If you name it, is it alive?

Man kneels to the floor and places his palm on the deerskin rug.

Man closes his eyes and nods.

Woman, in tears, pleads "well?"

Man says "his name was Gilbert," pauses, "but he's better now."

30-minute writing exercise: bones

The underground tunnel held few travelers at this time of night.  Cold fluorescent bulbs illuminated the station, but could never dispel the subterranean weight of a hole.  Somewhere in the depths beyond this urban platform rumbled hulking tubes of steel and glass.

Across from me sat a man.  I hadn't noticed him when I came down the stairs off 45th.  He was the city: a suit, erect posture, and a briefcase.  But this platform was also the city: litter, urine, grease.  Odd that a company man would need a train at this hour.  He seemed at ease, so much so that it was I who began to feel out of place.  My train remained painfully absent.  How could he be so content here?

I watched the man take his leather-bound case and rest it on his lap.  He released the clasps one after another and lifted the lid away from himself toward me.  When he closed it again, he held a white tentacle in his hand.  No, not a tentacle. Bones?! An entire spinal column of some child-sized creature draped limp over his palm!  I stared with fevered intensity as he tilted back his head an raised his prize into the air.  As he lowered it into his throat, his mouth worked back and forth slowly, not chewing, but easing each vertebra down his esophagus with the faint sound of sliding saliva.

I had to flee.  I needed to run, to be rid of this place immediately and forever!  Too late for that.  By some miracle, I had not been noticed yet.  I froze like a small animal.  The man returned his briefcase to the floor.  He resumed staring through the blackness of the tunnel.

A growing roar and gust of tunnel draft brought the train into the station.  The hissing of the doors startled me, my heart skipping a beat.  I dared not move as I watched the man stand up and walk to the nearest open portal.  Just before stepping onto the train, he paused.  He turned his head to face me, staring me straight in the eye.  Then he silently boarded.

30-minute writing exercise: egg, honey, stone

Henry cracked his egg over a bowl, producing a pleasant ring followed by a sharp crack and slimy decompression. The warmth of the pan at his left arm made him impatient. How annoying it was that pieces of shell would break free and sink into what when cooked would be an enticing meal, but now seemed like reproductive fluid, which, Henry thought, was probably accurate technically speaking. It could have been alive under different circumstances. Probably would have become a fine chicken, though it most likely would have ended up in a pan anyway. Why are eggs and chickens so different, he thought. Eggs so pure and round, almost graceful in their stillness; chickens so smelly and clumsy. The egg white had spread over Henry's fingers, so he reached to rinse his hands for what had to be the fifth time since deciding to make breakfast. The first had been when he failed to remove all of the honey from his fingers by licking. Better inside than out, he mused. The same with eggs, though the hen probably had a differing opinion.

Henry poured the whites and yolks into his pan, producing a dry hiss. He then flipped them onto his honeyed toast. The honey had pooled a bit at the corner and the egg slumped lopsided over the opposite edge, the whole thing lonesome in a sea of white plate. Henry pursed his lips. It looked quite sad. I miss Madeline, he thought with a sigh. The counter was cleared, the cupboards opened as Henry began again, preparing a meal she would have enjoyed.

30-minute writing exercise: fire, salt water, snake

A snake does not move as we move, and we comprehend much through movement. Seemingly endless rings of muscle contorting around cages and cages of bone, somehow producing graceful, predatory function. How to empathize with a creature such as this? And so too, how to comprehend its motives, her motives, as she approaches?

Her movements are intentional, they must be. Fleeting eye contact, each glance holding its careful weight; her head unmoving as she glides across the pavement; her ornamentation: hair, jewellery, clothing, things for which I have no frame of reference, no memory of weight, no sense of preparation, all of them moving with and around her. My attention is momentarily transfixed, my brain hypnotized into paralysis at the mercy of her intent. My anxiety could never break the spell, prey that must play its part.

