Astrophysicists

Don't get me wrong, I love big things. The only thing cooler than a big thing is a bigger thing. But, when it comes to big things, nothing is big enough for an astrophysicist. They tend to deal with things that are many, many orders of magnitude bigger than what we mere mortals deal with. It's a little sickening just how big.

And, if this weren't bad enough, they're constantly discovering things that push the borders of what even "they" consider to be big. Don't get me started on dark matter.

But really, what's bigger than stellar objects and the galaxies they float in? The universe itself is an estimated 93 billion light years across, which comes out to 8.798 X 10^26 meters. That's 879,800,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, which is still a piddling number compared with stuff like the number of atoms in the observable universe, which comes out to 10^80.

If your brain hasn't melted yet, perhaps these two headlines will finish the job:

Scientists baffled by gangantuan black hole
A black hole in the middle of galaxy NGC 1277 with a mass equal to seventeen billion suns.

Quasar sends energy blast 2 trillion times more powerful than sun
Pretty self explanatory.

Sizzle pop much?

In a world self-absorbed with tiny dreams, we should be doing more to grasp the enormity of the universe we live in. People are currently vying for a shot at the Powerball jackpot, at $5.5 X 10^8 dollars (:psh:), and--if this absolute quantity weren't small enough--their dreams are smaller still...

- Start an internet cafe.

- Buy a car.

- Pay for their children's education.

It makes me sad to live in a world where most people have ambitions in the 10^6 range. Even if they caught that 10^8 monster by the tail, they wouldn't know what to do with it. I shudder to think what would happen if a 10^26 goliath or a 10^80 colossus fell into their lap.

Honestly, at that scale, thinking in multiples doesn't do much good. One-hundred Lamborghini's isn't going to make in dent in numbers like that, even supposing you could drive them all at the same time.

And--speaking of big numbers--perhaps I should mention that the odds of winning that jackpot are one in 1.75 X 10^8. But then--most people actually putting money into this aren't going to comprehend the ramifications of those odds. That's sad.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Switchbacks

Yesterday, I was climbing switchbacks in the Gorge. And I discovered something.

I'm not a fan of switchbacks.

It's not the steepness that bugs me. Nor the slipperiness. Nor the havoc they wreak on your knees and hips. Nope. It's the dishonesty that really gets under my skin.

For starters, you rarely know how many there are. There could be two... or six... or three-hundred and seventy-nine. This could be easily alleviated through the judicious use of "X of Y" markers, but these are rare. The trail past Multnomah Falls has them... for awhile... before they drop off the face of the earth.

Another problem is the change in direction. Honestly, when I'm hiking, I usually have a destination in mind. And--when heading for a specific destination, I like taking the most direct route (chalk it up to one too many miles on I-5). With switchbacks, you're stuck traipsing up an interminable incline, only to suddenly switch directions. Half the time, this direction is (or seems to be) exactly opposite the way you want to go.

The final point of contention, which--admittedly--isn't a problem for most non-runners, is that switchbacks mess with concepts of "fast" and "slow". Ordinarily, going up a steep hill is a grindingly slow ordeal, and--correspondingly--going down a steep hill is a terrifying fast trip.  When switchbacks are involved, they make it faster to hustle to the top, and slower to run to the bottom (unless you prefer to ignore them with your best mountain goat imitation).

/end rant

But, far be it from me to judge those who love switchbacks. Where was I? ...or, rather... Brian, Audrey, and I? Angel's Rest, by way of the Wahkeena Falls trail, just west of Multnomah Falls (the link goes by way of the Bridal Veil trailhead, which is about two miles shorter round trip). It's a 6.8 mile hike with about two thousand feet of elevation gain, hence the presence of the detested switchbacks.

Even then, I suppose a hike with friends (and switchbacks) is better than a hike without friends (or switchbacks).

Until next time,
- Daniel

Morning

Mornings are scarier than the boogie monster. At least death by monster isn't a sure thing.

Ah, mornings. They're not all created equal, you know. In fact, this is the time of year when the most sinister mornings come out of the closet. You know what I'm talking about.

Daylight savings time.

It sounds so innocuous. But really, DST is the key ingredient that turns a mundane "Wake up! The sun is shining!" morning into the "Wake up! It's still night, but you gotta get up!" kind of morning. It then proceeds to give me a nudge and a wink as I fumble for my watch in disbelief.

Some of you probably think I'm at the wrong end of the year. DST is supposed to give us more light in the morning, not less. Right?

Technically, yes.

But you're forgetting something. What goes around comes around. DST isn't here forever. Come March 10th of next year, it'll vanish.

And what does that mean for us poor souls who have just become accustomed to the dawn's early light? Darkness. Cold. Misery--each capital letter fully deserved. So, you see, mornings and boogie monsters have something else in common.

Apprehension.

Ah, November. I haven't really missed you. If it weren't for Turkeys and the general festivity that surrounds Thanksgiving and Christmas, I would probably move to some place with maximum sunlight... and no B. Franklin inspired time-shifting maneuvers. A Caribbean island would be a good start.

