's slowly changing, and the names in the musicians obituary column are striking more familiar chords as the years march forward.



One of my favorite musical documentaries is Classic Albums: The Making Of The Dark Side Of The Moon". In this, Rick Wright discusses his affection for Jazzand how a chord from Miles Davis's "Kind of Blue" was instrumental in writing the song "Breathe", and how a few initial chords turned into their masterpiece, "The Great Gig In The Sky". Here is that "Great Gig" clip, for your enjoyment, in memory of a substantial musician who's creative efforts have left their mark on my life.

Getting Somewhere in 3 Clicks

Kudos, Props, Pass, high five, and whatever the hell the accolade-term of the year is now-a-days are going out to my good friend Brian, for his successful efforts in ensuring you can get somewhere in three clicks. On your iPhone, triple clicking on the headset button now takes you 'backwards' to the previous track. This is something he had to do battle to accomplish, and his success in doing so give him the same sense of satisfaction I've referenced recently as well, when it comes to influencing a product that goes into the hands of millions. So here's your 15 minutes of fame, BL. Unfortunately the math on my readership works out to 15 people reading this for 1 minute each, but hey, at least I beat you to posting it to your blog, right?

Cast Away

It's off! After four long weeks, our little girl's cast's has been removed, and of course, retained for posterity. I'm expecting it'll be added to the bin we have of mementos that we're saving for her and her brother. The follow up x-ray indicates all has healed well, and beyond a moderate amount of discomfort over the next few days as she resumes use of it, we can call this chapter closed.



Oh, and on the way to getting it removed, her brother sincerely declared that he'll be sure to not knock her over and fracture her arm again.

Waffling

We have frozen waffles in the freezer. Whole grain ones, but still, 'processed'. It's pretty much what I resort to when the kids breakfast menu needs to deviate from the standard daily grind of cereal, or what they like to call 'Grown Up Toast', which is just a huge frickin' piece of sliced sourdough coated with almond butter or jelly.



When I got up this morning I did so in the mood to 'make' waffles. Not just pull them out of a box and toss 'em into the toaster, but to break out the waffle iron and pancake mix. I wanted a few moments of 'control' over something in the daily routine, and I wanted to mentally pause and have the calming 'retro' experience of mixing up some batter, pouring it onto the hot iron, smelling the cooking dough and waiting for the steam to subside, indicating that they were ready to eat.



This ties into my own experiences as a kid. I have strong sentimental memories of waffles occasionally being made in our home. It was not a routine thing, making it special, and to this day there's something about the smell of a warm waffle, melted butter and a paint-bucket sized container of maple syrup that just screams 'childhood'.



Of course, the presence of blueberries in the fridge added to the event, so with the help of the kids, the batter was mixed up, blueberries folded in, and the 'waffling' ensued. It took just a moderate amount of time over the frozen approach but the therapeutic benefits were worth doing so. It made me feel a tad calmer, which is something I've been trying to integrate into my daily life. I'm trying to walk slower, take on less, and just not let things seem so serious all the time.



Making blueberry waffles by hand falls into that theme quite nicely.