She slithers past, into the arms of the man with the hat and the expensive-looking shoes. I can feel what he feels. I can muster sympathies for his plight. After the encounter, I go on about my way, content not to become food for a creature I can never understand.

winnebago man

I watched Winnebago Man tonight. The shifting motivations of Rebney and Steinbaur made it interesting to me. I also like how Jack Rebney nails his contribution at the end. While his social and political frustrations don't get the front seat he was probably looking for, Jack delivers an example of how to attack complacency, which I think addresses many of the root causes for the societal maladies he sees. If only we could speak our minds AND form our contentions substantially. Vocalizing frustration is probably a good first step to understanding it.

an unbelieveably full day

Today has been eventful in a way that becomes difficult to process in retrospect. Underlying it all, I am working at Pixar, which is enough to keep me energized even after the second week. Today, though, has been one remarkable thing after another.

Pixar's original "1984" image demonstrating motion blur (lo-res)

At lunch I attended a talk by Tom Porter, a prominent contributor to early computer graphics research. Way back when, he produced a famous image of billiard balls that demonstrated motion blur for the first time in 3d computer graphics. The talk I attended was mainly an anecdote about the life of that image and how he almost lost it several times, only to resurrect it with the help of some cool people. I often take the portability of information these days for granted, and to hear how this incredibly significant piece of technical art traveled and was stranded was exciting. The images we make can be treasure, there's just a lot of treasure around these days. So two fun facts:
1. The original high-resolution image was effectively non-existent from the late 1980s all the way up to 2007. This is an image that is used in many college computer graphics courses, and yet always in a reprocessed, degraded form. Seeing it in its full grandeur was eye-opening in that it looks incredible for being over 25 years old.
2. The reflection map in the billiard balls was partly hand-drawn by John Lasseter, and was possibly the first piece of art he produced for Pixar even though it was mostly just as a favor to Tom Porter. I was inspired by how casual that retrospective factoid was.

great movie

Later there was going to be a lecture on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which happens to be one of my favorite movies, a statement similar to "I happen to really enjoy delicious food." As I searched for the free, pre-lecture dinner that was promised, I accidentally wandered into the new art exhibit that had just opened upstairs. Guess I need to write about that now. I will never get to this story that leads to this other story.

The exhibited art was part of a charity project revolving around a sketchbook. The sketchbook was passed in person from artist to artist, each one contributing a piece to the book. Tons of people worked on it including famous film artists like Hayao Miyazaki and Glen Keane. Case in point, this was a happy enough accident.

ilya
(approximation)

Now let's talk about serendipity, and by the way, apologies for this rambling mess (oh, it gets worse, don't worry). I got the job offer at Pixar around the same time my best friend ilya accepted an offer to start his Ph.D. at Berkeley. For the first time since high school we are now located in the same area, which is incredibly, enjoyably serendipitous.

Back to the art exhibit, I had heard that a Double Fine artist named Tasha Harris had left to work at Pixar again and was starting this week. I had been reading her web comic for quite awhile (still do, ugh, verb tense), so I was excited to be working in the same place. Add that to the list of famous people I was already seeing around who had previously been names or faces on a screen, and add that to the coincidence of my friend moving here to get a sense of the unreality I had been processing. I am going to start the next sentence with so.

Tasha Harris's first comic via Double Fine

So I am standing in front of a drawing at the art exhibit, having JUST finished admiring a drawing by Scott Campbell (another Double Fine artist), thinking "man, it's cool that Scott C. is in this show, I did not know" when I turn to see someone standing next to me who looks suspiciously like Tasha Harris. Having never met Tasha, I quickly devise a brilliant way to find out if it was indeed her without weirding out a poor woman who might not be. "Excuse me, would you mind telling me your name?" I bizarrely ask. Turns out it is Tasha, so I tell her I enjoy reading her comic and in about 30 seconds we have already covered "ha, first/second week at Pixar" pleasantries and "oh I was just looking at Scott's work over there, yeah there's a cool cowboy on a rabbit one by it too." Then I get this thing in the back of my head reminding me I am late for this film lecture on top of "what the heck is going on, I am talking to Tasha about artwork by Scott at Pixar." So I suddenly can think of nothing else to talk about and bail with a "well it was really nice meeting you," and walk off in the wrong direction. I could double back on the floor below and I ran into a friend going to the lecture on the way, so it worked out.

Scott Campbell's first comic via Double Fine

Afterward, I wished I could have communicated my interest in Tasha's work beyond "oh, I read it." I guess it would be difficult to convey what it is like to have averaged three hours of sleep a night for a couple of moths straight working on a publication deadline for my Ph.D. (a situation that happened more than once), and how for a period of time I had been escaping to the Double Fine site and the mental sanctuary of her and Scott's web comics in the wee hours of the morning. But I should have at least said something encouragingly enthusiastic like "I really hope you keep doing the comic!"