Because now, even though the sun is shining, I know it's going to leave me, just when I need it the most. When the winter doldrums are over, and the days are getting longer, and I'm breathing a sigh of relief that the worst is over... then, and only then, will DST drop me like a hot potato and ride off into the sunset laughing manically.

A fan of DST... I... am... not.

There's an alternative solution, of course. Why not just stay in bed until the sun rises? An excellent question. By December 21st, Oregonians will enjoy a mere eight hours and forty-two minutes of sunlight per day. While you're soaking in that depressing thought, consider the complementary truth: there'll be fifteen hours and eighteen minutes of potential sleep-time per day as well.

Fifteen hours of sleep. Whoa.

Assuming you don't need to do bothersome things like work or social time, this might be the biggest revelation of your life. In fact, if you suffer from ursus tendencies, this might be the one excuse you needed to start hibernating through the winter. Think about it. What's worse... being a well-rested bear or a sun-deprived human?

:raises hand to the former question:

Until next time,
- Daniel

Quotidian Tasks

The science of the routine. How many times do we get through a week, shake our heads, and ask...

"What exactly did I accomplish?"

It's a hard question to answer when you've been on autopilot, as humans are prone to do. Curiously enough, I find that when I'm on autopilot, it's often because I've been doing things that I find enjoyable.

Running a familiar route.

Watching a movie.

Getting up. Going to work. Coming home. (x5)

I wouldn't say that autopilot is morally wrong. And--enjoying life certainly isn't wrong (if I couldn't watch Andy Griffith re-runs, I'm not sure life would be worth living). All the same, I do worry that living life on autopilot causes us to have tunnel vision.

Tunnel vision?

Tunnel vision.

Why take that left turn on that dirt road, when going straight means I'll finish my run in exactly thirty minutes?

Why risk interruptions by reading a book to the family, when watching a movie would keep everyone easily entertained?

Why switch jobs, when I'm "guaranteed" to retire early if I just get up, go to work, and come home every day for the next thirty years?

"But Daniel," you say. "Isn't adventure enjoyable too?"

Most definitely. But see--we often live by the saying that "one in the hand is worth two in the bush." You already have a grouse in hand. That nice, comfortable, autopilot routine. Why risk upsetting the canoe in search of that extra bit of meat?

Many people don't see why they should do such a thing, and go home and cook that bird over a spit. A few people dive into the bushes. Some catch the bird. Some lose the bird they had in the pursuit. All come home with grass stains. But here's the clincher...

...maybe the joy is in the pursuit.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Rock Climbing

Rock climbing is an activity where you attempt to scale sheer cliffs without dying. To help, you're allowed a rope, a carabiner, a harness, and a partner you trust to hold the rope.

If belaying isn't suicidal enough for you, dispense with that partner and try rappelling solo instead. The main benefit is that you won't suffer the humiliation of someone watching you die. The drawback is you end up in a weird Schrödinger's cat sort of situation.

The final tier of adventure is free climbing, where it's you against the rock. No equipment, no friends. Skill against skill alone. If you lose, you get to spend the last few seconds of your existence thinking about how you were outsmarted by a rock.

Now, it's entirely possible that you'd like to experience the thrill of free climbing without becoming a statistic smeared over the rock below. And--fortunately--your wish can be reality.

It's called bouldering.

Take a wall that's no higher than 10 feet or so, put a cushy mat below, and the worst that can happen is a sprained ankle. It's still a thrill, and kind of addictive besides.

I admit it, I went rock climbing today for the first time, and it was immense fun. The Portland Rock Gym is a fantastic indoor arena with options for belaying, rappelling, and bouldering. My brothers and I had a blast, and--two pieces of good luck--the first week is free, and I have next week off from work.

It might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to my upper body.

Oh, and the best thing? You get to make "Cliffs of Insanity" jokes as much as you want.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Perpetuity

Toyota is known for its reliable cars. Some people have a theory that a Toyota, well maintained, will run forever. Forever being 300-, 400-, or even 500,000 miles.

That's a long time. If you drive 10,000 miles a year, that's a 50-year automobile.

However, Toyota is equally well known for producing responsible cars that are underwhelming to look at and drive. They appeal well to septuagenarians, but not so much to 20-somethings who crave excitement and energy.

So, you end up in this interesting situation of owning a car that will run forever but you probably won't want to own forever. Your only hope is to make it die prematurely. And--as we all know--Toyotas are notoriously difficult to kill.

If you haven't guessed, I own a Toyota. It's a Corolla with 150,000 miles on it. I've owned it for five years, and it's still running strong. My attempts to kill it include:

• Driving over fist-sized rocks in Hells Canyon
• Having the engine pressure-washed
• Hitting speed bumps at 40 MPH
• Backing into a 30-foot trailer

These attempts have utterly failed.

Well, if you can't beat 'em... join 'em.

