the expensive stuff...

Moving, in any capacity, is probably among my top five most dreaded tasks. Having done so four times in the past five years -- eight if you include seasonal relocation consisting of all but furniture -- I've grown to strongly dislike "stuff." My desk consists of some pens in a holder, my printer/copier/fax/scanner, my in-progress book, a lamp, and various designs of "thank-you" cards. I'm a firm believer that the minimalist theory evolved through annual-movers and developed as a result of the ease with which they move.

Moving across the country in a small SUV, which looks something like this,

not withstanding, I've recently grown even more intensely hateful towards objects that serve no practical function. In the course of sorting through some of my more useless belongings, I came across a few that got me thinking; as a self-proclaimed realist that is no stranger to rational thought, I've often observed trends from a distance, allowing myself to fall victim only to those carefully-chosen few that either a) contribute to humanity in a way representative of my agenda, b) come with a minimal or short-term effect, or c) serve some strategic purpose beneficial to my lifestyle. Nike Shox fall into neither "a" nor "b," and "c" would be arguable only when considering that they cover your feet when your run.



These are the aforementioned Nike Shox, my first of five pairs, that I absolutely had to have -- a borderline life or death situation. Surprised that they made it through the four [or eight] moves, I discovered them in a box of college "crap" this afternoon. As they obviously serve no function today, it's almost appalling to think of the sheer obsession Nike was able to create with the lack of supply to meet the demand for a pair of shoes merely boasting four non-functional, molded, spring-like cushions on the heel. Despite being knowledgeable about the shoe's deficiencies -- that the plastic "shox" were poor quality, the original arch was arguably off-set due to the incline of the molded heel, etc. -- I spent many of the weeks in my first quarter at The Ohio State University searching for a red and grey version of the shoe, to match my school colors, of course. Back then, personalization was still a huge deal and Nike had capitalized on it in every way possible: my softball cleats were my school colors with my last name and my jersey number embroidered into them. The Shox line was exactly what Nike needed to redeem itself at a time when Adidas and Puma seriously threatened its livelihood.


Even after searching for so long, both physically and electronically, the only way I was able to get the shoes was to order them on Ebay from a seller in China that charged me three times retail [a bargain as far as I was concerned - at the time] AND it took 2-3 weeks and $50 for shipping.


Maybe it's nothing more than maturity and increasing financial responsibility, but I'm hoping that my Shox serve as a reminder of the things I don't need (and don't want to include in my next move), and of corporate America's power over those willing to succumb...

Google Maps: Street View - creepy but cool

It's not necessarily new, but it's approaching the effective status: Google Maps' "Street View" feature has currently rolled-out 21 major metropolitan areas -- Denver included. It's slightly awkward to view the cross-streets near your home in a 360-degree moveable photograph, but if that's what it takes for you to find your way, Google can help.

I wasn't able to find when exactly the filming process began, but the corner near my house in Denver already looks extremely dissimilar to the real thing. I suppose the first run at anything will have its flaws, but it will be interesting to see how the growth of the Street View effort effects MapQuest traffic, as well as its own: to my knowledge, it's the only site to offer a photographic view of entire cities, street by street.

Street View - the video is definitely worth watching, regardless of interest in the actual product.

oh, hollywood.

Photo: Goff / INF

Link

So it's true: Jamie Lynn Spears [Britney's sister, ten years her junior] is pregnant. Per People Magazine, the 16-year-old is 12 weeks along and her long-term boyfriend is the father - none of which I care about, but I'm thorough by nature.

