On the subway yesterday I saw a great quote by E.B. White in his essay Here is New York:

There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter--the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something...

Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion.

I love this city. Growing up in California my eyes always faced east. I can't isolate the point where I realized that I held New York on a pedestal -- perhaps it was in my youthful reading of Dodgers history books -- but by the time I left home at 18 I knew I would eventually make my way here to New York.

Living in North Carolina is great, but I know in my heart that I'll eventually live here. Not forever, but for a while. It's not that I think that New York will solve all of my problems (which are few) or give me some mystical life improvement (which I can get anywhere), but simply that living here would allow me to achieve a goal I've had for some time. I want to live in New York!

I'm patient, though, and I'm not in any hurry to up and move soon. I know that I'll eventually move here, and that thought fills me with joy and anticipation, and perhaps some of that passion that White spoke of.

After watching the wonderful musical-ish film "Once" roughly ten times in the past half-year, I realized this morning that I'm totally in love with Marketa Irglova. She's beautiful! And talented. Not really the greatest actress in the world, but I just don't care... I love her! I'll give any of my readers ten bucks ($10!!!) if they can get me a date with her.

So tonight I figured I'd go to downtown Boston to see what was going on there, but as soon as I walked out of the T, I was surrounded by tourists. And there's nothing I hate more than tourists!!! So I high-tailed it out if there as quickly as I could and came over to Fenway. I knew the Sox were out of town, but I also remembered that there were some sports bars around here. So now I'm sitting at a table at a mostly-empty sports bar next to Fenway, watching the Sox play on TV. It rained a bit today so the air is nice and cool. Basically, it's perfect.

Tomorrow afternoon I'm heading back to New York.

Geographically, that is. I'm in Manhattan now. I stayed with my friend Karlos last night at his place in the Upper East Side. Later this afternoon I go to Boston for two days.

Philadelphia was cool. I had a problem with my reservation and ended up staying in a hotel out by the airport. It worked out fine, though, because they had an shuttle that dropped me off near the train so I could go into the city. Once on the subway I saw a woman get her bag stolen. It was quite the hubbub.

One of the subway lines in Philly is an underground trolley. It's like a light rail, but there's only one car! So it ends up looking like it's just a bus driving underground. Very "Total Recall," if you ask me. And the trolley takes really tight turns and pulls in to really small stations without turnstiles. A very unique rail system. I liked it.

When it was time to come to New York, I took a SEPTA R7 train to Trenton, then an NJ Transit train to NY Penn Station. And now I'm here. Well, since last night. My bus to Boston is at 6 PM today. I specifically chose a "later" bus so that I could watch the Spain vs. Russia match this afternoon. Go Spain!

I've spent the last 24 hours in DC, which, as you well know by now, is our nation's capital. It's been a pleasant trip. I took in a nice dinner and a Nationals game with my dear friend Allison, then met up for a late night dessert with my best friend Mac, who's at Howard for 6 weeks attending a conference on the literature of Equitoreal Guinea (no, I'm not making that up). Stayed at a good hostel called the Gallery Inn. Now I'm sitting on a bus waiting to leave Chinatown, heading to Philadelphia for the night. Gotta love cheap buses with onboard wi-fi. I could do important things like sketch some web sites or read a book, but I think I'll just watch "The Hunt For Red October" instead.

I dare any of my readers to find three adjacent cities or towns with as cool of names as Nags Head, Kill Devil Hills, and Kitty Hawk. All three are great city names on their own, and together they're a force to be acknowledged. Truly, is there another trio of neighboring cities with as wonderful of names?

I'm leaving on Sunday for two weeks. I'll still be connected via the slew of communication devices that I carry with me, but I'll be gone from Raleigh for about two weeks. The trip can be divided into three parts:

Part I:
My dad is flying into Raleigh this evening. He has a conference in Annapolis on Tuesday and came out a few days early to hang out with me. After church tomorrow we'll leave for the Outer Banks, where we'll stay in Kitty Hawk for the night. Then Monday we'll drive up the DelMarVa Peninsula, stopping in Newport News so he can show me the house we lived in when I was a baby. Side story: I was born in Charleston, SC, where my dad was stationed in the Navy. After I was born he got out of the Navy and went to work for a company in Newport News, wherein he traveled all around the Mid-Atlantic region fixing EKG machines. It was one of my dad's rare soirees into the private sector, as since and before then he has worked only for the Navy or Navy contractors. After a couple years in Newport News, we moved back to my parents' home, the L.A. area, so my dad could tend to his mother, sick with cancer and a widow.