I now have a new mission. Keep my car running until it hits 400,000 miles. It'll be good for my self-restraint, for my bank account, and for my theft resistance.

It's also good for my mission to find a girl who doesn't care especially for fast sports cars. But I digress... ;-)

Until next time,
- Daniel

Leadership

I really despise this image.

Do a Google image search for "leadership", and half the images are of chess sets. This is terrible. Is that really the best analogy for leadership: a king and his pawns?

This blog post will be a book review (!) of sorts. I just finished three books by Orson Scott Card (Ender's Game, Speaker for the Dead, Ender's Shadow), and am in the middle of a book by Frances Hodgson Burnett (The Lost Prince).

They all have a common thread. Leadership. They're also inspiring reads.

Ender Wiggin is a boy whose destiny is to save the planet Earth from an alien civilization known as the Buggers. He's manipulated, pushed, and flat-out lied to by the adults in his life, while expected to earn the trust, respect, and loyalty of his fellow boy commanders.

His strength is his ability to be the invisible man--eliminating distractions and removing obstacles from those in his charge. He's an enabler, a teacher, a catalyst. He's uncompromising in his expectations of others, but this very characteristic forces them to be the very best they can be. He loves those serving under him, and they love him fiercely in return.

Ender Wiggin is a leader.

Not a delegator.

Not a manager.

A leader.

Stefan Loristan is another leader. He treats everyone with respect. When he talks to you, you feel that you're the center of the Universe. You're treated as an equal, whether you're his 12-year old son, a street urchin named "Rat", or a dire enemy. A leader looks you in the eye, tells you what you need to know, and listens to you.

A leader doesn't let circumstances affect how he treats those who depend on him. A leader always does the right thing. There's no oxymoron so strong as an undependable leader.

I want to be a leader.

Not a king of pawns.

Not a master of servants.

Not a manager of employees.

A leader.

Until next time,
- Daniel

San Francisco

What do you get when you take Portland, multiply its population by four, and stick it next to the Pacific Ocean?

You get San Francisco.

It truly feels like Portland. Not just in look, but in culture. I'm at a conference at the University of California for the week. Not being a particularly strong socialite or bar monger, I've been roaming the city and soaking in the sights instead.

Oh, and the coolest thing? My hotel is only five miles from the Golden Gate Bridge. Built in 1937, and at a length of 4,200 feet, it's the second longest suspension bridge in the U.S. and arguably the most beautiful. It's also one of the most-photographed bridges in the world.

But how many people get to walk it... at night? I'm planning to do that very thing tomorrow at 5am. It may be more like a run, since I need to get back by 7:30am, but with the fog and the lights from the bridge, it's likely to be a ghostly experience.

All that said, San Francisco feels like a lonely place. Despite the enviable climate, sweeping bay, and ocean-front view, the rank and file of the poor, destitute, and homeless is deeper than back home. The city is dirtier and--outside the tourist spots--more run down than I expected.

I hope I never get so distracted by the highlights of the world around me that I neglect to see the lowlights. Such is the daily challenge of an optimist.

Did I just call myself an optimist?

...

AHHH!!! WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME!!!

...

Until next time,
- Daniel

The Long Run

Some people say that long runs are very "Zen", whatever that means. This amuses me. For background, Zen is a major school of Buddhism, originating in 12th century China, and emphasizes enlightenment through meditation and insight.

This is bizarre. Truly. The only enlightenment you'll get during a long run is through pain and self-flagellation. At least--that's the conclusion I came to during my 20-mile run yesterday. And honestly, the enlightenment you glean has nothing to do with a higher spiritual plane. It has everything to do with your nervous system.

Some define running as the love of pain. This is disingenuous. There are two types of pain. First, there's the this-is-broken type pain and then there's the this-will-break-if-you-keep-it-up-much-longer type of pain.

Long runs belong to that second school of thought. They're an arm-wrestling match between self-preservation and a desire for betterment. These two ideals are at war, and--unfortunately--you have to listen to both of them. If you let the betterment side win, you'll end up in a ditch at the side of the road. If you let the self-preservation side win, a whole lot of bathroom scales (and potato chips) are gonna die.

If this sounds like a hard balancing act to pull off, you're right. Essentially, whenever the war gets a little lopsided, you have to allow the losing team to call in a complimentary A-10 strike. After my long runs, I typically give my self-preservation team an all-expense-paid vacation to Disneyland. It has the same effect.

I don't care if you're on speaking terms with your body. Even the best body has the right to know why you're subjecting it to torture. If you don't reply, it'll take your nervous system hostage and kill it one neuron at a time.

And even if you do reply, there's no guarantee that it won't try to kill you. The second tier of defense is pacification. Dry socks, moleskin, and gatorade are all excellent olive branches. But even this approach has failed me in the past.

The final tactic is the A-10 strike I mentioned earlier. Even if the cost of a massage or triple-scoop ice cream cone isn't normally something you'd absorb... let me assure you... when you're in the middle of that final training run before your marathon, you'll promise yourself things that you wouldn't normally promise yourself.

