… an intermolecular force in the minutiae of life

“You put your baby picture up on Facebook?”

“Well, sure!”

“Why would you want to do that? Why would any one want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

The two men who were speaking are tech journalists. This interchange began with a discussion concerning a Facebook app known as “Timeline“, a new way to organize your Facebook profile that depicts your Facebook activities organized as an event stream. For people who link pretty much everything they do to Facebook, who essentially make Facebook their home, the thing they stay hooked into all the time, and to which they report for all their social connections, Timeline provides a good deal of appeal. It’s their on-line biography. It’s their vanity site.

One of the journalists, the respondent, plays with the full palette of social networking tools. He figures he’s a public guy anyway. He should not just be familiar with the stuff he discusses in his articles and podcasts, he should live it.

The other, the one who asked the question,  is a curmudgeon, someone who wishes to keep his personal life personal and deal with tech from the point of view of an observer.

The question he asked, “Why would anyone want to do that” goes beyond simply posting a baby photo; after all, you can set your privacy levels with some granularity. It also goes beyond the large issue of the data mining, cloud storage of personal information, letting The Man have access to your privates, as it were.

At least for the purposes of this post the question goes beyond those things.

The question really spears its way into one beating heart:  Who The Fuck Do You Think Cares About Your Baby Pictures?

I had a discussion with my step-mother about Facebook recently. “I don’t really get Facebook. I use it because my daughter is on there and that’s how I find out what she’s doing, and a few of my friends use it a lot, but it seems to me that most of it is just so … inane! People post the silliest stuff!”

She’s right. We do.  Because Facebook is our stage and we, many of us, have convinced ourselves that someone out there really does care about what we’re cooking for dinner, how cute our kittehs are, and the cherub-quotient of our diaper-clad images.

Think back to your childhood. Didn’t Mom and Dad have books filled with photos, and stacks of boxes with carousels filled with slides of the family vacations?  Your art projects in a glass case in the living room? And when guests came over, were not more than a few of them subjugated to stories of the family’s doings, illustrated with said slides and photo albums and art projects?

Facebook is becoming everyone’s living room.  Our Facebook contacts are our invited guests.  So, irrespective of how many people actually want to see our baby pictures or hear our dinner plans, we share them. Because publishing our private matters makes us feel connected.

And not a few of us want to see those pictures and read about those menus. Because, as I say, it makes us feel connected.

There are all kinds of different business models.   I won’t pretend to be an expert in economics or business, but I am smart enough to know that a business that provides a service “for free” to a community of users is not usually in it for the feel goods.  They derive some economic benefit from the service.  The user community that avails itself of the “free” service makes up a key part of its base. It relies on those users to either provide content (as in the case of free blogging websites, forums, search engines, or social networking sites), or to view/use content and be subjected to advertising that the business sells (free magazines, webzines, television programming, smartphone apps).

In either case, while the user is not actually prying free dollars from his own pocket, he is an integral part of that product or service.  As such, his opinion regarding the quality of that service very much matters.

Facebook uses a model based on a hybrid of the two I mentioned.  It relies on user generated content for data mining. It also relies on advertising and a large user base to entice big dollar advertisers.  In addition it relies on the “buzz” generated by its users as marketing tools.  The more people Facebook  entices to use its product, the better.  Keep the peeps happy while maximizing your ability to mine even more information and get more eyes looking at ads.  It can be a truly win-win-win situation for pretty much everyone involved.

Facebook also has a history of pushing out modifications to its product that its management and engineering groups feel are “good” for its product, but they usually go about it in a ham-fisted fashion. They roll out the changes without much announcement — even fairly dramatic ones that significantly alter the user’s experience — and without much training for the user, and often with little consideration for all of the impacts the changes may have across the user community. They have, in the past,  compromised user privacy, and have also at times created usability issues for a variety of people.

Irrespective of how Facebook conceives, designs and implements its changes, and irrespective of the overall goodness or badness of these changes, there will be elements within the user base that object — vociferously — to the changes.  Some object simply because they dislike change. A person gets used to a way of doing something and even if the change ultimately improves the interaction, the fact that you’re asking a user to change at all causes distress.  That’s accepted.  That’s also somewhat minor.

When a change is not only unadvertised and abrupt, but is a significant shift with respect to how the product or service works (in terms of the layout, accessibility, and user experience), the outcry can be pretty overwhelming.

