1. All The Kings Men messenger bag - Oh hell. I have a heckuva soft spot for messenger bags in my heart. I swear in a former life I must have been a woman with 500 purses because messenger bags (not man bags, not murses) make me giddy. This international version tickles my fancy particularly, though sadly it’s over 200 bones, with another $40 to ship it stateside. *le sigh*
2. I Have a Few - a film by Steve Delahoyde - This short from Coudal Partners is rather smart. Perhaps a bit too Steve Carell-ish in acting, but still very, very funny. Most designers I know are too passionate about their hobbies, and this is a perfect mockery of us. I guarantee The Wife™ would nod in agreement here.
3. Having an office at home - I’ve taken on some freelance work as of late, and it feels good, like easing back into an exercise routine. Still “sore” but certainly energized. Helping this was the decision to finally set up an office in the house. I’ve had no reason to before, but have since prepped the walls for painting and mentally mapped out where artwork, posters and other goodness will go. Still have to build a new desk, but it’s nice to have my Fortress of Solitude back.
4. Google’s collaborative GMail video - A little background: Google wanted to do a collaborative video for their GMail service, and asked users to submit videos of them passing a giant, printable GMail envelope icon from one side of the frame to another. Google’s team then compiled a bunch into a short video. Nothing revolutionary, but still neat in it’s grassroots style. Stupid, seemingly pointless joint efforts like this help me realize that people out there do still like to have collectively good fun sometimes.
5. The Devil Wears A Bro-Tee - I dislike Nickelback. They’re one of the few bands that I openly can’t stand, despite trying to not judge. James Montgomery, a writer for MTV, who’s tone is often so reflective of the younger generation, all snarky and judgemental, does a great job describing his meeting with Chad Kroeger. I found the article quite humorous, and oddly insightful into the enigma of Nickelback’s success.

Late last summer, sometime before fall had completely set in, our neighborhood took on a bit of a transformation, one which has completely changed my view on where we live. The little subdivision we moved to is barely 10 years old, and is a rather nice mix of people from different walks of life and economic backgrounds. The best part is that when they built the neighborhood they did not raze all of the trees like is usually the case in suburban America. The worst part is that it’s small enough that walking Jonas around the entire neighborhood once takes about 45 seconds.

So last September, The Wife™ and I returned home one day to find a large tract of land had been cleared. This several acre piece was at the front entrance to the neighborhood and previously was just a nicely wooded area. We always thought it odd that there were no houses there, but came to understand (once they had mowed every living thing down) that now, ten years later, is a PERFECT time to construct three new houses. Maybe the builder is Rumpelstiltskin. Or just got reeeeeally tired of building. For ten years.

“I guess I didn’t give it too much thought because really? At least they didn’t have their RV on blocks and mow their lawn with no shirt on, exposing their hairy guts to the world.”

Anyway, weeks passed and one Sunday afternoon on our way out of the neighborhood, everything clicked in one of those movie-esque sequences that was so sudden I almost slammed on the breaks when we figured it out. See, after they cleared the trees and grass on these plots, we began to notice a rather odd structure in the backyard of a newly visible property. This house sits outside of our division, but backs up onto this land, so their backyard is visible when entering or exiting our subdivision. And as soon as the land was cleared, I noticed this strange structure that shot high into the air. There were lots of lines, and lots of poles. But hell, we live in Kentucky, anything is possible. I guess I didn’t give it too much thought because really? At least they didn’t have their RV on blocks and mow their lawn with no shirt on, exposing their hairy guts to the world. That’s the job of the house down the street.

So on this Sunday, it finally hit us when we saw 20 or so people outside the mystery house, standing around the mystery structure and sitting in non-mysterious lawn chairs. Wanna know what it is? A freaking high-wire trapeze. SO. NOT. KIDDING. A grandfather was out with his grandkids, and the entire family was around watching them all perform. Our best guess was that they were having one last go at it before they had to dismantle it. Sure enough, the next day it was all gone. Like a dream. A very strange, very redneck dream.