The good thing is that over time, your body trusts you more. It allows you to do things that--just starting out--would have been grounds for a firing squad or being buried alive in a termite mound. Don't abuse that trust, and you'll end up a faster, fitter human being.

Viva la vida!

Until next time,
- Daniel

Clumsiness

Some say that athleticism and coordination go hand in hand. I disagree.

It's anecdotal, of course, but a couple months ago, I went for a 12 mile run on the Eagle Creek Trail near Bonneville Dam. About 8 miles in, I slipped and split my right knee open on a rock. No permanent damage, but the image of a wild-eyed, wild-haired man streaking down a trail with blood streaming down his leg must have mentally scarred numerous hikers that day.

Today, to celebrate Labor Day, I went for a 12 mile hike at Silver Star Mountain near Washougal, WA. And--not to be outdone--I slipped and bloodied my left knee after the first quarter mile.

Gifted. Definitely gifted.

But hey, at least I've got matching scars. Booyah.

Athleticism can be trained. Clumsiness is hereditary and/or age-dependent. Which means you may learn to run like a gazelle, climb like a monkey, or throw like a gorilla. But, if you're the type to give your fingertips a thrill whenever you wield a kitchen knife, there's not much hope.

So, some people fall more than others. That's a given. From here on out, it's all about style, as Buzz Lightyear so astutely noted.

A few pro tips when you find yourself in mid-stumble:

1. Tuck your head in and do a roll.
   Not only does it look awesome, it looks totally intentional--albeit impromptu.
   
2. Use it as a plot device when you're mid-conversation.
   
   "Hey, have you ever tried peach ice..."
   
   :slips:
   
   :segues into barrel roll, taking out a few thistles in the process:
   
   :gets up:
   
   "...cream? It makes me want to do acrobatics just thinking about it."
   
3. Pretend like you've been shot.
   
   Best. Practical. Joke. Ever.

From one klutz to another. Best of luck. Not that it was ever on our side, but optimism is all we've got. Now go forth and do some awesome spontaneous stunts.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Extremes

Humans respond well to extremes. That's why movies are constantly pushing the envelope of what's culturally acceptable. The goal of a movie is to stay at the front of your mind, grab your emotions, and do whatever's necessary to make itself unforgettable.

This is both good and bad. Good in the sense that we're built to pay attention to our moral compasses. Bad in the sense that this curiosity can result in greater and greater violations of the boundaries of that compass.

It's not just movies, of course. Pick an example of music you enjoy. Chances are, it's about something you align with strongly--probably in an extreme or idealistic sense. For example, music that idolizes the one you love is attractive because it mirrors an idealistic extreme many people want. People looking to marry want to marry the perfect person for them--it's impossible, of course, but it plays to our emotions. In the same vein, music that's patriotic is attractive because we want to feel idealistic about our country. Still--such music is often one-sided, a blatantly biased view of a country's good side.

I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with extremes. However, the more you expose yourself to extreme thinking, the more desensitized you become to real genuine thinking. Instead of trying to find the perfect person to marry, try to find the right person. Instead of watching dramatizations of Nazi violence, watch documentaries that tell the story without trying to polarize viewers with extreme closeups of blood and gore.

Some might respond by saying that Jesus was extreme.

No. At least, not in the sense I'm defining extreme here. He told the truth like it was, without spin, without bias. He didn't try to polarize his audience by only telling them things they aligned with. He wasn't a politician. Many people were repulsed by his teaching. Many turned back to the extremes they were pursuing before: absolute wealth, bottomless sin, or earthly perfection. Some crucified him.

If Jesus composed music or directed films, they wouldn't be critically acclaimed. They would be shunned by many and ignored by more. They probably wouldn't even be profitable or successful by worldly standards

I'm not advocating censorship by any means. But, next time you hear a song about kicking Satan in the teeth or decide to watch reruns of The Brady Bunch, consider whether your attraction is to an idealistic theme or the truth as it really is.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Gimli Syndrome

Most cars have four wheels. Two are powered. Two are along for the ride. Normally this is a good thing for reasons of economy. 4WD vehicles are notoriously inefficient. That's why I bought a passenger car. It's a sensible commuting option.

But, for the first time in my life, I've seen first-hand why people buy more vigorous transportation options, like Jeeps, Tanks, and Batmobiles. Turns out they're useful when the pavement runs out, the road turns to boulders, and the hairpins turn to switchbacks.

Where have I taken my Toyota Corolla, with its whopping 6" of ground clearance and 1.8 liter engine?

Eastern Oregon. Hells Canyon, to be more precise. A 27 mile drive through roads full of desolation and if-you-get-stuck-here-you're-not-getting-out vibes.

It was one of those roads with a single lane and no turnouts. Eventually, even though you realize the error of your ways, you have no choice but to continue. It's how I picture it would be like to run the gauntlet. You're walking (driving feebly) down a path (rut) between two lines of hostile shipmates (sheer cliffs) being physically abused (bottoming out) and hoping that your blood (oil, power steering fluid, brake fluid, etc...) doesn't run out before reaching the end.