That sort of outcry is usually based on some valid, considered objections.

And that outcry is not only valid, but necessary, irrespective of whether the people who are complaining are spending money for the service.

There is a meme going around on Facebook and elsewhere wherein people respond to complaints about Facebook’s latest changes with generally snarky comments such as, “Hey, quit complaining! It’s free! Just use it, or don’t use it. Geez!”

While I respect the truth — Facebook doesn’t cost its user any money — and I respect the right of the individual to express this opinion, telling people to shut up and color because they haven’t opened their wallets is not only a rude and ill-considered comment, it is an irrelevant comment.

Companies that rely in this fashion on their user base actually need that feedback, especially when the feedback is grounded on genuine usability issues that hamper the experience.  An example of Facebook’s latest changes concerns the addition of a “ticker” that scrolls updates continuously on the screen that Facebook has algorithmically determined might be of interest to its user. Some people react badly to motion on their displays. It may feed attention deficit issues. In my case, I had to close the Facebook window simply to be able to conduct a conversation because the constant motion on the screen distracted my thought process.  There was no obvious way to shut off the ticker.  For others, they have organized the way they use Facebook to avoid negative impact to their personal productivity. Facebook rearranged the way the information is presented, undoing what the users had taken pains to set up for their personal usage cases. Again, there was no clear way to customize the organization to suit the user.

So Facebook has to rely on user feedback. Facebook would not want to lose a significant portion of its user base, after all. That would affect its revenue.

Granted, it would be more useful for the users who have issues to take their complaints to a forum set up for such feedback, and to make useful suggestions for improvement rather than just piss and moan about how awful it all is, yet there is still value to be had in simply whining.  A large enough groundswell of noisy complaint forces Facebook to sit up and take notice, and to take the usable suggestions seriously.  When the complaint is large enough that national news outlets are reporting on it, you can be certain the powers that be within Facebook are looking through the forums and feedback reports to find out how badly they miscalculated and what they can do to recover.

Using Facebook is not truly free for us.  We are trading our time — voluntarily and gladly in most cases — we are offering up our information, and we are viewing the ads.  We are providing Facebook the content they rely on to make their business work.  We are providing advertisement services when we invite our family and friends to join. We have a valid say in the usability of the service.  Our say can come in the form of a boycott, or in the form of a loud and bitter complaint.  It’s all good, and Facebook should welcome it.

The rest of you who are gluing yourselves to the easy meme of  “it’s free, so shut up and color”?

I reject your suggestion, but thanks for offering it.

Another Fine Mess?

Dr. Alex Lickerman is a physician and former Director of Primary Care at the University of Chicago and has been a practicing Buddhist since 1989.
– from the “About” page of http://www.happinessinthisworld.com/

Dr. Lickerman wrote about some of my favorite things: technology and relationships. A while back a good friend linked to this article on Facebook; some interesting conversations ensued, and oh my gosh, I have so many thoughts about this. Some of the thoughts are spurred from the FB conversations, but some arise from my navel. I don’t know about yours, but my navel is a demanding body feature. It has let my fingers know they’d better get busy putting some of these thoughts down, or else.

Ruining Relationships, or The Chicken/Egg Conundrum
I can’t be certain without spending time I don’t have looking it up (aka “Googling”), but I believe the notion that the Internet is addicting arose in the 1990s and has been with us since. The American Society of Addiction Medicine has this definition for addiction: “Addiction is a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social and spiritual manifestations. This is reflected in the individual pursuing reward and/or relief by substance use and other behaviors. Addiction is characterized by impairment in behavioral control, craving, inability to consistently abstain, and diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships.”
There are stories. Find them in your newspaper, in women’s magazines, and on Dr. Phil: Children whose schoolwork suffers, partners who split, scary tales of desperate people meeting up with psychopathic axe murderers in the hopes of finding true love; the list goes on.

Like any addiction, the real cost, for those of us who are truly addicted, is to the number and quality of our relationships with others. [...] The problem, however, comes when we find ourselves subtly substituting electronic relationships for physical ones or mistaking our electronic relationships for physical ones.