For a year there were no new developments in the case. It went stone cold. It was the only time I’ve ever seen people at this house and I often wondered if it was abandoned. Or perhaps another meth lab. Then, two weeks ago, on the way into our neighborhood we noticed that the driveway of said mysterious occupants’ house had two giant RVs and a slew of other cars. Something was up.

As we rounded the corner past the razed plots, we saw it in all it’s glory. The high-wire trapeze structure had been resurrected, like a phoenix in it’s own right, stretching to the heavens. The crowds again had come to watch. But where had everyone been for a year? Tradeshows? Conventions? The Redneck Riviera? We have no idea.

Indeed, though, The Carnies™ are home, and it’s going to be an interesting year.

Over the weekend, something came across my RSS feeds that I’m still not entirely sure how to deal with, mainly because I’m stupid and because numbers make the back of my eyeballs burn with red hot intensity. So to put it simply, I’m too dumb to realize why this news doesn’t sit well with me. That totally made sense in my head.

My friends who put up with my sorry ass know me well know I’m always talking about the benefits of investing. They also know that the reason I say this is not because I’m a powersuit-wearing, slicked-back, coked-up cash addict. Though that sounds like a wicked Halloween costume. No, instead I just know that the little bit of money that I’m able to scrape together right now has performed rather well as investments, and that denying a tiny bit of immediate monetary pleasure will hopefully allow me to retire before I reach diaper status. Or return to, rather.

So on Sunday I noticed a thread on a trading forum where a group of individuals have gone berserk over a recent “mystery” buy. The little bit that I understand is that an unknown buyer made two transactions, and in and an out, essentially waging $4.5b on a minimum of a 30% drop in the US Market within the next four weeks. On the line are 65,000 contracts at $750.00 each for the SPX 700 “calls for open.” That sized trade controls 6.5 million shares at $750 each, which for those with a calculator is $4.5 billion. Whomever is offering these sales can only profit if the market drops between 30% and 50% within the next four weeks. If the market fails to drop in the predicted amount, this investor stands to lose over $1 billion. And that’s just for buying the contracts. That’s a helluva bet to take unless you have inside knowledge of something that my pea-sized brain doesn’t.

So flying around the internet are theories of why someone or some group would make such a gamble, with ideas ranging from a pre-planned terrorist attack on the US to Chinese investors looking to pull out their weight. Again, I’m far too simple minded to realize which of these theories carries any traces of truth and which are legitimate conspiracy theories, but I do realize the magnitude of the possibilities. The mere idea of someone having information of that gravity ahead of time is frightening to me.

I hope in the end that it is nothing, that it was a simple computer trading glitch that has gone uncorrected thus far. Because to think that it really could be one individual or entity knowingly preparing to make a veritable fortune at the sake of the financial futures of hard-working people like myself and all of us…that makes me sick to my stomach.

I need to go read up more on this and try to stop being a halfwit when it comes to anything involving numbers. And if any of you have any ideas, feel free to let me know. I’ll be guzzling coffee and trying to poke the burning feeling out of my eyes.

1. Belkin’s N1 Vision wireless router - It’s about friggin time that companies started making better looking equipment. Perhaps Apple’s design emphasis (as it relates to part of the consumer experience) has finally sunken in with execs at other companies.
2. Luggage Tags for the TSA - Having just traveled recently, these tongue-in-cheek tags are a fantastic eff-off to the TSA. It’s a shame knockknock doesn’t sell them anymore.
3. Shift Happens video - An engaging vid that compresses some of the main postulations by David Warlick, Thomas Friedman, Ian Jukes, Ray Kurzweil and others. If anything it helps puts things into perspective, which this week has been about for me. [Thanks, Laura]
4. This wedding invitation from Chris Maclean - Not much else to say except a brilliant concept and execution. Claire & Dave must have been ecstatic.
5. Camera tossing - Only for the brave, tossing your camera with long exposures can yield some awesome results. It still makes me sick to my stomach to think about the one big con to this technique. *gulp*

What’s better than paying $300 to have your air conditioner fixed? Writing the check while the little HVAC man is telling you that you’ll “be lucky if the entire thing lasts the rest of the season.”

Oh, that and then having the A/C die a few hours after he leaves.

