28 October 2014

Aaaaaand, My Day is Shot (by Meetings)

I've come to understand my limits: 2 meetings.

Looking back on it, it's hard to comprehend a day where I had 7 1-hour meetings in a single day, because as it stands today, I've had 3 meetings and my mind is tapioca.  Actually, you might say I've had 4, but I'll get to that.

Running down the list:

  1. 10:30am Team standup.  Daily coordination face-to-face activities.  Absolutely essential.  Still counts against the quota!
  2. 2pm.  Steering committee meeting for something rather important.
  3. 3pm. Emergency coordination meeting because our team discerned we were blocked on all our upcoming work and needed to pull in some other work.
Now amid all that, was a sit-down I had around 11:15 with another developer on a point-of-interest.

Note the timing, too:
  • 10:30 --> Right in the middle of the morning.  
  • 2-3pm --> Right in the middle of the afternoon.
I remember fondly a team I was on where all meetings were before 10 or after 4, and the middle of the day was sacrosanct.

07 October 2014

A thought experiment.

Imagine yourself trapped in a cylinder filling with water.  The water comes in at an uneven rate: Sometimes it dribbles, sometimes it gushes.  You can't get out of the cylinder, and once the water reaches your head you'll drown.

"Okay, that's torture."

Yes, it is.

Now, let's imagine the cylinder were bigger, maybe the size of one of those nuclear storage tanks, but still only 7 or so feet tall.  You can have things in there with you to distract you, but the water's still coming in and once it gets to the top, you drown.

"Still torture."

Yep, it is.

Let's imagine the water was coming in at an unbelievably slow rate...maybe it might take years to get all the way to the top, and let's imagine the tank was even bigger, with a transparent top so you could see the sun.  There's always the risk that someone will open the flood valve and fill the tank at any moment.

Still...torture?  Maybe by now you see where this is going.  You're in that tank right now.

Our days are ultimately numbered, and our 'tank' is the size of the earth, perhaps bigger.  We've no real idea when that flood valve is going to open and kill us.

Dealing with those (metaphorical) facts is the central challenge in humanity:  Is your life torture, or is it something with meaning?  When your water gets to the top, be it suddenly or quickly, what is your legacy.

And, most importantly, do you know someone who can get you out of that tank once that brief moment of drowning is done?

I do.  And today, that makes me smile.  Let the water come.

07 September 2014

A Moment in Time: Early September 2014

It's quiet and loud, busy and peaceful as I sit outside Starbucks this afternoon.  Caffeine from the Clover-brewed Ethiopian Yirgacheffe courses through me as the clock turns 6.

I'm reeling having watched The One I Love.  Like, back on my heels reeling.  Watched that at the Kentucky Theatre with a small matinee crowd, attempting to shut-down a few brain cells to prepare for crunch time ahead--crunch time at home, at work, etc.  I wasn't successful, the movie's a mind-f@#%.  Like, your mind rejects it, refusing to suspend disbelief, right as the main characters...have to suspend their disbelief.

Anyway, Chevy Chase area, Lexington Kentucky.  This is exactly where I always wanted to live, some place like this, or the Bardstown road area of Louisville:  Urban, but green, old but renewed.  Cars exist here, but they're optional...it's very walkable, and people seem fit, especially on a glorious no-humidity day with Fall in the air.

Mostly, I just like listening and smelling.   When I was out in Seattle in April, I enjoyed walking down to Pike Place market in the early morning (3 hour Jet lag, yay) and smelling and hearing the bustle, the life.  You can see how writers of the Lost Generation had to have a place like Paris, a nexus of people and ideas, of cafes and places to meet to exchange ideas.

Seems like we've forgotten that, the agora, the forum, the square, the Sunday afternoon bandstand.  Maybe America never had it, obsessed as we are with our manifest destiny to subdue a continent.  We have important STUFF TO DO.  "Shut up and get out of my way, buddy," shouts our houses, cars, clothes, and our noses buried in our phones.  "You" are not important.  *I* am important.

We'll find out some day we got that last part wrong.  We were all important, to God.  The "gift" of Neitzsche seems to be the pervasive belief that we're not.  The nihilism and chaos that's resulted shames us all.

The world seems ready to blow itself apart more than usual:   Russia and Ukraine read from Archduke Ferdinand's script--or something worse.  If every generation invents sex, we surely invent war, too.  "We'll look back and see that Malaysian Air 17 was the start of World War III," a friend opined on Facebook.  She's looking more right by the day.

