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Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Matt Dances
I'm pretty sure everybody has seen this, but whatever... I stumbled on it today.
It made me happy.
It made me happy.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Van Wiggles or WiggNudo ?
If you've been anywhere near kids 8 or younger in a while you've been exposed to "The Wiggles". I don't know what it is, but kids go nuts for this stuff. Somehow "The Wiggles" have come up with the right combo of colors, music and dancing to mesmerize kids. It's like crystal meth for the toddler set. My 2 year old son wakes up at 6am every day, and he is jonesing for Wiggles. He will straight-up cry, tears and all, if you put anything else on the magic box. He's addicted, but all the cool kids are doing it, so that's OK, right?
So here's the real issue. One of the 4 guys that are "The Wiggles" is sick. Greg Page is the yellow Wiggle and serves as the lead single. His illness sounds pretty crappy. So he has decided to retire from the group, since he really can't do the touring and what not. It's just too much for him with the illness. Good for him, go out gracefully, keep your dignity.
"The Wiggles" decided that rather than end the band, they should replace Greg with another guy. Sam Moran is the guy they selected. He seems OK for the job. He can sing, dance, and (most importantly?) can wear a yellow shirt.
The real question here is can they pull this off? Can they pull a Van Halen style lead singer swap? Will it matter to the kids? If it works, can they repeat this as the other guys decide they no longer wanna play? Can they make this band last indefinitely, by pulling the Menudo style member replacement indefinitely.
I think they can.
Here in the US, the new episodes with Sam Moran just started airing. My 5 year old daughter immediately noticed the change and started asking questions. My 2 year old son, the addicted one (their target audience?) may have noticed, but he accepted the change with no problem at all.
If you've been anywhere near kids 8 or younger in a while you've been exposed to "The Wiggles". I don't know what it is, but kids go nuts for this stuff. Somehow "The Wiggles" have come up with the right combo of colors, music and dancing to mesmerize kids. It's like crystal meth for the toddler set. My 2 year old son wakes up at 6am every day, and he is jonesing for Wiggles. He will straight-up cry, tears and all, if you put anything else on the magic box. He's addicted, but all the cool kids are doing it, so that's OK, right?
So here's the real issue. One of the 4 guys that are "The Wiggles" is sick. Greg Page is the yellow Wiggle and serves as the lead single. His illness sounds pretty crappy. So he has decided to retire from the group, since he really can't do the touring and what not. It's just too much for him with the illness. Good for him, go out gracefully, keep your dignity.
"The Wiggles" decided that rather than end the band, they should replace Greg with another guy. Sam Moran is the guy they selected. He seems OK for the job. He can sing, dance, and (most importantly?) can wear a yellow shirt.
The real question here is can they pull this off? Can they pull a Van Halen style lead singer swap? Will it matter to the kids? If it works, can they repeat this as the other guys decide they no longer wanna play? Can they make this band last indefinitely, by pulling the Menudo style member replacement indefinitely.
I think they can.
Here in the US, the new episodes with Sam Moran just started airing. My 5 year old daughter immediately noticed the change and started asking questions. My 2 year old son, the addicted one (their target audience?) may have noticed, but he accepted the change with no problem at all.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Super awesome air cleaner
We are doing major mods in our development data center. Of course we are keeping all the critcal services up. This beast has been a god-send. It cleans all the air in the room in 8 minutes. We just started work yesterday, and it has already saved tons of dust and stuff getting into our systems. Not a simple hook-up though. Requires 30A @ 230V. Doesn't come with a plug. It has to be hard wired.
We are doing major mods in our development data center. Of course we are keeping all the critcal services up. This beast has been a god-send. It cleans all the air in the room in 8 minutes. We just started work yesterday, and it has already saved tons of dust and stuff getting into our systems. Not a simple hook-up though. Requires 30A @ 230V. Doesn't come with a plug. It has to be hard wired.
Extended trust on the Internet
This is a follow on to a piece written by Amy Senger over at 1h57.com.
As Amy explored, trust is central to success in the collaborative environment. She makes the point that on the internet we don't get to look folks in the eye, hear the inflection in their voice or gauge their mannerisms. We have to base our trust on what they "say" and what they do. We examine, as best we can, what they have done in the past. And we are cautious to not get burned.
That is a start, but is that really good enough to establish real trust though? I think we intuitively and automatically create, for ourselves, 'chains of trust'. I trust Steve, Steve trusts Amy, I therefore am more likely to trust Amy. It’s why we think we should dates friends of friends in lieu or strangers. We prefer our chain of trust to blind luck.
Note that when I say trust, I mean that I trust that what Steve says and does are done in good faith. That he is truthful. And by extension, that Amy will be truthful. I don't necessarily trust Steve’s fashion sense or taste in music, but I do trust that he is being truthful about his thoughts and opinions.
