Farewell, Dear Friends

Oh, the long line of Macintosh computers that have graced my desktop these many years. What would life have been without you? A bitter, spiteful, and angry computing experience it would have been, no doubt. To think of the multitude of Windows PC's I would have suffered through had it not been for you few, proud Macintoshes -- it makes me disheartened to even think of it.



Who could forget you, dear Macintosh IIsi? You were the first Mac in the house -- a secondhand computer handed down to me from my brother. And what a computer you were. 20 MHz of feisty pep, 40 MB of (admittedly cramped) hard drive space, and the clickety-clack goodness that was your floppy disk drive. You were running System 7 at the time, if I recall correctly. You were a classic, even at that time. Oh, the many 2-D shareware games we used to run. Remember that old LaserWriter we used for our elementary school papers? That thing was a beast. And that 32x CD-ROM drive we hooked up to you? Truly, you were ahead of your time (for an outdated classic, that is).

We had a good run, IIsi -- that is, until the brain surgery. Yes, that daughterboard accelerator did give you a processing boost; and yes, the 40 MHz of speed did give you a chance to shine for a little bit longer. But let's face it, the upgrade made you a bit, how shall we say, off-kilter. You became unstable, unreliable. Saving my documents early and often helped a bit, but eventually I had to come to the sad realization that I needed to move on. So it was with a heavy heart that I boxed you up, ever so gently, to send you off into a quiet, peaceful retirement.



And then bounding onto the scene you came, PowerMac G3. Fresh from the factory, you came with 266 MHz of raw PowerPC computing power, 32 MB of RAM, and 6 GB (with a G!) of glorious hard drive space. You were a classy machine, G3. You were a proud and stately Mac, in a time when it was rather unpopular to be one. You were tall and beige (some would say "platinum") during a time when other Macs were taking on multi-color, translucent, gum-drop-candy cases. And you brought with you a slew of new facets to my computing experience, not least of which was your brand new operating system, Mac OS 8 (I recall being a bit irked by the fact that they broke tradition by not calling it "System 8." Oh well).

You played a key role in getting me through those high school years, what with all the hours of instant messaging, the eye-numbing games of Starcraft, and the vast libraries of CD-ROM-based encyclopedias (did Wikipedia even exist back then?). Games like Unreal were a bit of a struggle for you, even with your upgraded video card. But fortunately I was never really good at shooter games, anyway. Your built-in Zip drive was next to useless (I didn't want to buy Zip disks), but your floppy and CD-ROM drives were golden. You inherited your older sibling's monstrous LaserWriter, which served you well until it up and died on us.

All in all, you were a terrific machine. I didn't want to get rid of you. I really didn't. But the college years were coming upon us, and I needed something more portable, what with all the constant commuting to and from school. You still had your place at home, faithfully standing watch at my desk at home. But regrettably, once your younger sibling came along, you began to see less and less use.

That's where you come in, Titanium Powerbook. Ah, Titanium Powerbook. You're already a classic (but not in the old, obsolete, Macintosh-IIsi sort of way). How Cupertino managed to cram so much goodness into that titanium shell I don't want to know. That 400 MHz G4 processor of yours is like magic, and running OS X, it certainly makes my brother's old Powerbook G3 look like a hunk of junk. Nearly six years on, you still run like a champ. Sure, you don't have the latest specs and bells and whistles, but we hot-rodded you plenty to keep you in the game.

First came the OS -- from the original OS X to Panther (incidentally, the very first time I've ever shelled out money for an OS without a computer attached to it). Then came the hard drives. Your first transplant was that used drive my brother got from who-knows-where. 60 GB was certainly luxurious compared to your original 10, but the subsequent disk failure, data loss, and finals-week computing drama probably wasn't worth it. So we buckled down, bit the bullet, and got you a whopping 100 GB of factory-fresh storage space. You seemed to enjoy that, what with all your crazy music. A couple sticks of RAM brought your memory up to 512 MB, up from the meager 128 Apple sent you out with. And best of all, we were able to scavenge out an AirPort wireless card for you, since it wasn't included out of the factory. It took a bit of hacking -- that is, physically hacking apart an AirPort wireless base station to get at the oh-so-delicious wireless card within. That was fun.

The point is, we tried to get as many miles out of you as we could. And you certainly met the challenge, and then some. I was even contemplated getting you a new keyboard, once your ctrl-key popped off. But a little Superglue solved that problem, post-haste.

But then came the iPod. Without Firewire. Why did Apple decide to ship out iPods without Firewire capability? USB is fine and dandy, unless you're stuck with USB 1.0, like we were. The word "molasses" comes to mind. And then came the digital camera. And RAW files. And no Firewire SD card readers on the market. Your spirit was willing, TiBook, but your USB port was weak. And I mean weak. That USB 2.0 PC card helped, whenever it wasn't crashing the system and freezing up everything. Same goes for that other USB 2.0 card. If only we lived in a Firewire world, I'd probably keep you as my primary computer until the day you up and died. But alas, we don't live in such a utopia.