What I am concerned with - more accurately, entertained by - is the potential for quite possibly the most forced stance on teenage pregnancy by a powerhouse media corporation my lifetime will ever see. The tot's television career already has a proven track record; her Nickelodeon show, Zoey 101, is among the station's highest rated as it wraps-up its third season. If you're Nickelodeon, what do you do?

a) Cancel the show immediately in order to protect the brand's image in the eyes of content-controlling parents whose children are loyal to the name, simultaneously risking viewership of those unconcerned with the issue.

b) Rush the filming of the season's conclusion and delay season four until after the baby and its visibility, ultimately treating it as the "personal issue" it's been referred to as, but risking parental concerns with continuing the growth of an inarguably questionable role model for teen girls.

c) Dodge the bullet. At an irrelevent point in the process, cancel the show at the request of Spears, claiming health issues as the overwhelming decision-maker; Spears looks responsible [as much as can be expected given the circumstance] and Nickelodeon shuffles out of its current corner, returning to the respectable social scene.

Personally, I would go with "c" and save face wherever possible: there will remain unavoidable scrutiny, but taking the passive route allows for much more play in circumstantial responses to media without as much risk of the "flip-flop" factor.

I imagine the actual turn-out will fall somewhere between my a-b-c possibilities. I will definitely be keeping up-to-date on responses from Nickelodeon. By the way, I was largely impressed with the immediate statement given to People:

"We respect Jamie Lynn's decision to take responsibility in this sensitive and personal situation. We know this is a very difficult time for her and her family, and our primary concern right now is for Jamie Lynn's well being."

They did a great job of taking the spotlight off of themselves and placing it entirely on Spears; kudos to Nickelodeon's PR department.

On another note, Lynn Spears' (Britney and Jamie Lynn's mother) book deal on Christian parenting has been delayed - shocker.

if i could...

There isn't much I would change about my life, given the chance. However, there is one thing I missed that I wish I hadn't: the greatest music man has ever made.

Don't get me wrong, today's instant availability of unique sounds from each of hundreds of genres makes the life of a music-lover fabulously convenient; it does not, however, provide the raw, anti-corporate spirit of meaningful entertainment that fans enjoyed in the late 60s and early 70s. A live show had the potential to be a life-changing commodity. Now, it's a money-whoring business plan that, when flawlessly executed, gives its guests an overly-scripted, often pre-recorded imitation of talent - with pyro, of course.

I regret the fact that I cannot begin to fathom the phenomenon that was Elton John during his greatest years. Aided only by the actual friction of his endlessly-talented fingers against ivory, he could somehow pack a house - though I wonder how anyone would fit as I imagine his presence alone could fill every square inch of even the largest of rooms. His engaging, energetic performances must have left stunned every town he played; I'm in awe myself of only recorded shows - no atmosphere and merely historical reference can't come close to touching the feeling of being there, in front of quite possibly the most memorable stage presence the time had ever known, as he punched ferociously the keys which assemble timeless classics like "Daniel" and "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting." To have been a part of a performance that ultimately led to the first "diamond" certified album in history - the Greatest Hits, spanning 1969-1974 - is something I'll never know. Which artist/group today could accurately claim the potential to chart a top 40 every year for 26 years?

There are plenty more wants of mine in this category: Simon and Garfunkel's "The Boxer," anything from James Taylor's 1976 Greatest Hits album, and Meat Loaf's "Heaven Can Wait" are among my most intense desires to hear live. Only I don't want to hear the 2007 concept; I want the real thing, stripped of its accumulated confidence and full of virginity. It can never be the same, and it's the saddest damn truth I know.

The music of my generation is overwhelmingly orchestrated and lacking in pure talent; until this is untrue, I will forever remain envious of those whose lives' soundtracks came before the fall of the single most passionate form of self-expression.

Creative or Ridiculous?

Awesome article by Tug McTighe of American Copywriter:

Article

Where to go when you have nowhere to go.

The Pub on Pearl might be the most underrated night spot I've been to since I became a resident of Denver. Boasting one of the best bartenders I've ever encountered paired with a "locals" scene atmosphere, the arguable hole-in-the-wall is perfect for a strong drink and excellent dialogue.
The specials vary, but if you visit on Thursday, Friday or Saturday, John will make you just about anything you can imagine, and he'll serve it with a smile. With the recent blizzard-ish temperatures, his hot chocolate and coffee concoctions are unreal. Ask him about Cooper and you'll have a new best friend.
The Pub also has pool tables, a full menu until 11pm, and a great view of the game. Check it out at 1101 S. Pearl Street, Denver, Colorado.