We should also examine the difference between trust and security. Trust can be very powerful and can help use succeed, but it is no replacement for security. Trust can be broken and lost in an instant. Security, real security, doesn’t suffer the same failings as trust. But poorly implemented, it will stunt creativity and destroy collaboration.
As Amy explored, trust is central to success in the collaborative environment. She makes the point that on the internet we don't get to look folks in the eye, hear the inflection in their voice or gauge their mannerisms. We have to base our trust on what they "say" and what they do. We examine, as best we can, what they have done in the past. And we are cautious to not get burned.
That is a start, but is that really good enough to establish real trust though? I think we intuitively and automatically create, for ourselves, 'chains of trust'. I trust Steve, Steve trusts Amy, I therefore am more likely to trust Amy. It’s why we think we should dates friends of friends in lieu or strangers. We prefer our chain of trust to blind luck.
Note that when I say trust, I mean that I trust that what Steve says and does are done in good faith. That he is truthful. And by extension, that Amy will be truthful. I don't necessarily trust Steve’s fashion sense or taste in music, but I do trust that he is being truthful about his thoughts and opinions.
We should also examine the difference between trust and security. Trust can be very powerful and can help use succeed, but it is no replacement for security. Trust can be broken and lost in an instant. Security, real security, doesn’t suffer the same failings as trust. But poorly implemented, it will stunt creativity and destroy collaboration.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thanksgiving funk
My dad died on Thanksgiving day, 1981. He was 43, I was 13. This time every year I'm forced to reflect on this fact and try and understand how it affected me and still shapes me today.
I truly enjoy Thanksgiving. I love seeing everyone and seeing all the kids play together. I love how excited they get. Even my almost 2 year old son seems to understand that something big is less than a month away. After the festivities, we pile the kids into the car, and everyone but me falls asleep on the hour plus drive home. It is that quiet time that always gets me. I have often, like this year, made it through the whole build up and excitement without even spending time thinking about my dad. But that quiet solitude of driving, always gives my mind just enough time to reflect on what this day means.
I'm the second son of a big strong athletic Dad. My older brother was the athlete. Tall and strong with good hair and good looks. I was the skinny, artsy, band geek, with thick glasses. I enjoyed playing outside, but never was good enough at any sport to get picked. My first season of soccer, I broke my leg (not playing soccer, of course) before our first game. The coach didn't see any reason to give me a team uniform, but my mom complained. The coach came back with a T-shirt with the team name, but it didn't look like the other kids' shirts. Their shirts were printed with a nice script of the team name and looked somewhat cool, for '77. Mine had the same words, but was made with those iconic '70s iron-on letters. It looked like what it was, an afterthought. It sat in my drawer at home, as a reminder of what a loser I was. I didn't play soccer much after that.
I was in the eighth grade when my dad died. I was the class Vice President. I had been class President in 5th through 7th grade. Not bad for a skinny geek, but that was all to change.
I had always enjoyed math and was in the eighth grade Algebra class. This was the advanced math class, You had to earn your way in, with good test scores and good grades. It seems after my dad died, I just couldn't 'get it'. My mind wouldn't wrap around the intangible theories of Algebra. I'm not sure the cause, but I lost my ability to focus enough on math, or anything else, to makes sense to the 'a + b = c' stuff. Looking back, I'm certain this was a byproduct of not wanting to focus on anything too hard. Of course, I did poorly in math and earned a D in the fall grading period. You can't have below a C and be in student government so I lost my post as class VP. Rules are rules, you know, and the math teacher was the head of the SGA so that chapter in my life closed. Looking back, I'm certain the teacher didn't mean me any harm, but at the time I hated him for it.
My dad grew up in Clarke County, Virginia, in a little town named Boyce. He was a total country kid. He hunted, camped, worked outdoors and worked at home in their small farm. Dad played high school football and started college on scholarship. He injured his back early in the first season and lost his free ticket. After that he spent time in the Army, then back to college while my Mom worked, then he worked for many years as a Boy Scout Executive. Essentially, he started troops, raised money, attended various Scouting events and raised more money. he was good at it, but it didn't pay well and he was often gone at night and on the weekends. I never really got a feel fr who he was, or what made him tick. I know he loved my mom and us kids. He did what he could to provide for us and protect us. He died hunting deer. He was supposed to go shopping with my mom, but she let him have to day to go hunt instead. His plans were last minute and he ended up hunting alone, which he had never done before. He had shot a ten point buck and was dragging it back to his car when he had a heart attack. He died there in the woods, all alone.