I have a data point of one. I am divorced. I admit that my relationship with my former husband was worsened by my obsessive use of the Internet and I further admit I could have and should have paid a lot more attention to my children during their teen years. With respect to the marital relationship, however, I contend that there is a race between the chicken and the egg. Had my relationship with my ex been more whole to start, would I have sought comfort hitchhiking along the Info Superhighway? More to the point of Dr. Lickerman’s article, did I increase my isolation as a result? My marriage had lots of issues that, perhaps with time and determined effort, could have been worked through. Or perhaps not. Irrespective of its demise, did the friendships I gained during my years of heavy Internet involvement cause me more problems? Or did I increase the number, and perhaps the quality of my personal interactions?
I have a large number of genuine, in-depth conversations with people I know almost exclusively on-line. They share candid details of their lives in thought-provoking ways, and often spur a lot of soul-searching within me. I have grown in ways I never did with my physical-world relationships. I contend, here, that it was the access to a richer field of possible friendships that made this possible. The folk to whom I had intimate access in my locale, while wonderful and worthwhile people, were not people with whom I resonated. Is this, again, an egg and chicken thing, though? Did I decrease my interactions with local friends so that I could pay more attention to my “safe” and on-line friends? Did I derive a feeling of isolation from my local, physical environment, choosing not to pursue more in-depth interactions with these people because of my addiction to the on-line life?
I am convinced that I have always been prone to a more hermit-like, solitary existence. I have already written about having imaginary playmates as a child, and being painfully shy and withdrawn. The Internet provided me with a way to let my real personality bloom and I credit my years playing with trolls on the InterThingie with giving me the spine to let that personality shine in my real life.

Interestingly, The Pew Internet Research Center reported researchthat finds that people who regularly use social networking sites such as Facebook have significantly more close relationships and higher social support than the average American.

Isolation and the New Work Place
If, as Dr. Lickerman contends, too much reliance on on-line interactions is indeed fostering a growing isolation among us, how does this translate to how we conduct our day to day lives? What is the impact to our psychological well-being?

[...]we write things like “LOL” and “LMOA” to describe our laughter, but they’re no real substitute for hearing people laugh, which has real power to lift our spirits when we’re feeling low.

Dr. Lickerman is exactly right with that observation. No matter how truly warm my Internet relationships have seemed, there is no replacement for real laughter. In that picture-worth-a-thousand-words sense, so much can take place when you simply exchange glances with a real person sitting across from you. No amount of imagination or written words can ever fill the need for the reassuring touch of a hand, or the warmth of an embrace.
What about the work-place? I have had some experiences with remote and computer-based interactions at my former company. There, as the local work force was thinned and the global work force expanded, office and project communications moved from the physical meeting rooms, hallways, water coolers and cubicles to the telephone and the computer, and even then began to move from cubicles in the office building to home offices. We moved from having to dress decently and congregate under the fluorescent lights to an isolation that brought with it the potential for hunkering, unshowered and semi-clothed, over the keyboard in a darkened, sealed room. Interactions with other human beings could now take place via instant messaging and e-mail.
I hailed this as finally permitting me to be more efficient. Gone were long commutes, time and effort spent on making myself presentable, walks to distant restrooms. I could focus on my work, even while in a meeting! Multi-tasking was king!
I think Asimov had a society like that in one of his series.
Anyway, moving from there to a different company that still operates using 90s technology and 70s mentality was quite a culture shock, but I was very pleased to actually see people again. And the big change was that these people were smiling and laughing and even hanging out with one another doing stuff on weekends and after work. The village was back!
Along with the village came the personality conflicts. I had been there but one day and already I had a parade of people coming into my cube and whispering to me. “Watch out for so-and-so. She is quite the little back stabber. If she gets pissed off at you, she’ll escalate instantly.” Such-and-so had “issues” and was “difficult.” Meanwhile, Such-and-so came to me to let me know that the person who had just cautioned me had “issues” and was “difficult.”
Is the As The World Turns mentality really necessary for our personal growth?
Confrontation

People are often uncomfortable with face-to-face confrontation, so it’s easy to understand why they’d choose to use the Internet. Precisely because electronic media transmit emotion so poorly compared to in-person interaction, many view it as the perfect way to send difficult messages: it blocks us from registering the negative emotional responses such messages engender, which provides us the illusion we’re not really doing harm. Unfortunately, this also usually means we don’t transmit these messages with as much empathy, and often find ourselves sending a different message than we intended and breeding more confusion than we realize.