Of all the computers I've had to say goodbye to, this will be the hardest, dearest TiBook. But this isn't really goodbye. No, not at all.

You see, your little brother is already here. And he's going to take care of you. We already have a little CD burned that'll take you where no Mac of mine has gone before. That is, if we don't break you during the installation.

So you see, it's not the end of the road, dear friend. Not nearly. Who knows, if we get this right, we might even be able to breathe new life into your older siblings as well. Here's to hoping. See you when you wake up.

Restroom Reading

You know, I'm usually not a fan of reading in the restroom. I can't even fathom reading in my own bathroom (which is different from a restroom. It peeves me when people get the terms mixed up, even though I get them mixed up all the time). Books and toilets just aren't a mix I want to be involved in. But I understand if people enjoy reading whilst doing their restroom-ly duties. It's convenient. It's multitasking. Whatever. I don't want to borrow their books, though.

So the other day, I walked into the restroom at our office, which we share with another company on the same property. Into the stall I go, and what's this? Twas a magazine, tucked in just above the toilet-paper dispenser. And in the back of my mind, I wondered what sort of publications people around here are into. Being a typical men's restroom, I expected the usual: Cars, sports. I don't know -- fishing? So I turned my head a bit at the sight of that magazine, trying to get a better look at the title. What do people read in the leisurely moments in the restroom stall? What counts as light reading these days around the workplace? What calms them, intrigues them, tickles their fancy? Well apparently, it is this:

Industrial Heating Magazine

Industrial. Heating. Huh. To each his own, I suppose. Not my cup of tea, though. Which is a good thing, since I wouldn't have picked it up anyway. Because that's just gross.

"The Day the Marching Band Came"

Originally written February 2005, Children's Literature Workshop, UC San Diego. Used with permission. From myself.

---

      It was a bright, clear summer's day when the marching band came. The crowd roared and cheered, as crowds often do. Sammy cheered too, as the sounds of music floated up the street. He heard the crisp rat-ta-ta-tum-tum of the drums, the high brash toot of the trumpets, the jangling crash of the cymbals, the deep rumbling boom of the tubas. Sammy could hear it all. But the people in the crowd were tall as towers, blocking Sammy’s view.

      The black and silver tops of the marching band's hats were bobbing past the tall peoples' heads. Sammy was going to miss seeing the band! Squeezing his way past the tree-like legs of the adults before him, he pushed through just in time to see the last of the marchers go by, their brass instruments gleaming, their tall black hats bouncing with each step. The splendid red and white uniforms they wore reminded Sammy of toy soldiers.

      "That's it," thought Sammy as the band passed and disappeared down the block, "I'm going to be in a marching band!"

      Sammy ran back home and started planning right away. "This blue bucket will do for my hat!" he said to himself. "And I can use this tin can as a drum!" Sammy borrowed the red tablecloth from the kitchen and wrapped it around his neck.

      "Let's go!" exclaimed Sammy. Rascal bounded in, tail wagging in expectation. "You have to be able to play something if you want to be in the marching band, Rascal!" Rascal barked in reply. "Well, I guess if you want to sing, that's okay, too. Time for our parade!"

      And so Sammy and Rascal set out on their march. Sammy took the biggest steps his little legs could reach, and banged on the bottom of the tin can with his hand. Ping, pang, pong it went, and Rascal yelped every now and then. It was turning out to be a very good marching band indeed, Sammy thought.

      They marched down the neighborhood street, past the bright houses and apartments. Old ladies tending their lawns shook their heads. Old men on their porches didn’t even look up. Sammy gave them a smile and waved anyway, and Rascal barked a greeting.

      A gray tabby cat was crossing the street ahead of Sammy and Rascal. Rascal barked, and the little cat jumped back a little. “Rascal! Don’t be so mean!” commanded Sammy. Rascal stopped barking at the cat. Sammy knelt down beside the gray kitten. “Are you lost? That’s okay. Do you want to be in our marching band, Kitty?” The cat had a little brass bell on its collar, which tinkled as the kitten yawned. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes!’” And so the three of them marched further down the street.

      Past the playground they went, past the school, past the parks and fields. Rascal barked as Sammy slapped the drum can, and Kitty jumped every time Rascal barked, sending the bell jingling. Older boys sneered, and older girls pointed and giggled, but Sammy kept his head high and marched on forward. Rascal and Kitty looked glad to be marching, too.

      A seagull floated by overhead, and squawked its sharp, seagull's squawk. "You can be in our marching band too!" called Sammy from the ground. The seagull didn't seem to want to walk, but that was okay. They could be a marching-flying band.

      They went past the warehouses, big brick buildings with empty-looking windows. Old warehouse workers grumbled. Cars zoomed by, leaving behind clouds of stinky exhaust. But Sammy marched on with a smile, smacking the can to the beat of his steps. Rascal trotted along, tail wagging. Kitty kept pace right behind. And the seagull – Sammy decided to name him Gulliver – soared on overhead. The band was going far today.

      Sammy noticed a lonely, lost ant wandering on the sidewalk. "Well," said Sammy, "you don't have an instrument, Mr. Ant, but you can follow us along until you find one." The ant inched closer to the piece of gum stuck on Sammy's shoe.