So we'll go through Newport News so I can see the house we lived in, then we'll hit the DelMarVa Peninsula, then we'll head up to DC via that direction. My dad's conference starts Tuesday in Annapolis, and we'll separate on Monday with him driving my car to a parking lot where I can retrieve it at the end of the trip.

Part II:
I'll be in DC Monday night, Philadelphia Tuesday night, New York City Wednesday night, Boston Thursday and Friday nights, then back to New York City. I'm taking buses/trains and staying in hostels. Should be a lot of fun. A little travel, a little baseball, a little food. I'm looking forward to it.

Part III:
After I get back to New York, I'll spend the week working remotely from Red Hat's office downtown, staying with my buddy Karlos for a few days. On Thursday the 3rd or Friday the 4th, I'll head back to DC, pick up my car, and likely stay another night before heading home on the 5th. I figure that DC on the 4th could be cool.

So that's my trip. I'll have my phone and email and blogging capabilities, and I'll also have my video camera. My buddy Andy and I are working on a cool little film project that we should be able to talk more about in a couple of weeks. I need some more time to ponder it before I tell you about it.

Anyone care to join me in a life of petty crime?

http://www.thisislondon.co.uk/news/article-2349...icle.do

Well, more appropriately, it's an avulsion fracture. Can I still say it's "broken," or am I required to use the more precise descriptor, "fractured?" According to the doctor (and the interwebs), an avulsion fracture occurs when the tendon connected to the bone "rips" a piece of the bone off of the rest of the bone due to a tremendous force. That would describe it well, I think. So that's that. No treatment needed since it's almost completely healed. The swelling has gone down a lot, and the pain decreases daily.

Funny story, though: When the doctor walked in, the first thing he said was "What happened to the rest of your fingers?" This man is a orthopaedist, mind you, so he's seen his fair share of freaky-deaky bones. But many of you will have noticed that I have extremely flexible joints in my fingers. They generally look like they're hyperextended. I told the doc that my fingers had always been that way, and he said "You have Swan Neck deformity." He sat there and fiddled around with my fingers for a while and said that it's generally a remnant of arthritis, but also can simply be caused by over-stretching of the tendons at some point in the developmental stage. Very interesting. So now I know what's wrong with my fingers.

Overall, it's good to know that my finger will be fine. Hopefully the pain will continue to diminish. Although it doesn't hurt when I'm sitting around, only when I mash or pull back (more than a little) on the finger. So hopefully I don't mash it anymore.

A deep search in the annals of this web site will reveal a post about Godwin's Law. It would've been a few years ago -- I know I posted about it. At least I think I did. Maybe it was Mac that posted about it. I think I told him about it, though. Regardless, whether he posted it or not, I've been keen on Godwin's Law for a number of years now, and I continue to be amused when it gets applied in a conversation. It's one of those little things that makes me laugh while making everyone else wonder what I'm laughing about:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Godwin%27s_Law

The law is simple:

As a Usenet discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches one.

In other words: "Keep debating and surely someone will eventually make a comparison to Hitler." It can be applied to any conversation, not just those taking place in a Usenet thread. And it really applies to any type of irrational comparison to extreme political or historical figures/ideologies, not just Hitler or the Nazis. There is even a logical fallacy built around this concept, known as Reductio ad Hitlerum. The Wikipedia page refers to it as "playing the Nazi card."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reductio_ad_Hitlerum

Frankly, it's a sign of immaturity. Now, I'm not the greatest debater in the world. I've never actually even done formal debate. But my personal experience over years of casual political discussion with people that I largely disagree with (Utah Mormon Uber-conservatives) has shown me that far too many people lose control of their argument earlier than expected, and in doing so they often grasp for any argument they can muster. In those moments, Godwin's Law is regularly proven.

Four weeks ago yesterday I was playing goalkeeper in our indoor soccer game when I got kicked in the right hand while going after a ball. All four of my fingers were jammed, but all but the ring finger were fine by that night or the next day. The ring finger, however, got really messed up. I'm talking about swelling, pain, inflexibility, etc. By that weekend it was black and blue all through the finger and into the palm of my hand. Ask anyone in our house at Duck... it was gross.