If you weren’t sitting at your computer right now reading this, but were instead in my house as I type this, you’d see me raising my hand. (Side note: makes typing more difficult.) I am a warrior when it comes to on-line confrontation. In person? Not so much. Don’t make eye contact, they’ll sense your fear and go for your throat!
I’ve had mixed results here. I have enjoyed successes in dealing with conflict and confrontation when I handled it via e-mail. We got to martial our defenses, didn’t feel like we were put on the spot, had time to consider our responses, and both found relief by expressing ourselves in what we felt was our best light. No reddening of the face. No tears in the voice.
I have also had it go badly, badly bad. I’ve had something small explode with nuclear force because the wrong emotion was read into the statement. I’ve seen my words come back to me, turned inside out because the context was not understood, or was filtered through the emotions and expectations of the recipient.
I took a class offered by my company on how to have effective conversations and one of the conversation types they focused on was “confrontational conversations.” They suggested a strategy of putting together a 60 second pitch outlining the issue to be discussed, its impact on others(presumably you, maybe your family, your project, your community, whatever), an explicit example of the issue, how you personally feel about it, and maybe what you hope to resolve concerning it. Then you ask the confronted person for his or her thoughts on it, and you listen. You ask questions designed to get the two of you to the resolution. You may resolve it. You may end up, after a few moments of dialogue, realizing you’ll never meet eye to eye.
I wonder if sometimes a combination of e-mail and this … talking thing … might not be effective. Draft the 60 second pitch into an e-mail and set up a meeting to discuss it?
Dunno. I’ve tried the confrontational conversation exactly one time, and it was very difficult for me, with my personality. Red face. Difficulty making eye contact. Wanting to apologize for daring to be irked. That sort of thing.
And Finally, Same Ol’ Same Ol’

The Internet is an amazing tool. But even as it’s shrunk the world and brought us closer together, it’s threatened to push us further apart. Like any useful tool, to make technology serve us well requires the exercise of good judgment.

But this is not new stuff. I was researching this and finding the same cautionary words back when I was writing a monthly column on parenting in the computer age. The list of do’s and don’ts Dr. Lickerman provides could have come from one of those “How To Use E-mail” courses they made us take back in the late nineties at work.
And yet … we do seem to be withdrawing from one another as a society, even as we expand to embrace one another through all this online social interaction.
Even as a person should not overeat (except when it comes to bacon, or chocolate, or cupcakes), perhaps a person ought not overdo his on-line life.
If you made it this far, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Meet at my house, 5PM, bring goodies, I’ll provide the beer, wine and dog hair.
Hugs!

Gotta

puppy.jpgThose of you who’ve tried to train your puppies to sit and stay sitting will understand.
You give the command to sit. You show the dog what you mean. The dog sits, then pops back up and wriggles at you. You patiently correct her, until you get her to actually stay sitting. The next step is to put a toy or treat in front of her, just out of reach, and correct her, making her stay sitting even though every fiber of her being wants that toy (or treat)! Eventually you get compliance, albeit quivering, barely restrained compliance. She stares at the toy. She leans toward the toy. She looks at you, to see if you’re watching, then quickly back at the toy. She shifts slightly, slyly close to the toy, watching you, then the toy. And if you let this go on too long, she forgets that she was told to sit and she goes for the toy anyway.
We are not supposed to pay attention to our phones while in meetings. Every one of us, though, carries our various Blackberries, Android phones, and iPhones into the meetings and plops them onto the table in front of us.
It’s fun to watch when someone’s phone buzzes a text or e-mail notification.

The Straight Poop

This is Murphy.