      And so they continued their afternoon parade. Past the docks, the ocean breeze wafted in, rustling the tall grass and dry weeds along the cracking sidewalk. The sound of the rustling whispered like the soft sound of applause, each blade of grass or tuft of weed cheering the band along. And the tin can clanged, the bark sounded, the brass bell rang out, the squawk hung in the air. The ant hadn’t found an instrument yet, but that was okay. They still put on a very good parade.

---

Now all I need is an illustrator. And publisher. And readers.

The Plastic Eye

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So I got a new lens for my camera. Yeah, I'm a sucker for camera gear. This one's a little different, though. No fancy extra-dispersion aspherical ground glass elements in various groups for this lens. Nope -- pure plastic.

My interest in the Holga was piqued by a few articles I read on the interweb. For the uninitiated, the Holga is an all-plastic toy film camera. It has one shutter speed, one aperture setting, leaks light into its body, and has a junko plastic lens. As a consequence, when compared to photos taken from a "real" camera, the pics from a Holga.. er.. don't look quite right. Which is what we're going for here.

I actually considered picking up a real live Holga, but I really didn't want to deal with film. It's medium format, which would have been interesting to get into, but still -- film. So I did the next best thing: I paid a guy to hack the lens off a Holga and mount it onto a Nikon body cap. So now I can mount it onto my SLR. Sweet, sweet digital goodness.

I was not very enamored by some of my initial experiences with the lens, though. I spent a good amount of time going over every crevice of the thing to get rid of all the plastic shaving bits. Not a very delightful task. And the first few shots I grabbed with it were -- how shall we say -- not inspiring. But I got a few interesting exposures. And after a while, I started to get used to the quirkiness of this particular lens.

The Holga definitely forces you to approach photography differently. It sort of makes you look at the world a little cockeyed, from different angles, trying to find something that would hold interest before sending it through the distorted plastic. The photo above is one of the better examples of its results.

One thing I don't like about Flickr is that they seem to boost contrast and saturation a bit after you upload photos. The above picture was less contrasty than it appears now, and a bit more flat and dull in terms of color. Usually I wouldn't complain, but in this case, it really does take away from some of the eerie, washed-out feel I'd seen before uploading. Oh well. You get what you can from free services.

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Artsy? Funky? Weird? I don't know. Whatever it is, I think it's right up my alley.

Man, I Was a Lot Funnier in High School

So a while back, I was cleaning through some boxes of papers in the garage, tossing out old homework assignments from high school and college (the precious few I actually completed). Amidst the piles of calculus and world history notes, I came across a short mini-play I'd written for my high school creative writing class. It made me laugh.

When I'd gotten out of college, there was a certain feeling that I was at the top of my game in terms of writing skill. I now realize that my high-school self was at the over-the-top of his game. Oh High-School Self, how wonderfully absurd you were.

I wasn't very good with titles, though. The title for this piece was, quite simply, "Creative Writing: First Play." How utilitarian. But without further ado, for your reading pleasure, I present my high-school play:

Characters
Dr. Kilborne
Mr. Peonei

A vast desert, barren except for a few desert plants. A thin strip of asphalt cuts through the expanse, serving as a highway. A large, black Humvee sits parked on the side of road. Next to the vehicle grows a single Joshua tree, surrounded by shrubs. The sun beats down upon the area from overhead, scorching the earth.
As a large pickup truck comes down the highway, the Humvee’s single occupant, Dr. Kilborne, opens his vehicle’s door and steps out into the sun. He tosses the hardcover book in his hand, Advanced Nuclear Physics, onto the Hummer’s seat, and readjusts the position of his eyeglasses. He is dressed in a white lab coat and a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.
The truck pulls up and parks behind the Humvee. Peonei, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, steps out of the truck and walks over to Kilborne.

Kilborne: (checking his watch) It’s about time.

Peonei: Sorry I’m late, but these directions you gave me were awfully confusing. What’s up with all of these circling routes?

Kilborne: (scans the area with his eyes) They were a necessary precaution, just in case you were followed.

Peonei: (scratches his head) Um... okay. So, do you have the merchandise?

Kilborne: (lowers his voice to a whisper and leans toward Peonei) Not so loud, you fool! Who knows who may be listening?

Peonei: (looks around) What? There’s nobody here.

Kilborne: (nervously scratches his neck) Quiet down! Just be quiet! The object you requested is in the Hummer.

(Kilborne and Peonei walk to the Humvee. Kilborne unlocks the trunk hatch and opens it. Inside is a large, curved, metallic object, which takes up the Hummer’s entire cabin space.)

Kilborne: Here it is. I can’t tell you how difficult it was to slip this through the government lab’s security. Fortunately, we nuclear physicists get relatively high security clearance.

Peonei: It looks impressive. How much will you be charging for this thing, exactly?

Kilborne: (takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his hands clean) I’ll let you have it for thirteen.

(Peonei fishes out a few crumpled bills from his pocket and hands them to Kilborne.)