On my front, lots of goodness:   I continue making my way through Cottrell's The Faith Once for All.  I've never had a systematic treatment of theology from the Ontological argument through a tour of doctrine, and this is my first foray at Tom LaHue's suggestion.  I've long be trying to reconcile freewill and God's omniscience and Cottrell has the first convincing argument I've seen that's not TULIP Calvinism or shackling God somehow.

At church, I'm taking a class on Apologetics with our music minister, Daniel Stephens.  I often look for people who "geek out" on a topic, be it dentistry, optometry, or car repair.   Like when you're interviewing people, you like people with passion.  Daniel gushes over philosophy and reason, to a degree I didn't even see in the Philosophy profs in college.  Class #1 was interesting, and I look forward to class 2.

* * *

Last, a bit of DIY:   This week my wife announced our fridge was broken, registering ~60 degrees F on wednesday.  All our food spoiled, but curiously the freezer was colder than ever, frosting over.  We prepped to swallow purchase of a new fridge, but scheduled a call to an appliance tech anyway.  He patiently explained that what we actually had was a frozen-over ventilation system from our freezer to our fridge.

"Has anyone left your fridge door open?"  Why yes, the darling three-year-old before you, kind sir.

So basically, he reformatted my understanding of how refrigerators work...at least the mechanical kind.  There's one thermostat, and it lives in your fridge.  There's one compressor circuit and it lives in your freezer.  There's airflow between the two, and whenever the fridge gets too hot, the thermostat tells your freezer to kick on.  However, there's a catch:  If the fridge stays open, it's possible for the freezer to run so long as to frost-up the channels between them.

That's exactly what happened to us.  So, 30 minutes of steam-defrosting later, we have our fridge back, at 10% the cost of a new fridge.  Tidbit:  "This fridge will outlast any new one you buy.  It's completely mechanical.  They made this fridge for 20 years.  If you want to get rid of it, call me and I'll take it."  Fellow seemed credible.  Again:  "Geek out" effect.

What Peter Egan taught me about writing: "Dynamics"

Dynamics?  Yes, dynamics.
  1. In musicdynamics normally refers to the volume of a sound or note, but can also refer to every aspect of the execution of a given piece, either stylistic (staccato, legato etc.) or functional (velocity). The term is also applied to the written or printed musical notation used to indicatedynamics.
 I've read Peter Egan obsessively for years:  I have dead-tree copies of 2 of 3 Side Glances compilations, and one edition of Leanings that stoked a motorcycle obsession I've had since 2008.  Prior to that, I'd pick up copies of Road & Track in the Winn-Dixie in my hometown, read the Egan article and then place it back on the shelf above the sign, "IF YOU READ THEM BUY THEM. THIS AIN'T A LIBRARY [sic]."

Indeed:  Libraries don't smell like cigarettes and rotting meat.

Thirty years on, Gearheads venerate Peter Egan, but I think that limits too much to our particular obsession.  Really, anyone who aspires to write or narrate anything can benefit from Egan's style, much like listening to various modern-day Chatauqua speakers benefit from Garrison Keillor or The Moth.  Like them, it's not so much the content--though with Egan it's almost always interesting--it's the way it's delivered

I'd like to deconstruct just one thing that makes that style great, drawing a parallel to music.  Remember back to music class in elementary school when you learned about 'dynamics'?  You know, how the composer of a piece intends a particular passage to be played with those fancy Italian words:  Staccato, legato, grandissimo, forte, fortissimo, piano, pianissimo. 

Or, if you're from my hometown: Sharp, smooth, grandly, loud, dang loud,  quite ("quiet"), or "I can't hear it it's so soft."

Said another way, composers tap into a central part of humanity:  We get bored really, really easily.  No matter how technically interesting or melodic the passage or lyric, if you don't vary how loud or soft you play it, people eventually tune-out.  Green Day's "Nimrod" album goes like this: PUNK, PUNK, PUNK, "Last Ride In," PUNK, PUNK, "Time of Your Life," PUNK.  The soft bounds the loud and gives it meaning and emotion.   That's the brilliant thing about Egan:  He does the same thing with his writing, by varying his paragraph length just when the reader needs it.

