Are my eyes really blue?

Back to action after a badly needed week off.  The Tahoe portion was just right – some getting away from it all, not just sitting around doing nothing but not pressured to do anything either, and two nights away was just the right amount to leave time to accomplish everything at home – whether that consisted of getting projects done or determining they didn’t need doing at this point.

Not least among the achievements was finally cleaning up the home Mac mini and its iTunes management and backup solution.  The machine was bought in February 2010, but it was the previous model (in an internal Apple new-old-stock clearance) and it’s showing its age, so getting reliable backups set up and a less complicated model for managing iTunes was nice (the wife and I share an iTunes ID but have different content and playlists, and previous attempts to fix and consolidate had left a slew of duplicates and no room on the hard drive to maneuver. Comment if you want details; it’s too boring even for me to recount.)

So hanging out the wash for Monday morning:

* ‘Er indoors is changing jobs.  Which is always exciting and terrifying in similar measure, not least because it means willfully giving up your track record and institutional memory and regenerating, and putting in the necessary time to progress from Rookie of the Year to Most Improved to MVP to The Wolf.  Fortunately, I have absolutely no doubt that she will do it, and faster than I could, because she has a bunch of stupid stuff like “diligence” and “professionalism” and “initiative” and “talent” and bullshit. ;]

 

* The Apple-Samsung saga continues, this time with the extent to which Samsung ripped off iOS wholesale for its own UI – literally its own UI, as Samsung’s Android devices use their own proprietary TouchWiz UI over top of Android’s native interface. Color, graphic elements – it’s absurd. The hits just keep on coming from the media covering the case, too – this article actually does a good job breaking down how even the packaging design abruptly changed after the iPhone hit.  Not that any of this is particularly surprising for those who saw the “Blackjack” and “Blade” launched in the wake of the success of the Blackberry and RAZR.

 

* So another tragic shooting, and this one pretty clearly the work of a white supremacist with more guns than intelligence.  At this point, it’s absurd – James Fallows has the definitive lines, which I will quote in full:

One person who (unsuccessfully) threatened the lives of his fellow airline passengers ten-and-a-half years ago has changed air travel for every single passenger on every U.S. flight in all the time since then. We responded (and over-responded) to that episode with a “this won’t happen again” determination, like other countries’ response to mass shootings. It is hard to know what kind of mass killing with guns would evoke a similar determination in America. The murder of six people including a federal judge and near-killing of a Congresswoman last year obviously didn’t do it. Nor, in all probability, will these latest two multi-death shootings. In their official statements of condolence yesterday, both Barack Obama and Mitt Romney replicated their achievement after the Aurora murders: Neither used the word “gun.”

This is where we are at – the media, the elected officials and the very citizenry of this country have been so completely mau-maued by the NRA and its apologists in conservative media that no one will even table the possibility of doing something to impede, however slightly, the ability of one person to obtain military-grade weapons and ammunition and attack without warning.  One hint that somebody might make some sort of secret terrifying Wonka bomb and we’re dumping our drinks out and putting our shoes through the X-ray for years. Two mass killings in a month, enabled by assault weapons, and what are we prepared to do?  Fuckall.

This isn’t difficult. No weapon with a sporting purpose honestly needs more than five rounds between reloads. I’m willing to countenance ten, even.  But I’m having a really hard time understanding why you need thirty shots and instant reload unless you’re deliberately looking for trouble.  And yet, as I say, as long as we remain in thrall to the people who want to need the guns, we’re going to have trouble.  Of which more later.

 

* Mat Honan famously ran into trouble this week when somebody managed to social-engineer a password change out of Apple tech support.  The problem was, since his Google account was sending its backup email to that iCloud mail address, it was a simple matter to get the Google password reset – and from there it was a piece of cake to start wiping his devices.  And because he had his Twitter account linked to Gizmodo’s, once they had a way into his Twitter, they were able to use Gizmodo’s for all sorts of mischief.

The problem with the cloud is the problem of any ecosystem: you need diversity.  You can’t put all your eggs in Apple’s basket, or Google’s, or Yahoo’s or Microsoft’s. A non-trivial chunk of what I do is run on a private system where I married the operator’s sister.  None of my Twitter accounts are linked together (although some do follow each other, what do you want from me).  Large pieces of the system don’t overlap at all – nothing in Google points back to iCloud, nothing in iCloud points to Yahoo, there’s no remote support to fiddle for my private system, etcetera. Diverse ecosystem = robust ecosystem.  If one piece of my operation falters, I have something to fall back on, pretty much across the board.  This is not by accident.

 

* Starting tomorrow, we’ll find out whether “early to bed and early to rise” is going to happen for yer boy.  Fingers crossed.

 

For a long time, I’ve banged the drum for the notion that the only hope for the South will be when everyone for whom segregation is living memory is dead and gone – and quite possibly their kids too (and yes, I know this means me).  The counter-argument has always been that you need that living memory – you need the people who remember what it meant to have separate drinking fountains, the people for whom To Kill A Mockingbird rings dangerously true, the people who can say with authority “no, I know this sounds absurd but it really happened.”