This post is already obscenely long, so I'll try to wrap up the last part. My friend Colin and I had rewatched Eternal Sunshine the night before to prepare for this lecture. We had a really great discussion about the film, which was exciting and turned out to be better in some ways to the actual lecture itself. To be fair, though, the lecture discussion did not include a full screening of the film so we were fresher and ready to skip synopsis-talk. The lecture itself provided another opportunity to geek out about the film with other people who love it and thinking critically about movies. It was a lot of fun, possibly oodles, but definitely invigorating.

Done. But... no, done.

In addition to manufactured demand, disposable products are more convenient than reusable ones, for customers and providers. I believe that reusable products can be both convenient and profitable if treated as a service (a type of industry our economy thrives on). For example, imagine if your local gas station sold clean reusable bottles of tap water and gave credit for bringing in dirty bottles. They would essentially be charging for the washing and the convenience of having a bottle ready whenever the customer is ready. However, I am not sure if such systems are practical, as they do not provide incentive to create infrastructure. In other words, no company would want to go into producing these bottles if they can only profit occasionally. This is probably where the government should step in. Unfortunately, some would attempt to convince you (with a frightening religious zeal) that the free market would take care of everything. But we have seen historically that free markets are easily exploitable or tend to converge on wasteful systems that resemble equilibrium only at the surface. Small businesses my ass.

The Village not as bad as I remember

Last night I watched The Village for the first time since my first and only viewing when it came out in theaters. The movie was much more enjoyable knowing the signature twist up front. While it is often hard to believe the characters could be so innocuous, the themes of innocence and love are fairly well executed. I like how I felt conflicted as to whether the "elders" were despicable or admirable. Every suspenseful scene became a question of whether it was ok to put duped people through such trials to keep them sheltered. Sure, even having that open for debate makes me a horrible person, but hey, in the context of the movie the people seem happy.

In my opinion, Shyamalan shoots himself in the foot with almost every movie by trying to blow your mind somehow. In The Village, I was really enjoying my second viewing up to the point where he tries to convince the audience that maybe the creatures really do exist after all. We are shown the truth before hand, and yet Shyamalan feels obligated to shoot Brody's death scene in a horror style with grating noises and spooky suspense. Showing us the blind woman's fear and doubt is great, but you don't have to try to fool the audience as well. At least, not in the one-scene cheap trick way it was done here.

Then there is the cheesy scene towards the end after the preserve patrolman has helped the woman back over the wall where the truck is just sits in the middle of the road with melancholy music playing. They might as well have put up a giant banner that said "Isn't this profound, guys?!" I feel like pulling that card required more development of the patrolman's character.

So that's my shallow criticism, even though I did enjoy the movie quite a bit. I would like to go back and watch other Shyamalan movies now. However, I am a little scared to watch Lady in the Water again, because I think I might be the only person I know who actually enjoyed it the first time. It's just ridiculous enough to be enjoyed scene for scene (minus the M. Night plays a brilliant writer who will change the face of humanity part).


And now I feel good for reviving this blog. (sarcasm)

give me some of those

After today's discovery, I see no reason to eat any other brand of beet.

will you make the cut?

For those of you feeling left out of the economic crisis, TNT brings the excitement home!


Saw this on facebook today. Another victim of the play button icon.

contra proven to be a good time

I cannot believe this blog is getting a post. Can you?

I decided that my recent contra adventures would be worthy of communication, remarkable, and otherwise noteworthy. Hence the writing. And no, I did not go off in the jungle to help a rag-tag team of soldiers fight the establishment. I am talking about contra dancing. You have surely heard of it even if you don't know it by name. Think big community dance where people line up and a person is yelling things like "swing your partner do-si-do!"

Some friends of mine have been enjoying contra for a year or so now, and I had been avoiding invitations to dances until a couple weeks ago when peer pressure reached critical mass. So I stopped being a lump and decided to join them.

I was told over and over that you don't have to know anything going in, and that the caller will tell you what to do when. The caller is basically a person with a microphone who directs each dance by yelling out the right dance move and combination of people at the right time. Think of it as recipe and ingredients. What I wasn't told was that the dance moves all had names like 'swing,' 'do-si-do,' and 'gypsy.' Imagine that you are standing in a line of strangers, a person yells "women start hey for four left," people start zig-zagging, and you are expected to do something that doesn't mess everyone else up.