Kilborne: What’s this? Thirteen dollars? Do you think that’s funny? I meant thirteen million, you jerk!

Peonei: (eyes widening) Thirteen million?! Har-har. That’s a pretty lame joke, mister. Really, how much is it?

Kilborne: (voice raising) Don’t yank my chain, you little punk! If you aren’t prepared to pay for it, don’t bother looking at it! Hydrogen bombs aren’t exactly easy to come by, you know.

Peonei: (shocked) Hydrogen bomb?! What the...

Kilborne: (calms down slightly) Well, granted, it isn’t the best one in the world. You can’t expect too much. After all, I had to build this from pieces of scrapped equipment in my secret lab. But, at thirteen million, it’s still a bargain!

Peonei: (yelling nervously) Why are you trying to sell me a bomb?! Sweet mother of mercy, are you mad?!

Kilborne: (confused) You told me over the phone that you wanted a weapon of mass destruction didn’t you? What do you want if for, anyway?

Peonei: Weapon of mass destruction?! Are you insane?! I wanted something to kill cockroaches with! I’m a janitor for goodness sake!

Kilborne: (suddenly becomes quiet) Oh... oops.

(Kilborne turns around and looks at the Joshua tree.)

Kilborne: I now see the error of my ways. A world in which janitors can go about blowing up people into tiny bits is frightening indeed. Yes, from this day forth, no more shall I sell weapons on the black market! (stops to think) On the other hand, that little unkempt fellow I spoke with the other day seemed to be quite willing to pay top dollar for that cruise missile...

(Peonei lays down in the dirt and cries.)

Spurgeon, on Wisdom

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An idea has long possessed the public mind, that a religious man can scarcely be a wise man. It has been the custom to talk of infidels, atheists, and deists, as men of deep thought and comprehensive intellect; and to tremble for the Christian controversialist, as if he must surely fall by the hand of his enemy. But this is purely a mistake; for the gospel is the sum of wisdom; an epitome of knowledge; a treasure-house of truth; and a revelation of mysterious secrets. In it we see how justice and mercy may be married; here we behold inexorable law entirely satisfied, and sovereign love bearing away the sinner in triumph. Our meditation upon it enlarges the mind; and as it opens to our soul in successive flashes of glory, we stand astonished at the profound wisdom manifest in it. Ah, dear friends! if ye seek wisdom, ye shall see it displayed in all its greatness; not in the balancing of the clouds, nor the firmness of earth's foundations; not in the measured march of the armies of the sky, nor in the perpetual motions of the waves of the sea; not in vegetation with all its fairy forms of beauty; nor in the animal with its marvellous tissue of nerve, and vein, and sinew: nor even in man, that last and loftiest work of the Creator. But turn aside and see this great sight!—an incarnate God upon the cross; a substitute atoning for mortal guilt; a sacrifice satisfying the vengeance of Heaven, and delivering the rebellious sinner. Here is essential wisdom; enthroned, crowned, glorified. Admire, ye men of earth, if ye be not blind; and ye who glory in your learning bend your heads in reverence, and own that all your skill could not have devised a gospel at once so just to God, so safe to man.

- C.H. Spurgeon

I'm Also Glad I'm Not a Scientist

So I was reading the latest issue of Popular Science, and came across an article about the worst jobs in the science field. Topping the list (or perhaps bottoming it?) was, in my opinion, the whale-feces collector. It seems there is much you can learn from the gentle beasts of the sea by studying their poop. It's actually quite interesting. Turns out they've trained dogs to go with them on the boats and sniff out the, er, quarry.

On second thought, perhaps the orangutan-pee collector edges these guys out in terms of undesirability of work. At least there's less chance of stuff falling on top of you when you're on the ocean.

For those of us braving the wild world of the city, our dear friend Wonger has found a potentially handy device, for those of us too lazy to crank out sheets of paper towels or use hand sanitizers.

Clearer Skies

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One thing I noticed, during my brief visit to Europe, was the clouds. There's just something about the clouds in Europe -- as if they had more depth and character and vibrancy.


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By way of comparison, I'm not quite sure how one would describe the skies in Los Angeles without using the words "brown" or "gunk."

Just an observation.

Glad I'm Not a Writer

... wait a minute...

A Few Thoughts Regarding Europe

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- London would be a very nice place to live... if you could afford it.
- Paris is a nice place to visit... if you can find your way around.
- London public transportation > Paris transportation.
- Parisian food > London food.
- Everyone smokes in Europe. That is, until July 1, when England goes smoke-free. Good for you, England.
- Go to Paris, and you'll take about a bajillion pictures of the Eiffel Tower. Then you'll see it again, and you'll still want to take a picture of it.
- You'd need more than a week to see everything in London and Paris. A whole lot more.

More pics to come.

Lagging

It's about 10:45 a.m. Paris time right now, and here I am, back in L.A., unable to sleep. So I'm up transferring photos. Only about 300 more to go now, out of some 1,200 pictures. I really need USB 2.0. I'll try posting some photos when I get a chance.