Let's dive in and look at a passage from Egan's last "Side Glances" column.

I sold the Beetle for $350 to a kid who was building a dune buggy, and then used borrowed test bikes from Cycle World to get around until I could afford another car. A Datsun B-210. This car was stultifyingly dull, but the fenders were attached to the body, and it ran on all four. Three years later, I took a job with Road & Track, upstairs in the same building as Cycle World (these two publications were owned by CBS at the time), and I've been contributing to both magazines ever since. Thirty-three years at CW,and 30 years at R&T.
Anyway, that loyal but rusty Beetle was the last VW product I owned, despite my having an irrational weakness (active to this day) for the Volkswagen Thing. But no more Vee-Dubs until now.
Why now?  
Well, because I'd like to retire.
 In a nutshell, the above is that 'Dynamics' I'm talking about.  Long Paragraph, short paragraph, Punch, PUNCH.  The above is the climax of the column, the point at which Egan's announcing his retirement.  The following paragraphs will explain, detail, and valedict, but this is the turn.  Look, how ordinary it is.  This is weighty, dramatic stuff, but he just offers it up in a short snippet without drama or ornation.

Nice, isn't it?

I don't know what to call that from a writing style perspective aside from 'dynamics'--the shape and complexity of the prose varies with pauses and interludes between major passages that capitulate the previous and introduce the next in a way wholly designed to refocus the reader, whether that's a guy reading R&T cover-to-cover or an ADD kid in a Winn-Dixie.  These dynamics make the writing digestible and they make the reader comfortable.  Simple to explain, hard to practice.

Since reading Egan intentionally with an eye to his style, I've tried to do the same, to have discipline on the shape of the prose I'm writing, much like I (attempt to) have with the code that I'm writing.  As my colleague Pete once said, "I can just scroll through this file and tell you it's a bad design, the shape of the code is wrong."  More and more, I see the same thing with short-form prose, and email, and even public speaking.

And, it seems like it's getting worse.

I've noticed something about the better prose, though:  It looks lots like Peter Egan's.

27 August 2014

Spoilerific Liveblogging Dr. Who S8E1: "Deep Breath"


Dinosaurs in London.

Well, that was awkward.  Capaldi off to a poor start, but honestly, so was Tennant in "Christmas Invasion"

New Opening looks like the opening to Amazing Stories in 1985...

"People are apes.  MEN are monkeys."  Nice, Mdm Vastra

Clara dealing with the change.  Not well.  Metaphor for all relationships--people change.  Are we big enough to see through the veil?

Parallels: Doctor and the Dinosaur, "I am alone..."

Strax is a joy, per usual, "May I take your clothes?"

And...there's the cyborg

"He looked young, you might as well flirt with a mountain range."  Nice interlude to explain Peter Capaldi is...you know...old.

"My Time Machine was stuck in your throat...that's mostly how I meet girls."

"Planet of the pudding brains..."

Strax: "...and we will melt him with acid.  The Times shall I send it up?"  WHACK!

Ah, JLC in Victorian Garb.  Holds her own quite well against Strax's impromptu exam.

"I'm sure I've seen this face before."  Yeah, like in Pompeii?  This episode is....trippy...."Why this face?"


So, David Tennant couldn't be scottish, but Capaldi *can*...?

Jenni in a corset.  So, there's that.  "For the sake of Art."...And there's the gratiuitous nude torso.

"It's at times like this I miss Amy" (Yeah, she had legs that were 12 feet long, dude.)

I've seen this before...yes, on the Madame Pompador.  F-A-N-S-E-R-V-I-C-E.

"No point in them catching us both."  What...WHAT?!

"The Promised Land"

"And that includes Karaoke and mimes"

"Geronimo!!" F-A-N...oh, nevermind.

"I've got the horrible feeling I'm going to have to kill you."

Nice action climax there :-)

"Give him Hell, he'll always need it."


"Clara, I'm not your boyfriend."
"I never thought you were."
"I never said it was your mistake."  Bah zing.  So 11 *was* into her.

There's a woman out there, that's very keen we stay together.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so, so sorry."

MATT SMITH!!  It's his voice...He needs you.

"Goodbye Clara"

"You look @ me and you can't see me."  Okay, Moffat, you got me with that one.

"I don't think I'm a hugging person now."

"I'm missy.  I hope my boyfriend wasn't too mean to you."