My grandfather, Jake, was a drunk. He was a classic old-school, whiskey drinking drunk. My dad had suffered Jake's drinking for years. My grandparents got divorced when my dad was in high school, most likely related to Jake's drinking. Dad always did double duty at the holidays to make sure we saw Jake and my grandmother, plus my mom's family. Around 1978, after a very bad trip to Jake's house, my dad finally told Jake that he would "not come see him, or bring us kids to see him until he got himself straight". Jake never sobered up. Dad passed away without resolving the problem with Jake. We kids never saw Jake again either. I never knew if visiting Jake would betray my Dad or not, but I wouldn't dare take that chance. When I was in college, I got a call from my mom that Jake had passed way. Of course, he had passed away weeks before we were informed and was already buried before any of my family knew. The act of intentionally not informing us seems cruel, but maybe it was just payback.
This time of year I feel lost, alone and 13, all over again.
This day is a reminder that I need to be a good father, each and every day, to my kids. I need to make sure they know me, know that they are important and that they are loved. I don't ever want them to not know that. I don't want to take that chance.
I truly enjoy Thanksgiving. I love seeing everyone and seeing all the kids play together. I love how excited they get. Even my almost 2 year old son seems to understand that something big is less than a month away. After the festivities, we pile the kids into the car, and everyone but me falls asleep on the hour plus drive home. It is that quiet time that always gets me. I have often, like this year, made it through the whole build up and excitement without even spending time thinking about my dad. But that quiet solitude of driving, always gives my mind just enough time to reflect on what this day means.
I'm the second son of a big strong athletic Dad. My older brother was the athlete. Tall and strong with good hair and good looks. I was the skinny, artsy, band geek, with thick glasses. I enjoyed playing outside, but never was good enough at any sport to get picked. My first season of soccer, I broke my leg (not playing soccer, of course) before our first game. The coach didn't see any reason to give me a team uniform, but my mom complained. The coach came back with a T-shirt with the team name, but it didn't look like the other kids' shirts. Their shirts were printed with a nice script of the team name and looked somewhat cool, for '77. Mine had the same words, but was made with those iconic '70s iron-on letters. It looked like what it was, an afterthought. It sat in my drawer at home, as a reminder of what a loser I was. I didn't play soccer much after that.
I was in the eighth grade when my dad died. I was the class Vice President. I had been class President in 5th through 7th grade. Not bad for a skinny geek, but that was all to change.
I had always enjoyed math and was in the eighth grade Algebra class. This was the advanced math class, You had to earn your way in, with good test scores and good grades. It seems after my dad died, I just couldn't 'get it'. My mind wouldn't wrap around the intangible theories of Algebra. I'm not sure the cause, but I lost my ability to focus enough on math, or anything else, to makes sense to the 'a + b = c' stuff. Looking back, I'm certain this was a byproduct of not wanting to focus on anything too hard. Of course, I did poorly in math and earned a D in the fall grading period. You can't have below a C and be in student government so I lost my post as class VP. Rules are rules, you know, and the math teacher was the head of the SGA so that chapter in my life closed. Looking back, I'm certain the teacher didn't mean me any harm, but at the time I hated him for it.
My dad grew up in Clarke County, Virginia, in a little town named Boyce. He was a total country kid. He hunted, camped, worked outdoors and worked at home in their small farm. Dad played high school football and started college on scholarship. He injured his back early in the first season and lost his free ticket. After that he spent time in the Army, then back to college while my Mom worked, then he worked for many years as a Boy Scout Executive. Essentially, he started troops, raised money, attended various Scouting events and raised more money. he was good at it, but it didn't pay well and he was often gone at night and on the weekends. I never really got a feel fr who he was, or what made him tick. I know he loved my mom and us kids. He did what he could to provide for us and protect us. He died hunting deer. He was supposed to go shopping with my mom, but she let him have to day to go hunt instead. His plans were last minute and he ended up hunting alone, which he had never done before. He had shot a ten point buck and was dragging it back to his car when he had a heart attack. He died there in the woods, all alone.
My grandfather, Jake, was a drunk. He was a classic old-school, whiskey drinking drunk. My dad had suffered Jake's drinking for years. My grandparents got divorced when my dad was in high school, most likely related to Jake's drinking. Dad always did double duty at the holidays to make sure we saw Jake and my grandmother, plus my mom's family. Around 1978, after a very bad trip to Jake's house, my dad finally told Jake that he would "not come see him, or bring us kids to see him until he got himself straight". Jake never sobered up. Dad passed away without resolving the problem with Jake. We kids never saw Jake again either. I never knew if visiting Jake would betray my Dad or not, but I wouldn't dare take that chance. When I was in college, I got a call from my mom that Jake had passed way. Of course, he had passed away weeks before we were informed and was already buried before any of my family knew. The act of intentionally not informing us seems cruel, but maybe it was just payback.
This time of year I feel lost, alone and 13, all over again.
This day is a reminder that I need to be a good father, each and every day, to my kids. I need to make sure they know me, know that they are important and that they are loved. I don't ever want them to not know that. I don't want to take that chance.
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