So now four weeks later the finger is still messed up. It's still swollen, but not black or blue or anything. Flexibility is limited. And it hurts. I don't think it's "broken," necessarily, but something is WRONG in there. I've resisted going to the doctor, thinking it was just a bad jam. But it hasn't improved in over two weeks, so I've decided to just shut up and see a physician about it. Even if all they do is tell me to splint it, at least I'll have the right diagnosis.

My favorite word that I like to say incorrectly is "subpoena." I prefer to pronounce it sub-po-EEN-a. Anyone else?

I also like to pronounce the word "problem" as if I were Cuban or Puerto Rican: PRO-len. "Joo gotta prolen?"

In May of 2000 I finished my two-year mission to Barcelona, Spain. My parents flew over to Spain to meet up with me and travel a bit around western Europe. We stayed in Barcelona for a day or two, then went down to Tarragona and Valencia before returning to Barcelona and then heading up to France. We took a train to Paris via Avignon and Lyon, then stayed a few days in Paris. Of course we did the normal "first time in Paris" touristy bit: museums, monuments, walk to the top of Notre Dame, etc. The usual stuff. One highlight was a late-night trip to the top deck of the Eiffel Tower.

The tower was closing soon, and we were pushing the clock as it was, but as soon as we got there, rather than go straight to the top, my dad headed off to a restroom to take care of some business. My mom and I took the elevator to the top and told my dad to meet us up there when he was done. Five minutes went by, then ten. Fifteen minutes past and my mom started to cry a little. Where was he?

My mother Connie was a romantic. She loved Michael Landon, for example, and she openly wept during particularly tender commercials. She loved carnations and kisses. She had dreamed her whole life, surely, of that moment, of being on top of the Eiffel Tower and sharing a moment with my dad. But we waited and waited for him, and finally the deck was starting to clear out. Closing time. When we were almost ready to leave, Dad walked through the door. He had been held up below and was only allowed up because we were already up there. He may have been the last person allowed up that night. It was like some kind of Sleepless in Seattle scene.

He held my mom and they kissed. I walked around to the other side of the deck so they could have their special time. It was beautiful, there's no doubt of that. And she was so happy. She died soon after we arrived home from the trip, and I've felt since then that perhaps her departure was a tad less painful knowing that she had checked off a few of her life's goals in the time shortly before her death.

I know I'll never forget it.

I was never good at cursive. Like, really not good. In fact, quite bad. I have shaky penmanship and always have. I blame my skipping of kindergarten for it (as well as my inability to color in between the lines -- I'm terrible with crayons). Don't ever skip your children through kindergarten if you're not willing to accept the trade-off of a lifetime of a terrible writing craft.

But where has cursive gone? Has it gone the way of the Dodo? Do they still teach it? Any elementary school teachers care to inform us? I'd be hard-pressed to believe that it's still being taught. Even if it were being taught, it's completely worthless come adulthood. I mean, how many normal-functioning adults do you know that still write in cursive? What would happen if you tried to use cursive in a corporate communication? That should be a terminable offense!

I did find this CRUCIAL font last month (I totally just stole that adjective from Sean Steinhauser. I think it means something like "rad" or "cool" or "bootsy" or something), however. Check it:


Truly, I don't know if cursive is still being taught. I don't know anyone that uses it. I'm leafing through a few birthday cards here on my desk, and none of them were written in cursive. From this blogger's view, there appear to be only three ways of writing:

• Handwriting in the "printed" style.
• Typing.
• Chiseling glyphs into rock.

I want to bring this ancient artform back, though, yo! Who's with me? I think I may incorporate a "Cursive" unit into my Sunday School lesson next week. Everyone bring a feather pen and some parchment. Can the ward provide the ink? Bill, do you know if the ward has ink? Can you ask your dad? If we can't get ink from the ward, someone let me know and I'll swing by Office Depot (or as I prefer to call it: "The Office Despot," like this mean old guy I worked with at Novell named Dennis. He was a total despot! He was mean!).

Here, I'll go first:


I should point out that I scanned that handwriting sample with my new HP Photosmart 4280. I got it free when I bought my Mac! It's my first printer ever! It does so much, too! It prints, it copies, it scans, it faxes, it cooks, it cleans, and it prays.