Luckily, we got to the event after the first dance had started and I was given a short crash course in all of the basic moves. It is actually pretty easy as long as you know a handful of these. At the beginning of each dance, the caller will walk everyone slowly through the sequence of moves without music. People are accommodating to beginners and will be able to teach you steps you don't know at this time.

The idea of the dance is that everyone lines up into two lines with partners across from each other. Typically, over the course of a dance, the odd numbered couples will progress down the line and even numbered ones will progress up. This means that you will be shifting and changing partners a lot, but that every so often you will magically end up across from your partner again, only at a different place in the line. Some dances change this up, but they all have some sort of periodic progression.

My first dance had 25 couples or so in attendance. You are supposed to ask someone new to dance after each one finishes, so I ended up dancing with a lot of different people ranging from little girls to old ladies. It is funny how everyone has different styles. Sometimes you get people really into it who exaggerate movements and like to swing with a lot of force. Other people just want you to move along and be in the right place. Some, especially many of the older gals, tend to want to dance a little slower. It can be hard to read. I tend to try to be gentler with older people, but occasionally they will take a fast lead and I will realize they prefer to be more lively. It's fun to progress to the end of the night when people are more used to each other.

The second turned out to be weird even for the regulars. Only 3 couples showed up (plus one person who left early), so there were actually more people on stage than on the dance floor. The caller experimented with some dances designed for 6 or 7 people that she had never done before. We ended up working it out with her, step by step. Before the night was over I was speaking the contra lingo with reckless abandon. I was kind of amazed.

So now I am officially a fan. Last weekend was my third and most populated dance yet. One of my favorite parts was when the caller said "ok we're going to take a short break. After the break there will be a waltz, but in the meantime there are some eggs from Jim's farm up here if anyone wants to buy any." My second favorite part was when an old lady told me I was really good for a beginner.

milk and beans

I am definitely cheating at blogging by making a tiny post, but I have way to much work to be doing right now. If I were to add a little smiley here it would be the opposite of smiley.

Someone spilled some milk in the break room yesterday and it totally looked like a seahorse. Thanks, cell phone camera!


Recently they made coffee in the break room $0.50 instead of free, so I have gone back to my french press. My favorite part of the french press is at the end of the filtering process where the plunger stops and all the little coffee grounds sink to the bottom. It's like a coffee snow globe.

it's been awhile

I've been out of commission for a long time crunching on a project publication deadline and haven't had the time to really make time for anything else. We're talking 100-hour weeks full of stress and daily crises. Luckily, I was able to finish some stuff and take a week off for Christmas to see my family. I had been on the phone regularly with my folks, receiving the parental encouragement that kept me alive for most of November and December. It was nice to finally be able to spend some time with them, my brothers, and other relatives. Now it's back to work in crunch mode until January 20th.

Sorry for not having posted anything in the last couple of months or so. Here is a collection of small things I have noticed or thought about recently:

-My fortune cookie from takeout last night had no fortune in it. Unnerving!

-The other day it was drizzly, and on the way to grab dinner I saw a young woman holding her umbrella with two hands tucked close to her body to stay warm. It was cute.

-Using good bread with some substance to it humiliates any sandwich made with commercial pre-sliced bread.

-Akira Kurosawa's Ran is boring and spectacular all at the same time. It is funny how when something dramatic happens, they cut away from a character and then cut back to the character wearing ghastly pale makeup. At some point I want to gather data on the percentage of spoken lines in Kurosawa films delivered in earnest. I am guessing that it is in the top quartile.

-I require music like sustinence.

-Sleep is greatly affected by mental state. Mental state is greatly affected by sleep. It follows that insanity is easily achieved by modifying either.

the monday before the only thing people will remember about 2008

No matter the outcome of the forthcoming election, which Obama will win if he cares about the state of my liver, I am beginning to realize that we are in the middle of a notable historic event. Many years from now I am going to be one of those old people who give personal anecdotes to kids who ask questions about some event on a history test they don't care about now, but will later come to appreciate. This realization brings three thoughts to mind. The first is that I hope my grand kids actually learn history, and don't spend their afternoons scavenging for food in a barren dystopic wasteland that used to be America; the second is that, wow, fear really is a big factor in this election; and the third is that I better file away some mundane details about my day so I can bore those future kids proper.