Tips for iLiving

Seems like more people are joining in on the Apple-computing sensation these days. And who can blame them? If you haven't already, try using iTunes for a week or two, and imagine an entire operating system designed like that. An operating system that--you know--makes sense.

But I digress. I think that I've come to realize that there are a lot of things I take for granted on a Mac. And once in a while I'll encounter someone new to the system, and everything is so vibrant and new. And sometimes, in the midst of all that excitement and going, "Ooooh look! The Dock!", some might miss out on some of OS X's more useful features. So here's a small list, for any new Mac converts out there, of a few handy tricks to get the most out of your oh-so-delicious computing experience:

1. Application switching.
To switch between different open applications in OS X, hold the Command key (aka, the "Apple-key," or "that squigley four-leaf-clover key") and hit tab. Keep holding the Command key, and repeatedly press tab to cycle through all your open apps. Pressing shift-tab will cycle backwards.
This is one of the most handy, bread-and-butter features of Mac OS I use, and it can easily be missed by newcomers. One of the main reasons I upgraded to Panther (OS 10.3) was for Exposé, but to be quite honest, I don't really use it all that much. Command-tabbing is faster, and it doesn't demand that I remember which hotkey I assigned to it.

2. Quit your applications.
I tend to see this a lot when Windows users switch to Mac. They'll click on the shiny red button at the top of the window, thus closing it, and then go on to do other things. And it's quite understandable that they do so. On a PC, closing all the windows of a program will typically exit the program for you (correct me if I'm wrong, Windows-gurus. That's what I do, anyways). In OS X, closing all your windows leaves your program running, only sans-windows. This running application is still waiting for you to do stuff, and hogging up resources in the meantime. So do your dear friend a favor (I mean your Mac, not me. I don't really mind either way), and press Command-Q to quit your applications when you're done with them.

3. Force quitting.
In the rare event that one of your applications crashes, you'll probably have to force-quit it. A bit of warning, though: using the force-quit command will chuck all your unsaved changes to the wind. But if you're application is freezing up anyway, you might not have any other option. With that said, this is how you do it:

- Press Command-Option-Escape
- Choose the application you want to quit from the list
- Hit Enter, or click "Force Quit"
- Mourn the loss of your unsaved changes
- Hit OK, and go on computing

4. Create an encrypted disk image.
I just stumbled upon this handy little tip recently. Say you have some sensitive personal documents on your hard drive (credit card information, social security numbers, top-secret chili recipes, whatever), and you'd like to lock them up somewhere safe--you know, just in case your Mac gets stolen by some raging Apple-coveting PC-user. Well lucky you, because you can create an encrypted disk image with OS X's Disk Utility. Whatever you put inside this virtual disk is password protected, thus deterring all but the most hax0Rz of computer thieves. So here's what you do:

- Open up the Disk Utility application (it's usually tucked away in the Utilities folder inside the main Applications folder)
- Go to File --> New --> Blank Disk Image (or, if you're using OS 10.3, go to Image --> New)
- Enter the disk's name (hopefully not "Super Secret Credit Card Numbers--LOOK!!")
- Choose a disk image size (you might want to choose a CD-sized image, just in case you want to burn it to a CD later).
- Choose "Read/Write," assuming you want to, you know, actually put stuff in here.
- Choose AES-128 as the encryption method (It's the only one available).
- Click "Create."
- Type in your super-secret password.

Now, if someone happens to steal your beloved Powerbook laptop, never fear, because you've already put all your personal documents inside an encrypted disk. Now they'll never be able to make Habanero-chili just the way you like it!

5. Right-clicking on a Mac.
The lack of a built-in right-click is one of the biggest gripes I hear against Macs. And I tend to agree with them. Right-clicking is pretty nifty, and I personally think Apple should include two-button trackpads and mice with their computers. But it's not all bad. You could always go out and buy a two-button mouse. And yes, that second button will work. The options that drop-down when you right click usually aren't as extensive as you'd find on a Windows computer, but it'll get most of the important jobs done. If you don't want to go out and buy a mouse, you could always hold down the Control (ctrl) button as you click for the same functionality. Lame, yes, but what can you do? Use a PC? No thanks.

::Update::
I just remembered another useful trick that's found in Mac OS X.

6. Print to PDF
If you're using your web browser, word processor, or really anything that lets you print, you can go to File --> Print, and click the "Save as PDF" button at the bottom of the dialog box. Choose a place to save it, name it, and you're good to go. Send it, archive it, stick it in a stew. Real handy.

::End of update::

Those are some of the more useful ones that I can think of right now. Oh, and it seems that OS X can utilize some Emacs key bindings, which I'm trying to toy around with a little bit. Seems like it'd be neat if you can get the hang of it.

But the best Mac tip I can give is simple: get a Mac. Just wait for your current PC to break down and die. Shouldn't take that long. Hah. And once you go Mac, you never go back.

Woe Unto the Stamp Collectors

Look'it that. All that majestic majesty in its raw majestic-ness. See how it inspires patriotism and democracy and the desire to mail things. Oh, to be an American.