—

I was originally planning on leaving the post above as that singular, snarky, cynical rant, a cheap attempt at humor and at having content. But it’s amazing what a small piece of sobering news can do to one’s own whirlwind of self-pity.

This week a phone call from a friend more than put things into perspective for me. All the air conditioners in the world, all the broken garage doors, leaking gas lines and unfurnished rooms amount to nothing in the face of true, legitimate strife. And as cozy and familiar as this self-commiseration is, I can’t help but be knocked over the head with reality, forced to leave behind my own issues which now seem surprisingly trite.

It’s amazing how caught up in life I can get, not seeing the forest or the trees or anything else on the great landscape of perspective for that matter. What seems insurmountable can instantaneously be reduced to utter insignificance with but a few sentences from someone outside your own head. It’s a cruel trick of the limits of our own humanity, or else a glaring deficiency of my own character. I’m not sure which. Regardless, I’ve been blindsided by this news.

So I suppose in an open call to my future self as well as anyone else who is able to glean anything from these intentionally vague few sentences, be good to each other. As it turns out, life really isn’t about the unplanned bills or unfinished To Do list. I just wish the fresh winds of perspective could come with less of a chill.

This past weekend was a rather momentous time in our household, a turning point of sorts. Well, technically less so for The Wife™ and I than for Dogzilla™. And seeing as how we apparently exist to be his indentured servants, fanning him and feeding him grapes off the vine, I suppose this is appropriate.

Since we moved into our new house last May, and since we saved his ass from the puppy mill have been blessed with His presence, we’ve employed the technology of baby gates to restrict where he can and cannot go in the house. This has been a crucial tool for us, seeing as how he thinks he is Mufasa and that anything that the light touches is his kingdom. Now it’s anything that the light touches and/or is not blockaded by a four foot gate with plastic chain links. How’s that for a kingdom, pal?

For the past many months, though, the last remaining gate has stood on the first step leading up to the second floor. Jonas fancies himself a singular Lewis and Clark and would certainly take to exploring that which does not belong to him if the Portal to the Upstairs was not blocked. Climbing over this gate several times a day for the past 365 has been a real pain because I come from the Tribe of Short Legged Ones, and it’s more like a track hurdle for me than baby gate. So this past weekend we decided it was time to move the gate to the top of the stairs, thus now allowing the stairs themselves to be fair game for His Highness™.

This singlehandedly has blown his devious little mind.

I’m not sure if it’s the fact that something that has always been off-limits is now allowable or not. Perhaps it’s the danger and intrigue of occupying a formerly demilitarized area. But the entire weekend was spent running up and down the steps like a fat kid after the ice cream truck, tail wagging enthusiastically. Up and down, down and up, standing each time at the top step and looking down as if to say, “These stairs? AWESOME. When did they get installed? And you’re sure I’m not going to get swatted for this?!”

“Climbing over this gate several times a day for the past 365 has been a real pain because I come from the Tribe of Short Legged Ones, and it’s more like a track hurdle for me than baby gate.”

You would think by Jonas’ reaction that we had invented water or finally allowed him to climb onto the couch (his Holy Grail), but no. His reign of terror has merely been extended to include 12 stairs, a strip of real estate so coveted that if I had known what the price of this was worth to him, I totally would have made him cut a deal first. Instead we now get to listen to hour after hour of his mini-horse legs scampering up and down the stairs, likely wearing out the only piece of carpet that he’s allowed to touch.

I swear that in a past life he was a Roman emperor or feudal overlord or something, he’s that drunk off of his new-found power. Let’s just hope he gets intoxicated enough to take a damned nap one of these days and give us some peace.