We reached our destination... Dug Bar ranch... in a cloud of dust. I knew--was certain--we weren't getting out of there. At least, not without a helicopter, barge, or paving crew.

And I was wrong.

So, it turns out that if a car has decent tires, and can grip the road, you can get out of almost anywhere, provided the car doesn't stall on you. Which is tricky. But, fortunately, mine's a manual, so we were able to rocket out of the canyon in first gear, screaming around hairpins, giving my co-pilot ulcers as he gazed at the distant boulders marked "death" 500 feet below his window.

There were one... maybe two... panicked screams of "YOU'RE GETTING TOO CLOSE".

But we survived. Thrived even. Which goes to show that even the sketchiest of situations can turn out all right in the end.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Lao Tzu

You can't take it with you, especially when hiking the PCT. It's not that I know this from personal experience. Not yet, anyway. It's just that a friend lent me a book about the Pacific Crest Trail, and it's fantastic.

Unfortunately, I can't recommend the book, because of the hippies. Lots of hippies. I'm sure they mean well, but they're just...

...a little obnoxious.

...and crude.

...and... I dunno. Just not terrific role models. Maybe I'm being a bad discriminatory white dude, but I digress... ;-)

You've probably heard the Chinese proverb:

"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

~ Lao Tzu

This is bogus, given that the ancient Chinese didn't use the mile. They used the li. The mile has a Roman origin and dates back to the first century BC. The Tao Te Ching dates back to the sixth century BC.

Of course, what happened is that--since the li is the Chinese equivalent of an English mile--the proverb was transliterated to use a more familiar unit of measure. Problem is, the li is actually about a third of a mile, so a more accurate reading of the proverb is:

"A journey of three-hundred and thirty-three miles begins with a single step."

~ Lao Tzu (proper reading)

Which definitely doesn't have the same ring to it.

All to say, if the Chinese idea of a seemly insurmountable journey was a mere 333 mile slog, they'd probably have a conniption at the thought of the PCT, a 2,663 mile march through some of the most rugged, pristine wilderness this side of the Rocky Mountains.

So, if you're crazy enough to go on a trek that will entail upwards of six million steps, you seriously can't take it with you.

Leave the DSLR.

Leave the canvas tent.

Leave the 95 liter backpack.

We live in a beautiful lightweight, polyester future folks. Best to take advantage of it.

Unfortunately, unless you plan to subsist on a Bear Grylls diet of cacti and earthworms, you need to pack food and water. Equally unfortunate--food and water are heavy commodities. Water weighs over 8 pounds per gallon, and food--well--the drier the food, the more water you need to pack, so it's a catch-22.

Unless you happen to have a stash of Lembas bread handy. Which... REI doesn't stock. Biggest oversight in the universe, right there.

Until next time,
- Daniel

P.S. Oh, and this is my 100th blog post. Woot! You know that they say... a journey of a thousand blog posts begins with a single...

...oh, never mind. :-P

Ambition

Ambition is a funny thing. When coupled with the proper attitude, it can get you places. Many places.

Ambition is a kind of universal skill. It applies to everything. Sure, you could go to MIT and get your Ph.D. in Theoretical Physics, but unless you're Gordon Freeman, you probably won't become the leader of an underground resistance movement if you don't have the ambition to match.

Yes, I know. It seems that every fantasy novel has a reluctant leader. Well, as much as I'd love to say that the vast majority of our government is composed of reluctant, servant leaders, I have my reservations. More likely, these people got where they are because of their ambition.

Put another way, you don't get to be the President of the United States by combining Diet Coke and Mentos in your mother's basement. 'Nuff said.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I've been tasked with screening potential interview candidates for the UX team at Puppet Labs. We meet over lunch and talk for an hour about... stuff... so I can get a feel for what they know and what they're passionate about.

The annoying thing--frustrating, really--is the general lack of ambition. It seems to be independent of skill set, experience, or seniority (though fresh-out-of-college graduates might have a slight edge). I don't get it. Ten minutes into the conversation, and you're not connecting, not getting that spark that says you absolutely must work with this person. All you can think about is paying the waiter and getting back to work with your colleagues who actually care about what they do.

Honestly--the main thing we're looking for is ambition. People who leap out of bed in the morning, fly to the office, sail through the day, energize everyone they touch, and go home dreaming about how they'll change the world tomorrow. It doesn't matter if they don't meet all the qualifications out of the box. If we had hundreds of ambitious individuals banging on our door every day, we'd use qualifications as a filter, but we don't. It takes us 2-3 months to fill each position.

Which made today's interview a breath of fresh air.

He's never gone to college, has been working at an Apple retail store for two years, doesn't have a UX skill set (but has strong empathy for people), and wants to start a company within the decade. Ambitious. Vivacious. Hungry for challenge and eager to learn.

I almost cried.