Uhhhmmm... hrm... So uh, hey, did you hear? The Post Office upped the price of stamps from $0.39 to $0.41. I'm thinking they spent the extra two cents on licensing clip art. And researching shades of beige.

These new stamps leave me unmoved--unless by "moved," you were to mean something like, "hey, let's all 'move' to Canada now."

On a somewhat similar topic, do you ever get an urge to take those "Business Reply Mail" envelopes from junk mail, paste over the address part, and use that "No postage necessary if mailed in the United States" box for free postage? Yeah, neither do I. But I'm sure some unscrupulous folks would. Cheap, cheap unscrupulous folks. Would that count as a federal offense, you think?

Email Confusion

Imagine seeing this little scene as you sign into your email account. First, there's probably going to be the natural (and understandable) initial reaction: "Oh, what the crazy? Did I just get an email from Jesus??" This thought quickly fades as you realize this is probably not the case. Jesus has never emailed you before, why would He start now? Then the thought process quickly goes on to say: "What kind of weirdo creates an email address pretending to be Jesus? And why would I know this sort of person?"

Eventually (if you're as sharp as certain persons who may or may not be the author of this blog), you'll come to the slow realization that, though you do not have (or even know of) Jesus Christ's email address, you do in fact have a friend named Christopher. And while this friend of yours is quite a good and godly chap, he's not nearly as cool as Jesus, which leaves the slightest tinge of disappointment at the fact that Jesus doesn't generally do email. But this feeling is tempered by the knowledge that, if Jesus were to actually email you directly, it'd probably turn out to be a Revelation 1-3 sort of affair, which would likely mean that you're in some deep trouble -- not to mention the fact that it would almost definitely scare the living wits out of you.

So, what can we learn from this little exercise? Read carefully. And if you're trying to get to know Jesus, read the Bible carefully. Don't expect Him to just email you about it. F'seriously.

National Day of Prayer

Today, May 3, is the National Day of Prayer. I was surprised that I didn't hear much press about it beforehand. Read about it on a bookstore email ad, no less. We should make every day the National Day of Prayer, just so that people like me won't have to keep track of when it is. How's that sound? Fantastic? Does it sound fantastic? Yeah, I think it sounds fantastic.

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.
- 2 Chronicles 7:14 (NIV)

Illumination

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Your testimonies are wonderful;
Therefore my soul keeps them.
The unfolding of your words gives light;
It imparts understanding
To the simple.

I opened my mouth, and panted:
For I longed for thy commandments.
Look upon me,
Be merciful unto me,
And show me favor,
As is Your way to those
Who love Your name.

Direct my steps by Your word,
And let no iniquity
Have dominion over me.
Redeem me from man’s oppression,
That I may keep your precepts.
Make your face shine upon your servant
And teach me your decrees.

Streams of water run down my eyes,
Because men do not keep Your law
[They hear it not,
Nor receive it,
love it,
or obey it].
-Ps. 119:129-136, various translations

(My apologies for the gratuitous number of pictures of myself on this blog. I think it's gratuitous. But I can't afford models for my pictures. I'm sorry.)

Music Under the Radar

The other night, during dinner at Shabu Shabu, I noticed that one of the waiters had a U2 "Under a Blood Red Sky" t-shirt on. I thought that was cool.

I like music. Music is, to me, what poetry is to people who have the attention span to appreciate poetry (I don't have the attention span to appreciate poetry). I used to be able to listen to albums straight through; just listening, picking apart the lyrics and melodies. Sadly, I don't have the patience to do much of that anymore. But I still enjoy stumbling into new musical finds every now and then -- all the more so if they're from musicians that don't get much press. Maybe it's because I have a deep-seated need for pretentious music-snobbery, like, "ooh-la-de-daa, look'it this band that's so awesome, but you've never even heard of!" Or maybe it's just that I think that indie artists have more creative freedom than mainstream ones do. Or maybe it's both.

If you're anything like me, you'll enjoy some of these musicians that have somehow slipped under the mainstream radar. They do what they're passionate about for a living, but don't get much publicity, and I think that's pretty cool of them. Stop by their sites for a listen, why don't you:

1000 Generations--To Those Who Cry
-Worshipful pop/rock. Check out the songs "Only in Weakness" and "To Those Who Cry." Very nice.

Deas Vail--All the Houses Look the Same
-Keyboard-and-guitar-driven rock. "Shoreline" is a pretty song. Also check out "Anything You Say."

But the musical gem I really want to highlight right now is from Jacob's Well. I picked up their newest EP, I Will See You, at their concert in San Gabriel last weekend (thanks for the invite, Kiks!). Jacob's Well is tight. Their sound is folksy, upbeat, and almost exclusively acoustic (though they have an electric bass player now. Nice guy.). Elise Loomis' vocals are amazing, and the quality of her voice reminds me a bit of Leigh Nash from Sixpence (maybe that's just me). Many of their songs are Scripturally inspired, which, when coupled with the band's skillful musical chops, makes you wonder why we don't see more bands like Jacob's Well in the mainstream. But to really appreciate these guys, check them out live. This is a band that knows what they're about, and it's not themselves. These are the kind of people that will put on a free concert, pour their hearts out into their music, and then thank you for the opportunity afterward. They're not rock stars, they're worship leaders. And it shows.