My world was thrown upside down this morning, friends, and I call upon you for your assistance. An eBuddy of mine (mpfunk over on CougarBoard) posted a link to a video, and I have to say that it's shaken me to the very core. Sometimes religious folk lose their witness of their beliefs after something comes along to shake up their faith. Maybe an unkind word is said or an unjust accusation is made. Perhaps a point of doctrine is found to be unimaginable or unbearable. We all know people who've questioned their testimony at various times.

This morning I questioned my testimony. Not of my religion (of which I proudly puff my chest out), but of my deep and spiritual affiliation with the Los Angeles Dodgers. Most of you will recall that my love for the Dodgers resides in the deepest crevices of my soul, nestled within the symbolic valves of my symbolic heart. I love the Dodgers like a man loves his wife: through years of devotion I've remained with them. Thick and thin, my friends. That's how I describe it. My relationship with the Dodgers is like a marriage (although I've never been married. Maybe John Younce can tell me if this is true about a marriage or not). I'm not always happy, but I ride through life with the Dodgers, traveling over hills and through valleys. It's a type of devotion, really.

So this morning I was given reason to call upon a doubt in regard to my passionate love for the Los Angeles Dodgers. I don't know if I should thank mpfunk for posting this, or if I should hate him for it. I just don't know what to do, though. How will I make it through this? How can I look at my beloved Dodgers organization without recalling these fateful images? I'm at a loss.



This video is the most embarrassing thing I've ever been associated with in all of my life. Look at Orel Hershiser! Look at Pedro Guerrero! Look at Rick Honeycutt! What are those moves?! Who told them that this would be a good idea? That's what I really want to know: what advisor told them, "Gentlemen, I think this Boogie idea is a winner!" That person should find rest in a Hall of Shame somewhere. He should be given the Pete Rose treatment. They should Shoeless Joe that guy, whomever he is. We can only pray that his fingers are no longer touching our beloved pastime.

Where do I go from here? How do I patch this one up? Do I move on? Do I divorce myself from these 29 years of commitment? As always, your opinions are welcome and even encouraged.

I really am grateful for the people who've quietly prodded me back into a daily blogging routine. I blogged for years, but after I moved to Raleigh it turned more into a travelogue. But I miss expressing myself. My web site used to be a haven for my creative endeavors. You can still see some of those experiments laced throughout this site. Hopefully I'll get the motor going again and get back to what I was once doing.

As a first step, I changed the design of my site last night. I've wanted to do something retro (aka EXTREME!!!) for some time now. When I started designing a new site last month, though, I went with something conservative. I kept the same palette and was more focused on moving to WordPress on my server than switching up the design too drastically. Last week I decided to abandon the move to WordPress. I should say, however, that WordPress really has come a long way, and I'd be happy to make the switch, but I simply chose simplicity of administration over the customization and control of running it on my own server. So I'm still with Blogger, still using custom templates, and still pushing to my own FTP server. That at least gives me SOME control over my site, and that's fine for now.

So the site looks different. I wanted to do a retro theme, like I mentioned. I played with eight different backgrounds before arriving at this one. I wanted to separate the posts somehow, but I didn't want to use a horizontal rule (in non-web-development speak, that's known as a "line"), so I thought I'd experiment with a color behind the title of the post. I really like the way that came out. It separates the posts without requiring too much spacing nor a horizontal rule. I was going to try it with a lime green and an orange, but the pink gave me exactly what I wanted on my first try.

You may hate the look and feel of the site. That's fine with me. I wanted to make a bold design statement, and I feel like that's been accomplished. My only question is this: If you don't like the look, will that keep you from visiting regularly?

I came home from the Far East in December with a new view of what it means to truly treat your customers well. I had dozens of great customer service experiences on that trip, and since then I've been pondering American customer service. One of the internal blogs here at Red Hat had a link today to an interesting article in the Harvard Business Review on Zappos' culture of excellence in the customer service realm:

http://discussionleader.hbsp.com/taylor/2008/05/wy_zappos_pays_new_employees_t.html

Inside the article there's a link to one customer's telling of a surprising exchange with Zappos Customer Service:

http://www.zazlamarr.com/blog/?p=240

My minor shoe obsession may have found a new distributor!