We're bringing him on as a management intern. An executive assistant of sorts, working under my boss. If--after three months--he rocks our socks off, we'll hire him full-time. His job? Provide air cover for the team, improve cross-team communication, and make sure people are excited about what they're working on. In short--his mission, should he choose to accept it, is to make us awesome.

In exchange, we'll teach him everything we know, send him to conferences to learn everything they know, and--when he's ready--send him off to found his own company and be awesome.

Ambition. Get it. Use it.

Oh, and I promise this will be my last work-related post for awhile. It's just--when happiness and inspiration descend on you at the same time, you can't say no.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Cars

My car, unfortunately, is not a sleek Aston Martin DBS, streaking down a deserted highway in the midst of a lightning storm in the middle of the night. My car is a balding Corolla LE with a pipe dream of breaking 90 MPH one day.

It's not so bad, if you think about it. Buying an Aston Martin for commuting is akin to using the backwash from a Boeing 747 to clear the leaves from your driveway. If you care about efficiency (and not all car owners do), there are certain cars that classify as sensible and others that... don't.

Of course, the same computer nerds that drive their smart cars around town while laughing at the hot rod crowd are the same ones who have supercomputers in their hall closets. We all have our areas of self-indulgence and weakness.

Scratch that, actually. I might be misidentifying passion as self-indulgence. It's important to be passionate about something. Your work. Your family. Your faith. Your hobbies. If you're passionate about something, you invest the time needed to become an expert, you become good at telling others about it, and--most importantly--the passion can spill over into other areas of your life (unless you're obsessed--another topic altogether--and not altogether a bad thing, depending on the subject). ;-)

Okay, so, there's a financial side to all of this. The sensible person inside each of you is shooting holes through my thesis with reckless abandon. "But what about the cost, huh? I'm passionate about space shuttles, buddy."

The other side of my thesis is that if you're passionate about something, you'll find a way to do it responsibly. Maybe you budget for your hobby, or wait until later in life when you can afford it, or find a way to make it your career, or channel your energies into a more realistic alternative (I'm passionate about trains. 1:8 scale model trains).

Life is hard. Find something you're passionate about it. Learn about it. Do it. Help other people find their passion. Don't live vicariously through your children. They'll find their own things they're passionate about. Live passionately yourself, as though this were your last day to live.

For the Christian, there's a list of things we must be passionate about. And--I'd suggest--if you aren't passionate about those things, you better find out why, because there's nothing as empty as Christians who aren't passionate about what they believe. But--assuming you have your spiritual house in order, make sure your passion spills out and fills every cranny of who you are as a person. Be genuine, real, and exciting.

(At this point, some of you are convinced that I'm trying to find an excuse to buy an Aston Martin DBS. And you would be totally right... if I didn't think Ferrari's were better.)

Don't worry. I don't think I'll ever actually buy one. I'd hate to have to sell any of the supercomputers in my closet. :-P

Until next time,
- Daniel

UX

Several people have asked what I do for work. Saying "UX design" earns a snarky glance and a 360-degree rotation of both eyes (sometimes in opposing directions, but rarely).

Here's a better description. Say you're using some software--an e-mail client, for example. Problem is, you can't figure out how to write a new e-mail. There are buttons on the screen, but none of them are labeled "New", "Write" or "Compose", and all the icons are characteristically foreign.

At this point, you probably feel stupid and reaffirmed of your belief in your computational naïvety. But it's not your fault. You're not a Neanderthal; you're a card-carrying Homo sapien--made in the image of God, no less.

No computer software is beyond your capabilities, even if you think it is. The truth of the matter is, your software is to blame, or--more precisely--the UX designers behind that software.

Yes, boys and girls. People like me are responsible for your daily humiliation with computers. I apologize for myself and those of my ilk.

A day on the job consists of lots of research, talking to users, drawing on whiteboards (and inhaling sharpie fumes), and communicating with the people who build, market, and sell your software. It's almost enough to make a body an extrovert.

Which isn't a bad thing. You just feel sorry for the poor people who have to deal with an introvert before that introvert undergoes metamorphosis and turns into a beautiful extroverted butterfly.

I'll stop.

The point is, people shouldn't have to hate their computers. Here's a solution. Talk to us instead (or yell, scream, throttle... whichever suits you). We love to hear about pain--firsthand, if possible. Why? Because of superpowers.

Superpowers?

Yes. Superpowers.

Because every UX designer is responsible for shipping quality software, if we discover a problem, it's our responsibility to see it fixed. If you can't write an e-mail, it's our mission/quest/life-purpose to see that can't turned into a can. If that means saying 'no' to the CEO, and letting that ship date slip a couple months to get the user experience our users need, that's exactly what we'll do.

Wireframes, workflows, and user stories. It's all very process-oriented and scientific. Conferences, UX books, and design websites. It's 24/7 education.

...not surprisingly, the result is strange off-hour prose. On blogs... and the like...