If you haven't succumb to the Jacob's Well sensation yet, check out their myspace. Their new album's title track, "I Will See You," is definitely worth checking out.

I also saw this the other day, and thought it was amusing. And it involves one of my favorite bands ever:
U2 Bringing Spider-man to Broadway

Broadway, comic books, and U2. How can it go wrong??

The Duck!

Guest writers for "What the Duck's" 200^th-comic-strip celebration.

Scroll down about a dozen or so strips. The one with "William Chan" written at the top.

A Brief Word on Finding This Place

So I was talking with Kiki the other day, and she mentioned something that I had concerns about when I started this blog. I mentioned this briefly in the disclaimer post earlier (see the third disclaimer), but in case you missed it, here it is:

The more I look at it, the more my blog's name looks like it says "Ecclesiastes," which is an Old Testament book of wisdom and life experience. It doesn't teach anything about spelling, though. Or combining words. If you type in "Ecclesiastes" in front of the "blogspot.com," you're going to get someone else's blog (trust me, I tried it).

I keep a link to Blogger in my browser toolbar, mostly because I'm not very confident in being able to accurately type in my own blog's URL. But generally speaking, I like to keep the things I read together via RSS subscriptions. If you haven't bought into the RSS sensation yet, I recommend checking out Google Reader. All you need is a Gmail account, and it doesn't require anything to download. Then all you have to do is click on over to the links under "RSS Feeds" to the right of this blog page. Easy peasy. Do that for all your friends' blogs. You'll be glad you did.

And just in case you're wondering:
Eclectic -- (adj.) Selecting or employing individual elements from a variety of sources, systems, or styles.
Ecclesiastes -- (n.) A book of the Old Testament.

Ecclesiastes contains reflections of an old man, the “Preacher,” as he considered the question of meaning in life. He looked back and saw the futility (“vanity”) of chasing after even the good things this life can offer, including wisdom, work, pleasure, and wealth. Even if such things are satisfying for a time, death is certain to end this satisfaction. In fact, God's judgment on Adam for his sin (Gen. 3:17-19) echoes throughout the book (especially 12:7). Yet the person who lives in the fear of the Lord can enjoy God's good gifts. Young people, especially, should remember their Creator while they still have their whole lives before them (12:1). Traditionally interpreters of Ecclesiastes have identified the “Preacher,” who is also called “the son of David, king in Jerusalem” (1:1), as Solomon (tenth century b.c.).*

*from the ESV introduction to the book of Ecclesiastes.

Dying Flowers

(click photo to enlarge)

So I was editing this photo on my computer, when my mom walked by and caught a glimpse of the screen. And she asked, "What's that?"

"Flowers. I took a picture of them using the flash."

"What? You mean those dried up old flowers that were sitting in the living room?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. Even dried up old flowers can look nice."

I thought that was an interesting comment. Just the idea that there can be beauty in something that's otherwise unattractive intrigues me at times. Of course, with a vase full of flowers, you don't really have to stretch to find that beauty. I mean, come on, they're flowers. But even in the downright ugly -- the streets and the slums and the empty cookie bags sitting on a desk that no one seems to appreciate -- I think there's always a strange sense that, maybe if you look at it from a different angle, there might be a glimmer of something beautiful.

So whenever life hands you a lemon, light it from different angles and take a picture of it.

As for the picture itself, I was fooling around with this light-painting technique I read about on Strobist. Camera was on a tripod in a pitch dark room; the flash was hand-held and fired via its "Test" button. The shutter was held open as long as it could manage (30 seconds), and the light was fired off at various angles around the vase. I have to admit, I cheated a bit here. The flash beam wasn't as tightly controlled as it should have been, so some light spilled over onto the walls and my stuffed-animal Ninja Turtle. So I brought down the ambient light in Photoshop to get it solid black.

You can try it yourself at home. All you need is a camera that lets you adjust shutter speed and a light source (flashlight, strobe, whatever).

A Typical Exchange

Random person: Hey, what does "abecedarian"^* mean?
Me: What is that, English? Uhmmm... yeah, I've never heard that word before in my life.
Random person: Whaaaat?!? How can that be?? Weren't you a Literature major??
Me: Oh. Yes. Yes, I suppose I was. I'm sorry, I must've missed that lecture on "abecedarian."

A harmless exchange, to be sure. But it seems to occur often enough that I feel there should be some clarification. The University of California, San Diego has a program for the study of Literature in the field of Writing. They do not, however, have a program for Literature in the field of Vocabulary. None that I know of, anyway. The difference is subtle. Words are great, and tremendously useful. And yeah, if you're into learning a new word everyday, then that's all great fun. But vocabulary is not an end unto itself (unless of course, you're a Literature/Vocabulary major). The writer is trained to put words together in such a way as to sense make good. Words are a tool. Communication of ideas is the goal. And to that end, most of the time I can get away with not knowing what abecedarian means.