Miss Murphy has a bit of a reputation as being an instigator. She likes to take control of situations, especially ones where I might end up taking the heat. I will neither confirm nor deny the possibility that I may or may not have been caught on any alleged traffic camera, but the possible presence of an alleged dog that may or may not look eerily like Murphy poised in the front seat seeming to egg the driver on has been noted.
Murphy suffers from a life-long condition known as EPI, or exocrine pancreatic insufficiency, which is an inability to produce sufficient quantities of the enzymes used in the digestive process. These enzymes serve to break food down to elements that can be absorbed by the digestive tract. Without sufficient quantities of the enzymes, longer chain molecules such as the fats found in meat, pass right through. The treatment is to mix ground up porcine pancreas in with the dog’s food each and every meal.
Even with the additive, and using low fat dog kibble, Murphy’s excretia is, shall we say, somewhat loose. And there’s usually a lot of it. It smells really foul.
Getting that trivia behind us, let’s progress to the next bit of information: Murphy, as with many dogs and cats, has the instinct to cover her spoor. After she eliminates waste, she’s prone to exuberantly kick her back paws, scraping up earth and sod as she goes, flinging it, presumably over the pile she had just created.
And now, on to my tale of woe. Walkies this morning. I have the dogs on 16′ retractable leads, which I let loose when we get to the park. Murphy pulled off to one side at the full 16 foot length and hunched up her hindquarters in that “I gotta go” stance dogs adopt. Her fellow pack member Teegan was also extended out the full 16′ to the other side and she, too, at exactly that moment, decided it was a good time for the ol’ morning poop.
I stood between them, arms outstretched like a bizarre redheaded Jesus.
I could not really move.
Teegan was still doing her business when Murphy completed hers. Murphy did not seem to be doing this deliberately; she just happened to have her back to where I was standing as she started her kick.
I could not move. Did I mention that?
Walkies were cut a bit short this morning.
I have had two showers.

Wantz and Needz

When I form a “want”, a genuine want it can be overwhelming. I’ll obsess over it from the moment it has worked its hooks into my limbic system until I have satisfied it. This can be a real problem, emotionally, when what I want is not available. When this happens, except for when my cerebral cortex is 100% focused on some matter of urgency or other, every waking moment is filled with thoughts and plots pertaining to obtaining the object of my desire. Many of my dream state moments are likewise filled.
Talk about distracting.
So here’s the skinny: I want, I dearly and desperately want a new smartphone. I want it in the worst way. The one I have, a Samsung Omnia on Verizon, works and works well. It does what I need for it to do. Once, however, I have formed this deep-seated, consuming desire to get a new one, the fact that the existing one fulfills its functions adequately does not matter. I want a new one.
The problem is, the phone I want and need does not yet exist. There are some that come close, but none that perfectly match my desires coupled with my needs.

Needs

  • physical keyboard — having worked with a half-adequate “virtual” keyboard on the Omnia, and having previously worked with a qwerty on a Moto Q, I know I function best with an actual keyboard.
  • large, sensitive, high resolution resistive touchscreen
  • iconic access to the functions and applications I need (no more drop-down menus, thanx)
  • availability of the types of apps I like to use
  • available for Verizon
  • unlimited data plan

Wants

  • A form factor that pleases me
  • A superb display

The form factors that please me involve rounded, curvy edges rather than squared off and chunky. The Palm Pre©, for example, appeals to me. The iPhone appeals to me. The Moto Droid© does not. I prefer thin phones to chunky ones, but accept that a slide-out keyboard will add some chunk.
I no longer like Windows Mobile OS. I don’t mind the iPhone OS and love the user interface, but I dislike the crappy service from AT&T (plus I don’t want to be roped into a 2 year contract with them, and they no longer support an affordable unlimited data plan), and the iPhone is capacitive touch only; I can’t use it if wearing gloves.
I’m leaning toward an Android based phone, but none of the Android phones being released at this time, except possibly one, suit my Needs and Wants. The Android phone that may fit my needs and wants is being offered by U.S. Cellular (wtf?), not Verizon. There’re some fantastic 4G phones being picked up by Sprint, but, hello, it’s Sprint (coverage not so good in my area, new contract, etc.), not Verizon. And so forth.
The Palm Pre is slobberdrool-worthy. It is curvy. It is carried by Verizon. It has a lovely little QWERTY slider. The user interface is modern and human-centric — icon based. Its two main drawbacks concern screen (small, capacitive), and WebOS. We know iPhone apps are abundant. Android apps are on the increase. Not so sure there will be strong support for WebOS.
It’s tough. Very tough. There are more issues that are sticky enough for me that I’m left wanting but not being able to satisfy that want.
Will Verizon get the iPhone? That might suit; while iPhone does not have a resistive touchscreen and no actual keyboard, its touch keyboard is surprisingly usable and it’s a damnably lovely phone. Will Verizon finally get around to picking up an Android phone with a QWERTY that has a pleasing form factor — something from HTC or Samsung? Maybe using OLED rather than LCD display for truly gorgeous images? Will Motorola — I have a fondness for Moto phones thanks to my long history with that company — finally produce a beautiful phone that does the slider qwerty, instead of this plastik block gizmo they’re pushing?
Wanting but not having. It’s a nearly physical kind of hurt.