Photo: http://www.thepubonpearl.com/

from aspen and zachary.

my favorite tots.

Quite possibly the best birthday gifts I've ever received...

There is nothing in the world that can compare to the beauty of a child's innocence.

The Hardest Part.

...where my heart is...

There's an extraordinary difference between a building and a home; one is made of bricks, the other, of passion.

-107.

Blossom Music Center, Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio.

page-turner.

I am a page-turner.

I’ve spent a favorable portion of my 22 years actively searching for who I am and who I want to become. I’ve arrived at many vague, semi-accurate categorizations, but none that have the potential to thickly layer my motivated processes and tendencies.

One night during my post-college stint at my parents’ Akron home, I asked my father to play his piano for me. Although it was a different piano, it was far from an unfamiliar experience for both of us. During my younger years, when I had an intense lack of appreciation for sleep, my father used his piano-playing ability as a lullaby. It worked beautifully – and could be the sole explanation for my life’s immersion into the world of music. That, however, is a different story entirely – quite possibly its own book.

Back then, about the time I learned to ride a bike, our house was rather modest; my bedroom was within earshot of the living room, and most of the rooms for that matter. It was a struggle to keep me contained by a closed door when there were other things going on [which hasn’t changed much]. I especially wanted to be near my father’s piano, situated on the inside wall of our all-white, no-kids-allowed living room, while he was punching away on the ivory. Being just a tot, I was small enough to crawl underneath without disturbing the pedals or the notes which vibrated the underbelly’s smooth surface. I would lay there until I fell asleep – somewhere between the middle of Elton John’s Yellow Brick Road book and the end of Meatloaf’s Heaven Can Wait – my most-requested song. I may not have understood the music’s passion at the time, but I think somehow it understood me. I could lay there for hours on end, feeling each note wrap itself around me and then come together to form the most perfect sense of paralyzing comfort.

As I grew and began to learn the instrument myself, I was able to follow the notes of the book as my father played what were hits in the days before I was even a thought. The piano’s bench was off-limits, both because the hinged-top opened in a manner conducive to pinching child-size fingers and because the seat was easy to scratch; we were led to believe that even breathing too hard around it’s polished surface would be to risk permanent damage. However, when my father was playing, I was free to join him without exception, which I always did. I would follow every finger-stroke, determined to find the perfect instant between the last resonating sound on the page and the first on the following spread. I had it down to a science; grab the very edge of the page, flip, and flatten the book, all without sacrificing a single sound. My father was proud, and I think those times when we shared that bench meant more to both of us than either could ever express in words.

So, on the aforementioned evening when I requested my first song in many, many years and my father sat down at his piano to appease me, I had no idea I would also discover what I had been searching so long to find. Purely by accident, my father told me exactly who I am. As he reached the end of the page and I lay there, soaking-up the sounds, he stopped to turn the page of his book. An instant later, he said, “I need my page-turner,” and looked to me with a smile.
Although I’m sure he only meant to verbalize the convenience of having me to turn his page, he said so much more.

I am, indeed a page-turner. Although it started with my father and his piano, it has grown to encompass many aspects of my life. I do not sit on the sidelines, and I do not want to be the star. I’m somewhere in-between, someplace where I can help others to shine without needing all the attention. I’m somewhat like a life-long hostess at my own party; I love to provide happiness. I am personally satisfied only by means of satisfying others.

In the long-run, I think I get this from my mother. Though we are very different in so many ways, I am intrinsically inclined to be content only when I’ve been able to provide that for others – I am, inherently, my mother.

It does appear that the life of a page-turner is modest. This is inarguably untrue. It is indescribably exhausting and time-consuming to base your own existence on the happiness of others. It’s like a rollercoaster and I’m blindfolded; it is both thrilling and undulant. There is no possible way to predict what the next turn will be, and sometimes I want nothing more than to prepare for my life. Unfortunately, there is no means by which to do so.