That being said, I encourage everyone to expand their vocabularies. Learn a new word once in a while. Find a way to use it. Expand your mind. And then come back and teach me what that word means.

I don't even know what a Literature/Vocabulary major would study. Dictionaries? Isn't that what Linguistics majors are for? I don't know.


*abecedarian--1) Pertaining to the letters of the alphabet; 2) Rudimentary; elementary.

Santa Monica

(click photo to enlarge)

Have you ever heard that song "Santa Monica" by Savage Garden? It's a charming little song, about feeling out of place in a world of false appearances. It's also about prank calling your friends and pretending that you're Norman Mailer over the phone, which seems a bit odd to me.

Anyway, this was shot at the Santa Monica Pier. This guy on the guitar was actually quite good, and I thought his voice sounded a bit like Phil Collins. I think Kim got a video of him playing "Tiny Dancer." But then, later on, we saw this other guy on the Promenade singing the exact same song! What's the deal with that? Do these people share playlists or something? Is there an academy for this sort of thing? And this guy here is playing on a Martin! Why am I giving you money, sir? But then again, I did take his picture without permission, so who am I to judge, neh? And like I said, he was pretty good at what he did.

Still trying to get the hang of post-processing in black & white. But it's okay, 'cause it's digital. And man, I dig-it-all! (I'm sorry, I stole that from Strong Bad. You can blame him.)

The Virginia Tech Massacre

Virginia massacre gunman is named (BBC News link)

Everyone's talking about it here at work, and the story's all over the news. And as far as tragedies go, I guess this one hits pretty close to home. Never once during my time in college did I ever feel unsafe or endangered in any way. And to think of the friends and families left to mourn and wonder why...

But to be honest, I can't really say that the news shocked me when I first read it. It was saddening, to be sure. But surprising? Not particularly. I think it takes a thick skin to read the news these days and not get completely depressed at the sorry state of this world. And after a while, you read these stories day after day, and you become desensitized, realizing that there is no limit to the evil that man is capable of. And you can't measure it's extent in the death tolls or the number of tears shed. It's pervasive, all around us, to the point that it stains all of our souls. And it's a disconcerting state of human nature that, when pushed to its limits, makes us all no different than the monsters we read about daily.

On a related note, it turns out that the shooter was an English major. I find this fact rather disturbing. I always said you have to be a bit weird to write, but I guess I never thought "depressed-crazy-shooting-people" weird. Messed up.

About This Blog -- A Few Disclaimers

Perhaps it would be prudent to get a few things out of the way before we get this blog rolling.

• Disclaimer the First: the author is aware that this is, in fact, a blog.
• Disclaimer the Second: as a result of the above disclaimer, the author is aware that there is a certain assumption, whilst blogging, that people are reading said blog. However, the author will not be so presumptuous as to assume that anything he writes is interesting enough to be read.
• Disclaimer the Third: the author of this blog is aware of the blog's name. Yes, Ecclesiastes is spelled wrong. Yes, eclectic is spelled wrong. But you know what? WillWrite4Food was already taken, so the author had to resort to making up words. He briefly considered the name Poofreader, but didn't much care for the prominence of the word "Poo" up front.
  

• Addendum to Disclaimer the Third: the author would like to apologize to anyone who is considering Poofreader as a really cool blog name.

• Disclaimer the Fourth: the author will provide updates to this blog sporadically, the frequency of which is dependent on a variety of factors, including (but not limited to): scheduling concerns, time of day, weather conditions, levels of ambient lighting, extent of sleep deprivation, overall health and fitness, dietary patterns, hydration levels, states of political turmoil (both local and worldwide), and of course, global economic growth.
• Disclaimer the Fifth: the topics covered by this blog are subject to the whims of the author, and are not guaranteed to be cohesive or coherent in any way, shape, or form.
  
• Disclaimer the Sixth: as can be seen with the contents of this list thus far, it should be clear to most readers that the author's writing style is often inconsistent, makes much use of cliche, and is generally rather unfunny. Please do not humor him. He needs not your pity.

All right then. Let's get writing, folks.

So Why Blogger?

I've been meaning to get back to blogging, but to be honest, the thought of going back to Xanga doesn't hold a whole lot of appeal. And after cruising around the interweb, I eventually came to the realization that "hey, blogspot has a pretty nice interface." And since I can get most of my Xanga subscriptions through RSS, I figured maybe it was time to jump ship. A few reasons I'm drawn to blogger:

- Flickr support -- allows me to post photoblog entries straight from my Flickr account.
- Commenting open to the public (not only to blog members).
- Lots of layout control and customization options.
- Availability of compatible blogging software.
- Nifty add-on options, which may or may not prove useful.

I was thinking of converting my brother's old G4 tower into a web server, but after jumping through loops to get apache, mysql and php up and running, I came to the realization that I had no idea what I was doing, and that maybe I was in a bit over my head. Best to leave the web server-ing to the web server-ing professionals. Plus I didn't want to pay for electricity or a domain name. I just found out that I owe the government taxes, by the way. Uncle Sam is a cold, money-grubbing relative if I ever met one.

New blog, new possibilities. Carpe canem!