Heh.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Job Security and Cheese Graters

Job security. It's what we all want. But I bet you've discovered--as I have--that it's a difficult concept to quantify. What does it mean to be really, really secure in your job?

Well, I think--after a quest involving dragons, maidens in distress, and vast hoards of gold--I've found the perfect litmus test...

WOULD YOUR BOSS KILL A THIRD OF THE COMPANY WITH A CHEESE GRATER TO KEEP YOU?

Because mine would. At least, that's what he told me.

On the one hand, I feel absolutely, confidently secure. Barring something stupid, I can't see half the company willing to risk their lives to a piece of corrugated metal to get rid of me. On the other hand, it's kind of a heavy responsibility.

I mean--seriously--who wants to be responsible for keeping their boss out of jail?

Think about it. I leave, he snaps. Next thing you know, the survivors are staggering from the rubble, clutching their torn clothing and partially abraded flesh.

It would look really bad on my resume, not to mention the guilt of the slain on my mind. I didn't sign up for that kind of carnage.

As I see it, I've really only got one option. I have to wait until he retires. He's in his low-forties, so--worst case scenario--I've got 22 years to wait.

...unless he doesn't believe in retirement.

...drat.

But okay, it's not as bad as all that. I love my job. I work hard. It's not like the HR department is going to turn suicide bomber on me. A doomsday scenario isn't going to happen.

But still... you have to ask: "what if..."

You know, it's probably not worth it. Job security is great, but in my case, it's more like a nuclear standoff. If either side attacks, somebody's gonna die.

There's probably a better litmus test. Raises, vacation time, company cars, etc... Those seem like saner tests of your job security. Yeah, better back away from the cheese graters.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Happy

Are you happy? Truly happy? Do you have the assurance of a child in the arms of his father? Do you have the peace of a dove in her nesting place?

I'm pretty sure that happiness isn't something we can quantify. There aren't any constants behind it; no equation I can derive. I think that's why the sudden loss of happiness makes us feel so hopeless and confused, or--sometimes--even accusatory.

Let me explain with one of my favorite plot devices. Flowers. I could also direct you to a Brad Paisley song by the same name, but I won't. (When you come back from YouTube, let me know how you liked it.)

Do flowers make you happy? Flowers from your boyfriend might make you happy, while flowers from your ex probably won't. So no, it's not just the flowers that make you happy.

What about the person behind the flowers? If you know he's just being thoughtful, they'll probably make you happy. If you know he's just trying to make amends without a proper apology, they probably won't. So no, it's not just the person that makes you happy.

What about your predisposition to the person behind the flowers? This seems closer. Happiness comes from inside of us. It's a choice, not an obligation. We have free will. We have the free will to be happy if someone gives us dandelions, just as we have the free will to be happy if someone gives us a bouquet of white roses in a crystal vase.

(We could also be selfish prigs and be snobbish and rude in either of those cases.)

If your ex offers you flowers, you probably won't be happy because of a predisposition against either the person or his intent behind the gift. If your husband offers you flowers to avoid saying "I'm sorry" after a fight, you probably won't be happy because you want an apology, not flowers.

Happiness is a choice. I'm not saying it's wrong to not be happy, though we're probably not happy more often than we should be.

Of course, I've only talked about the receiving end of happiness. If you try to make someone else happy--with pure and thoughtful intentions--only to have your attempts shunned and ignored, that's hard. It's like buying a birthday present for a friend, only to have them return it to you unopened and without thanks.

All to say, I think I've found what I want to accomplish in life. I want to be happy, and I want to try to make other people happy. The exact ministry this entails remains to be determined. Call my pastor if I open a candy factory, don a purple suit, or start wearing a cheesy smile.

Eh, about that last point... I may already be there.

Until next time,
- Daniel

Flatirons

The Flatirons are rock formations near the already-high town of Boulder, CO. They are neither flat nor iron, but I won't belabor the point. Instead, they chew you up and spit you out, making you feel like you were hit by the flat of an iron, so perhaps they deserve their name after all.

All this to say, I went on a hiking expedition today. I've never seen a natural sandstone arch in my 24 years of existence, and there's a 40-foot beauty in the Flatirons known as the Royal Arch.

I've never been much a fan of topo maps. Distance is what rocks my boat. I saw a distance of 3.5 miles round trip and strapped on my Merrells.

Never mind that you gain 1750 feet of elevation in 1.75 miles. Details like these slay empires.

I also don't recommend doing the barefoot or minimalist thing in the Flatirons. There are lots of rocks, most of them sharp, all of them hostile. If they don't bruise your heel, they'll trip you up and make you crush your head.

All to say, I'm half-convinced that the word for 'serpent' in Genesis 3 actually refers to fist-sized chunks of sandstone. But I'm no scholar.

Moan and groan, I may, but if you ever find yourself in Boulder and have nothing else to do, see this. It is awesome. Of course, if you've already been to Arches National Park in Utah, never-mind. I'll just turn all kinds of green, because that's on my list of must-go-to-places-before-I-die-in-50-years.