Getcher Geek On!

I’d be stating the obvious as well as repeating myself if I said, “I’m a geek” so I won’t. I will mention that I listen to tech podcasts, two of which have the word “geek” in them. One of them, the Geek Girls just started a weekly feature they call “Geek of the Week” wherein they feature a different person who considers him or herself some sort of geek.
I suppose I’d qualify, not that I’d be on their podcast. I’m not big on talking, see.
But I am a geek (d’oh! There I go!) and I started wondering when or how I first became one. “Geek” has such cachet these days, when used to describe someone who is in the tech world — even a wannabe tech geek like a first adopter iPad owner calls himself a geek.
What were those first signs of geekdom for me?
I don’t know if I was three or four years of age when my brother got a battery operated airplane with a “cockpit” controller so you could make the plane taxi around and make take-off noises for Christmas. He set it aside, pretty much unopened (aside from taking the wrappings off) and went off to do whatever it was he went off to do. I assembled it and started playing with it.
That might have been the first instance or it might not, but it’s the first time I recall doing something that said of me, “gadget girl.”
While in middle school, my bedside lamp developed a wonky socket, or something. Took it apart, discovered the wires that were breaking off at the screws that held them to the contacts, stripped the wires, rewound them about the screws, put the thing back together, bob’s yer uncle. All without getting electrocuted although that might’ve been a way to save money on the perms.
High School physics was easy for me, but boring. For reasons unclear to me, my physics teacher Freddy Bell (on whom I did NOT have a crush — he was weird!) added a section on computer programming to the physics curriculum. He took us on a field trip over to the community college where we had an account set up for us and we wrote programs in BASIC, typing them into teletype machines and running them — they spewed their output on giant geared line printers. I absolutely adored this stuff! I took my printouts home with me, but Mom did not think they should go up on the fridge. Even so, right then and there I decided I was going to be a computer programmer.
I became an engineer. I adapted rapidly to on-line communications (e-mail and Usenet) before they were “cool”. I successfully beat the Adventure game on a mainframe Unix computer. I programmed on punch cards. I found spending a lot of my personal time creating an Easter Egg for my company’s communication analyzer product a whole lot of fun (press a certain sequence of keys while in the Trunked Radio testing mode, an ASCII elephant would “walk” across the display while the tune of Baby Elephant Walk played). The really cool part, from a geek perspective, is that as the elephant left the screen it raised its tail and deposited a load of elephant poop that persisted for a few seconds before reverting back to the regular display.
Along with all of those signs, I was the classic nerd: thick lensed glasses, shy and socially awkward, wore goofy hand-me-down clothes (we shopped at the flea market a lot) that didn’t fit me too well, always had my head in a book reading, got straight A’s in school, hated sports (and was always the last one chosen for any team activity in PE), and mocked by the cool kids.
More proof? I find this URL to be hilarious: http://www.mozilla.org/keymaster/gatekeeper/there.is.only.xul.
Me = geek was pretty obvious. I was probably born clutching a slide rule or something, but since I’m adopted, the precise details of my actual birth are missing.
Are you a geek? If so, in what ways? When did you first realize you were one?