I woke up early this morning to make a 9:00 dental appointment. Normally I would hate getting up in the morning, but for some reason, going to the dentist really energizes me. I think it is because I have something besides work to start my day for and because I feel like a part of normal society when I go there. Until a couple of months ago I hadn't been to a dentist in over 10 years, excluding the time I had an abscess behind my wisdom tooth for a month before seeing someone about it. My family is not particularly fond of dentistry.

Today was especially exciting, because instead of the stoic dentist who never talks to me and drills on my teeth, I got to see Heidi the dental hygienist, who is cute and makes pleasant conversation. I would know the drill guy's name, but he never talks to me. Let me give you an example of the contrast. Heidi the dental hygienist often asks you how you are doing when cleaning your teeth and smiles when you make a face while trying to spit into the suction tube thing designed by someone from the future. Drill guy walks over and wordlessly injects you with stuff, then you have to turn and ask the assistant what the hell drill guy just injected you with while drill guy turns to get another tool. I reminded Heidi the dental hygienist to vote as I left. I didn't remind drill guy to vote, because I think he only communicates in bad news; also, I didn't see him. He was probably lurking somewhere.

After leaving the dentist with newly white white-and-chompys, I pulled into the local sports equipment store. This was great because I could procrastinate a little longer before going to work, but also because I was buying my first squash racquet. I had originally planned on buying a couple of racquetball racquets, but my friend Josh plays squash and he wanted to do a weekly squash session. The squash racquets dismayed me because, despite being half the size of a racquetball racquet, they were twice as expensive! In dollars! I suppose that is the price I pay for friendship and tremendously fun activities. After picking up some safety glasses and a few squash balls, I brought my squash gear over to the counter. "Hey, why are squash racquets twice the price despite being half the size of a racquetball racquet?" I asked the clerk. "I don't know," he replied. "Man, this guy is a terrible salesman," I thought, as I handed my money over anyway.

Clean teeth, check. Squash gear, check. Time to go to work. I arrived only half an hour after my usual time, which was nice considering all the adventures I had already adventured. I confirmed a noon squash appointment with Josh, shipped an important work-related package, emailed my out-of-town advisor (me = grad student), and found out what was causing the heinous bug that had been plaguing my code all weekend (me = computer science grad student). Time for squash!

Apparently only old people play squash at the college gym during lunch time, because that's what we witnessed when we arrived. As a first time player I was conflicted. Should I feel more awesome or less awesome than these geezers? On the one hand, I don't know how to play squash, so they can probably kick my ass. On the other hand, squash is a game that tortures you in direct correspondence to the types of problems you will have when you get old. Arthritis? Guess you won't be gripping that racquet too tightly. Joint problems? You're going to love all the pivoting and knee strain! Back problems? Too bad the ball doesn't bounce more than 2 inches off the ground. Brittle bones? Try not to run into the walls to hard. Senile? Actually, that's a pretty good intimidation factor, especially if you do a lot of arm waving.

Surely I could get through this without embarrassing myself too much. Okay, geezers, get ready to envy the energy of youth! Within the first three hits I sent a ball flying over the back glass and it proceeded to roll over the edge of the stairs and down to the first floor. I made sure to jog down to retrieve it. One, so that I could minimize the number of people who noticed my failure, and two, so I could at least rub in the youthful energy some more.

So you want to know about the election of 2008 do ya? Well, as I recall, that was the squash fall of '08. Back in those days, a racquet only cost 800 nickels! How about that? Alright, where was I? Oh, yeah. The maverick was runnin' against the hope bringer, but I knew he was going to lose because he chose some hussy as his running mate with no common sense and a venomous mouth to boot. She wasn't classy like the dental hygienists of the time, let me tell you. Those dames had class. Too bad they had to work with drill guys. The fillings they put in didn't even work. Do you see these dentures? 100% super-bond future-polymer! Heh! Where was I? So back in the squash fall of '08 I was a squash machine. In fact, the day before the election I was about to win the national squash championships... or was that in 2013? Well, anyway, that's how Barak Obama became the first black president. (please please please please please please please please)

from the ether, it emerges

hello world.