1. Hyposurface - “A versatile and hyper-effective display medium,” as the site calls it. I really don’t comprehend how it works in full, but the myriad of videos make me drool uncontrollably. I SO wouldn’t go to work if I could have one of these in my house to play with.
2. The photographic work of Maciej Duczyński - Wonderfully-controlled HDR photographs from this Polish-born artist. I’m not too big on landscape work for some reason, but there are some truly breathtaking works here.
3. Sweet potatoes - While in Seattle, my friend Ryan cooked dinner for The Wife™ and I at his new home, and sweet potatoes were on the menu. Not sure where these things have been all my life, but these are seriously good eats. With honey butter or some brown sugar and cinnamon they’re to die for. I better watch out that I don’t turn orange with hypercarotenemia.
4. John Stewart’s post 9/11 introduction - I wasn’t a Daily Show fan back then, so seeing this was a first for me. Humbling, emotional, raw and sincere, Stewart’s remarks here are some of the most real I’ve seen on TV in a landscape of faux-reality atrocities. It’s a shame Fox News called this monologue “sobbing”.
5. Cool workspaces - I know, I know, I nominated a similar item for FTILFF recently. But I can’t help it, I’m a workspace-design nut. An addict. I’m cuckoo for cool workspaces! Sexy monitors, sleek chairs, enviable computer rigs…mmmmm…

Apparently my hosting provider was feeling as equally under-the-weather as I am, hence the reason for the belated post. Both of us appear to be on the mend.

This past weekend a good friend of mine, Brad Who Lives In Memphis™, got married to a wonderful woman in Vancouver, British Columbia. And let me tell you a little about Vancouver: It’s in Canada. And it’s far away. Very far away.

Last Friday The Wife™ and I bummed around Seattle, shopping and walking and generally trying to not stick out as tourists, which was hard, seeing as how it was 58° and there wasn’t a single other person in the city in shorts and sandals. I’m a raging dork trend-setter, what can I say? At least I wasn’t wearing dueling fanny packs like many of the Asian globetrotters out there with us because man, nothing says “I’m here for fun and I mean business!” like doubling up on the fanny packs.

We had a fantastic few days complete with generous dinner invitations, swanky hotels, magnanimous friends pouring divine scotch, bike riding and road-tripping. I am so blessed to have some of the coolest friends in the world. Especially ones without fanny packs. They all came from different parts of the country, all of us unsure of the next time we would see each other again. And though we’re all on quite different paths in our lives, having grown much in the 13 years since we met as awkward freshmen we are still bound by memories like these, formed over the years. I’m so thankful for that.

So as I settle back into my humble little life here in Kentucky, I hope all of my friends are out there making a difference. From Alaska to Tennessee, I’m reminded of how this world is filled with good people whom I hope are even better friends to others in their lives. Good friends truly make me a rich man.

Congratulations, Bradley. And thank you to each of the rest of you.

The Wife™ and I are packing our bags, heading to the west coast for a few days. I have the pleasure of being the best man in a friend’s wedding in Vancouver this weekend and we’re adding on a few days of sightseeing to be able to wash The ‘Tucky off soak up some real culture in Seattle and British Columbia.

The biggest thing I’m looking forward to? No, it’s not the airplane peanuts, the people movers or the inevitable, obsessive searching for wild moose. No, I’m stoked that tomorrow the high in Seattle is slated to be 70°. 70°, as in THIRTY ENTIRE DEGREES cooler than it is here. Word has it that it’ll be 245°F while we’re gone. That might be a rumor though.

So while we traipse up and down the left coast, hopefully capturing a few photographs that involve something other than The Dog™, I hope everyone has a good weekend. If the hotel has an onramp to the interweb I’ll get a FTILFF posted on Friday. Who knows. Hell, it’s Seattle. They probably have a Starbucks INSIDE our room, so there’s a good chance I’ll be able to post.

Stay cool. (and I don’t mean that in a “revival of 30s-era Jazz slang” sense either—literally, try not to burst into flames)

So the reason that I haven’t bothered to write anything prior to this today is not for reasons such as laziness, forgetfulness or even an overall lack of being an interesting person. No, in fact the reason that I’m 10 hours remiss is that I can barely put fingertips to keys today without fear that the two will melt together. It’s that freaking hot. And I’m a generally uninteresting person.