On the other hand, I don’t know of a life I would rather have; for this reason, I will be the best page-turner I possibly can. It boggles my mind to imagine whose pages I could be turning someday.

My Favorite Color: Blackle

It's a little odd to me that we've come full circle and we're back to a black screen. Admittedly, the original black screens, the one on which you played Oregon Trail [if you've been legally drinking for any longer than four-to-five years, don't boggle your mind, it's just the best computer game ever made -- you lose friends to rattlesnakes and anyone privy to it will most definitely choke on their food at the mention of "caulk your wagon and float it"] and most likely typed involuntarily in green, were black for a different reason entirely.

Blackle is powered by the Google Search Engine, which an overwhelming number of us use anyway. Its claim is that black screens use fewer watts to power; although the savings is minimal per unit, the sheer volume that the engine sees accumulates significant hours. The Blackle page actually lists a figure for "Watt hours saved" just below the search bar. It claims to be potentially capable of saving 750 Megawatt hours annually, which is an obviously rough estimate found on the engine's "about" page. The myriad factors contributing to the bottom line include monitor size, differentiation between CRT and LCD monitors, low-energy sleep levels and deep sleep levels - and these are only among the computer's specs. The annual increase in overall computer usage as well as popularity of competing search engines would make it difficult to estimate the actual effect. A good point made on the Blackle site, though, is that regardless of individual energy savings, the black screen can potentially be a constant reminder to always be making small steps toward reducing energy consumption.

I'd be lying if I claimed that I'm overly concerned with energy savings, but I personally find the black screen to be easier to read [hence, my blog]. At some point in college, I actually developed a habit of highlighting with my mouse any text I was reading; the field turns grey/black and the text its complement. Try it - you may like it, or not, but either way it's a respectable effort.

an intellectual?

Intelligence is the single worst afflication with which any human can possibly be diagnosed; you spend the majority of your life wondering why others don't understand. -me


Today I heard someone reference a common acquaintance of mine as a "smart" individual. Now, I'm not a genius, nor am I approaching the lower end of the status [let's be honest, it doesn't know I exist], but said person is not someone I would even kindly refer to as mildly educated or even topically knowledgeable. The comment got me wondering what exactly leads us to believe that someone is, in fact, intellectually capable. The answer seems obvious; is it, though?

In high school it was grades; in college it was more an integration of involvement (leading to power, but not quite there), grades and social interaction; in the professional world, the power trait is overwhelmingly more dominant than before, grades are [in many cases] directly replaced by income, and, thankfully, a coexistence of experience and reliability are typically contributing factors to a person's perceived level of intelligence.

That being said, how many of you have received email from a CEO, President or similar executive of importance, that appeared to be more saturated with grammatical error than any relevent content? No need to raise your hands - I can't see you, but I know you're there. I've more than once sat down to begin "Idiot's Grammer and Punctuation: There/Their usage and much more, for today's CEOs." Intelligent? It's an obviously flawed arguement and in no way worthy of the generalization, but the fact remains that one's capacity for knowledge, and therefore their relative categorization, is left up to perception. You can very clearly make it in business without knowing that you shouldn't end your sentences with a preposition [or what exactly is a preposition, for that matter].

Knowledge today is at our fingertips: it's in our mobiles, laptops and PDAs. Somewhere in the internet's phenomenal transformation into a source of instantanious, up-to-date information, we've made irrelevent the ability to accurately regurgitate factual information. We've come so far so quickly that our educational system has yet to develop into an applicable model. We continue to teach facts and figures, ignoring the reality that most careers today require only two things [in incredibly simplified terms]: experience supplemented by coachability and the intrinsic capability to produce results. Neither of these require information recall, in direct terms. If you can find an answer, you can succeed.

Who is intelligent: the individual who knows the facts but can't account for varying circumstance, or the one who can pro-actively seek a solution regardless?