The ancient building in which I work has undergone many interior layout changes over the decades. The office bay where my cube is situated may have been an assembly facility at one time, because the women’s restroom in its vicinity is spacious, containing benches and lockers, the sort assemblers would use to store their valuables while they, um, assembled, uh, stuff.
These days, women generally just brusquely go do their business, maybe check out their reflection, and leave. This morning one woman was using the restroom as a … well, a sort of bathing area.
When I entered, she was standing by the sink, top flapping loose around her hips exposing one of the largest brassieres I’ve seen, and she was wiping at her pits with a dripping paper towel. I averted my gaze and tried to do the “brusquely go do their business” thing. Water kept running, and I heard her humming something in a tuneless way.
When I came out of the stall, she had turned off the water and was taking an aerosol can out of her large handbag, which she proceeded to operate by flailing it through the air about her person, the spray coming out in violent gray-white clouds scented in some nauseating, vile, chem-floral putridness.
I don’t don’t recall much of what happened next, but the EMTs who revived me were thoughtful enough to have placed an oxygen mask around my nose and mouth and were helping me as I coughed and gulped air.
We’re taught that the ancients invented perfumes to mask the stench of the dead and we’re also taught that the Fr*nch refined perfumes to mask the stench of their unwashed bodies.
See, all of those scents were meant to take something unappealing and make it less unappealing.
We evolved, over time, to finding ways to stop stink from occurring, nearly. Antiperspirants work to suppress the sweat in the areas where it and bacteria tend to accumulate. Salt-based deodorants work to suppress the growth of the bacteria that causes the odor.
So why are we taking this huge step back to making ourselves not only smell appalling, but make sure all of the air around us is likewise putrid?
I wish I hadn’t passed out. ‘Cause I would’ve liked to have reminded that beyotch that this is Earth Day, and it’s all about the Earth and she should just be her natural stinky self to celebrate the Earth.
Or something. Anything. Anything to stop her from gassing the building.

Why pre-Pad?

PC World magazine has some harsh words.iPad

Friday morning, the fool’s parade started. Apple is taking online “pre-orders” for its iPad tablet [...]
Why blow $500 to $830 on a device that may not be what you expect? [...]
I have no doubt that the iPad will appeal to many people even if it’s not perfect. But we’ve all seen promising product demonstrations that resulted in major letdown when we finally got a hold of the real thing. Why take that chance? After all, the first-generation iPad is particularly likely to have disappointments, as it’s the version that will tell us what, after the hoopla dies down, Apple should have done.

Mr. Gruman has a point; you won’t see me pre-ordering something no mere mortal has ever seen, let alone ordering it within the first, oh, say year or even version of its market life. On the other hand, I would not be so quick to characterize the pre-order peeps and first adapters as “fools.”
Think about it logically, for a moment. Gruman states, correctly, that the first-generation iPad that is “the version that will tell us what [...] Apple should have done.”
So exactly how will that take place, but for the “fools” who are first to grab the new toy?
Rather than fools, I’d call them “explorers.” Someone needs to be first. I appreciate these eager techno-philes and Apple fan boys, these early adapters. These are also the folks who are most likely to blog and tweet their experiences, to show up in the Apple device forums with comments and critiques from a real user experience. The geek guys and gals who work for the technology publications spend maybe a few hours playing with the devices, and have stuff to say, but it’s the real user whose experience I value most. Even Apple, as arrogant as they may be, often takes the feedback from the common user for the fixes they put into their next generation. In a way, these men and women are pioneers. They brave the bugs and lack of features in order to carve out civilization in the techno wilderness.
Call these hardy pioneers fools? Not this late-adapting gadget girl.

Dinner Date

[ed: Originally published June 17, 2004. Thanks, PJ, for helping me remember. Beau was a cool dog, in his needy, neurotic way.]
Beau.jpgI put food into the dog’s bowl because it was time to feed him, and he was, pardon the expression, hounding me about it. Dancing into the room, looking at me expectantly, dashing out again.

“What is it boy? Is it Timmy? Is he trapped in the well?”

No. It was suppertime, doofus.

So I put dog food into his bowl. He was happy to see the food, and he sniffed at it and then looked at me. I pointed at the food and said, “Eat.” He sniffed at the food, and then looked at me and wagged the little stump of his tail.

I shrugged, and walked away.

The dog drooped, and also walked away, food untouched.

“Why’d you demand food, if you aren’t going to eat it?”

He didn’t answer.

A short time later, I got hungry, so I found some left overs and started preparing my own meal. The Neurotic Dog perked, then dashed over to his bowl. His face hovered over the bowl, as he glanced sidewise up at me, waiting. Waiting. I finished putting my own meal together, picked up my plate, and glanced over. His nose was touching the kibble in his bowl, but he still stared over at me.

I walked into the dining room. His eyes followed me, and his little tail wiggled slightly.

I sat down.

He laid down.

I dug my fork into my food, and could hear the rattle of kibble against the ceramic of his dish as he started to eat.

Dog just didn’t want to eat alone, is all.