And, because the Big Dude Upstairs likes to punish me for being a homeowner loves me so much, our air conditioner is all done broked again. Seeing as how I am a spoiled Westerner who, 1) no longer lives as college student in make-shift, non-freon blessed slums and 2) who will complain about his lack of relative comfort when most of the other humans on this earth are in actual, legitamite discomfort… I have no idea where I was going with that sentence because I passed out due to heat stroke. Something about being an enfant terrible…

So currently it stands at a sweaty 87 degree farhenfreakingheit in my house and 101F outside. Jonas is doing a sad, furry interpretation of Dali’s Persistence of Memory (melting clocks) on the back deck while I lay on the floor with my head in the freezer*, typing with one finger tip while the other tries to shove as many ice cubes into my face as possible. I would take a picture of the entire scene but I think my camera turned to primordial ooze several hours ago.

*Bottom-loading freezer. Otherwise this would make no sense. Or less sense. Or perhaps just physically impossible. You stopped reading awhile ago. So did I.

1. Font Clock - I admit to having a soft spot for clocks and timepiece design. No need to say much more: this clock is pure hotness. Too bad it’s so damned expensive.
2. True Stories by Rob Corddry: Things I Can See Sitting in Seat 6A - The link goes to a non-work safe site, but that’s the print view, so all text no t’n’a. Corddry, arguably my favorite faux-anchor from The Daily Show is apparently quite the writer. His personality and humor that define him in meatspace also shines right through in his prose. ” The “fly-over” states. I’m glad I’m flying over them. No offense if you live there. On second thought, F**K you.”
3. Trois Pistoles strong dark ale - Whoa buddy. This beer rocks. I had been saving a corked 22 oz bomber for awhile, and last night decided to break it open. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. Malty but not overpowering. No hot alcohol nose. Overall a wonderfully balanced dark beer. I really was expecting it to be too port-like, thick and sweet. Don’t tell The Wife™ but I’m getting another one.
4. Faceball - I so want to get a game or twelve going here with my co-workers. I could be the people’s champ. Problem is, no one here would find the humor in it. Where are Gillian and Drew when you need them? (be sure to watch the instructional videos)
5. Interview with Jim James of My Morning Jacket [videos] - The lead singer of Louisville-based MMJ gives one of the more honest, raw and insightful interviews I’ve seen in a long time. You can see the Midwest charm in this guy’s thoughtful answers about the creative process. There’s a reason why they’re some of the best musicians (and live performers) out there today.

When I was in college, my friends and I had a mini-tradition of sorts that we made every attempt to honor. At the close of each summer, when the nights were slightly cooler and the first days of class loomed nearby, we would wait for the new crop of freshman to arrive on campus, all wide-eyed and apprehensive as every class before them had been. Since Xavier was such a small school, we always lived near enough to still feel the pulse of the campus, even during the summer months when everything turned to a ghost town.

One night in particular held our attention each time August rolled around. As tradition has it, at the end of the first day of freshman orientation the new students gather on the soccer field for an evening of corny icebreakers and get-to-know-you games, exchanging awkward smiles as currency for mercy and understanding. As a participant, it is a gut-wrenching few hours under very bright lights. But as a spectator, it became a magical evening of social fireworks spread across the backdrop of the mild summer skies of the Ohio valley.

And so it became that each August we would mark our calendars, the ones in our heads or for those more organized, on actual paper. We would meander down to the field after dinner to find a spot on the bleachers or on a grassy hill, stretch out and light our pipes, letting the Cavendish plumes drift towards the treetops. Our intentions were never to mock, as one might expect. Instead, I think each year this was a simple exercise in reflection, a live performance of a memory that we all collectively shared, that we all managed to muddle through. Game Night was possibly the last true rite of passage that I’ve had in life. Or perhaps one so brightly lit and shared by so many.

Even now, as the calendar days slip by and the taxing grip of humidity lessens by each sunset, I still get chills thinking about those late summer nights in Cincinnati. As I pass incoming freshman on the campus here, their uneasiness is almost palpable, accompanied by a certain excitement at the unknown. It is a timeless and universal quality. I miss these days when life seemed uncertain and hopeful, when the changing weather echoed back the sentiments of the heart.

I am a nostalgic simpleton, no doubt about that. But maybe this is more about capturing the vitality of youth and less about pipe smoke and sunsets.

Technorati Profile