But yes, in this glorious world bereft of oneupmanship, I can say with a clear conscience that I've never seen any rock sculpture quite like what I saw today. If you want to talk about 100 foot arches, double arches, and arches with curlicues, I will listen with open ears and a bleeding heart.

(And yes, that picture is totally of the Royal Arch. And no, that is totally not me in the foreground. If I ever look like I'm about to enter a Stargate, shoot me before I do. Nothing good can come of it.)

Until next time,
- Daniel

Sailing

No, it wasn't even remotely close to a three-hour tour. We didn't end up stranded. In fact, the whole trip was rather boring in a lazy, warm, and comfortable way.

And--as it turns out--you don't actually need a storybook ending to spend an enjoyable afternoon on a lake. Not that storybook endings aren't awesome. Everyone I know would give their front incisors to be marooned on a desert island in some remote jurisdiction with periodic hurricanes and copious quantities of coconut crabs.

(If, at this point, all you can think about is the redundancy of the phrase 'front incisors', consider joining the dental profession.)

There's something to be said for being content with life as it is. Not content in the sense of status quo, but content in the sense that you're used to having a picnic in the park without the earth swallowing you whole and being held captive by the Grand Viceroy of the Underworld, GVU for short.

Okay, maybe I do mean status quo. If random encounters with the GVU is the status quo in your life, I'm sorry.

Most storyboard characters take this sort of misadventure more or less calmly, or at least with a certain resignation. I--on the other hand--would probably just scream and die of cardiac arrest.

Usually, by the fifth consecutive kidnapping by orcs, you'll see the lead characters shoot an expression that says "really??". Maybe raise an eyelash or two. That's about it. They're made of sterner stuff than I.

At one point in my life, I set out to understand why we're drawn to stories about people with extraordinarily bad luck. One theory is that these sorts of people are gifted weighted luck dice by the GVU. I was forced to abandon this theory through lack of evidence and spontaneous seismic rumblings.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that we're just stupidly happy when epically bad stuff happens to strangers we don't know, and doesn't happen to us. This is probably wrong, but until I overcome this seed of iniquity in myself, I'll continue to laugh with self-evident glee every time the Pittsburgh Steelers lose a game.

And... not to pass off the morality of this discovery on genetics, but I suspect there's a self-preservation gene involved as well. Suffice it to say, 88° F weather on a tranquil lake with a slight tailwind? I'll take it.

Until next time,

- Daniel


P.S. Thanks to the Engels for providing the vessel and taking on an unlikely non-paying passenger.

Flashy Flier

You're going to want to buy one of these. Hours and hours of fun, no moving parts, a veritable smorgasbord of fun.

What am I talking about? I'm talking about the Flashy Flier. It's a toy that can travel at speeds of 30 miles-per-hour through the air, meaning loads of blunt-force trauma potential. But it's made of plastic, so it's not lethal. Usually.

This little trinket is so versatile, it will change your life. You can play catch with it, golf with it, or hunt with it. I'm neither jesting nor boasting. 3 in 1 deals don't get any better than this.

This gizmo practically sells itself. There's no need to use SCREAMING CAPS, price it at Nine dollars and Ninety-Nine cents, or wear tweed while making your sales pitch. Every household in America (and possibly the Milky Way galaxy) needs one of these... and maybe two (for when your cat has the same epiphany that you're about to have and steals yours).

How do I know that you need this? I have tEsTiMoNiAlS from v-e-r-y satisfied Customers.

I call my Flashy Flier the whiz-bang from heaven, and sometimes Thor's hammer. Some days, when I'm bored and have nothing else to do, I'll play catch with myself. It's awesome. You throw it up, up, up, and it comes down, down, down, and if you don't catch it, you get a bruise or a black eye or a notched tooth. I can't recommend it enough. I'd give it two thumbs up, but the chronic arthritis in my right hand is making that a little hard right now. 

~ Kari

Look through the bandages and head gauze, and you'll see Bob, a deliriously happy owner of a Flashy Flier. You can hardly keep him away from his spinning contraption. Hours on hours he would spend throwing it up in the air, squinting against the sun as it came down again. So enthralled, is Bob, that we have to keep him strapped to his bed. His rehab ends in 6 months, at which point--I'm sure--he'll be right back at 'em.

~ Scott (on behalf of Bob, who is indisposed at the moment)

Hey, when they say the Flashy Flier is awesome for hunting, they mean it. I'm a crotchety home owner of 83, and own three of these little gadgets. When the neighborhood kids start messing with the pink flamingos on my lawn, I'm out and flinging before you can say knife. No permanent damage, and a better deterrent than bear spray or taser. I've earned the nickname Grouchy Gramps, and mean to keep it.

~ Gerhard

The testimonies speak for themselves, so I won't belabor the point. Get your Flashy Flier today!

On another, unrelated, topic--a good hard game of frisbee keep-away can make you feel as though you've been mauled by a grizzly after getting run over by a lawn mower. Just a word to the wise.

Until next time,
- Daniel