The problem is, having living testimony isn’t worth it anymore. Having people around who want to go back? That’s a much greater impact now.  And it’s spreading, especially now that they’ve discovered an “immigration crisis” to allow them to try to legally crap on brown people and “assaults on freedom of religion” to let them lash back at gay Americans, or even ordinary women who might want preventive care without mortgaging the house to pay for it.  And now that you can show The Other a great big middle finger with the simple expedient of eating the right fast food – has there ever been a more perfectly Teatard demonstration? Ever? – I’m more convinced than ever that the whole alternate reality occupied by the Old Ones is going to be a problem going forward.

And that’s why it’s not worth it.  If nobody who remembers segregation (and wants to go back) is still around, that living memory isn’t going to be all that necessary anyway.  And right now, the Old Ones form far too much of the rank-and-file of the army of delusionals who want things back “the way they used to be” – even if much of it is a figment of the popular imagination.

History and memory are important, but we’ve gotten to the point where the juice ain’t worth the squeeze.

Some people say you get old when you sign your first mortgage.  Or when you have your first child. Or your second. Personally I’d say I really started feeling old when I first started wondering whether any given set of aches and pains was going to be there for the rest of my life.  But aside from that, I’d throw one other criterion in there: you’re a grownup the first time you realize you can’t remember the last time you checked your balance at the ATM before just getting money out.

Alternately – and this is what put me on this train of thought – maybe it’s when your default ATM withdrawal goes from $20 to $100.  I had to forcibly make myself only get out $40 at a time, both in an attempt to force more spending to the credit card (where it can earn Starwood points and be more easily audited) and to prevent the slow leakage that comes with extra cash on hand. If you’ve got $89 in your pocket, you’re less likely to think twice about throwing two bucks on a bottle of Zero.

I don’t have a really good sense of money.  I famously agonized for months over buying a $21 Nerf gun (with accessories) a couple of years back. The ridiculous thing was that I could have packed my lunch one day and not bought any sodas or snacks between meals for two days and HAD the $21.  The amount of money I’ve sunk into short-term soda rental in my life is truly staggering, if you think about it, and I can’t afford to.

But then again – there lies the problem. My shoulder was largely better until a couple of nights in a strange bed with unhelpful pillows skewed the whole thing again, and the temptation is to run down to a nice reputable spa and have somebody give my shoulder the business.* The only thing is, that’ll set me back a slick $90 plus tip – and the benefits of it may well be gone in a day or two.  The watch I agonized over for more than a year and finally bought myself for my 40th birthday with assorted gift money?  Basically a little over two massages, and that could well last me for decades.

Ultimately, that may be the biggest part of how I stopped buying cigars (not just a question of smoking locations) or how I made it two nights in Tahoe without ever stepping up to a craps table and putting down money.  Or why I’m far more likely to spend my impulse purchasing on Kindle books.  Or why I stopped chasing cell phones with a guaranteed lifespan of only a couple of years, or why I was so reluctant to take the iPad plunge for so long. Or why cocktails have replaced straight liquor when going out drinking – I could buy a bottle at BevMo and get out cheaper, so put the money into something I don’t have the time, ingredients or skill to make myself instead.

Maybe that’s why I’m still sidelong-glancing at that Filson jacket.**  Lifetime warranty? Now that’s value for money.

 

 

* When I did this in December, they did a full hour and change of hardcore Swedish therapy massage.  By the end of it, my nose was running, my ears were ringing, I was too dizzy to walk and I’m pretty sure I gave up the location of the secret Rebel base.

** Having just completed a jacket audit (and getting ready to start on shoes), I’m more convinced than ever that I have to have something done with drugs or surgery about the jacket glee.  If I’m serious about avoiding “performance outerwear” as the look, it’s going to be damned difficult to do water-resistant without being too heavy.  Might be time to custom-tailor my existing oilcloth coat and see if I can make the pockets work for me…

NBC would find a way to botch a gangbang in a whorehouse. But you would have expected that, given that the Today Show’s executive producer is in charge of Olympic coverage. As a result, events are delayed eight hours and then delayed further so Ryan Seacrest can tell us what Joe Jonas was Tweeting about the opening ceremonies LAST NIGHT.

This isn’t sports. This is sports thrown in a blender, drowned under entire tankers of schmaltz and nonsense, dumbed down to appeal to the kind of people who think the Today Show is a newscast, and then they shower themselves in celebrating their own cleverness. And the worst part is that we don’t have a choice. We have to dig like hell if we want to somehow steal an illegal stream of the BBC’s coverage, because the “live streaming” NBC claims to offer has yet to function all day for me (thanks largely to basing their tablet app around the binary abortion that is Adobe AIR).

Nobody wants to watch the shit NBC throws up there. They watch because they’re a captive audience – they have the only Sunday night NFL game, they have the only home games for Notre Dame, they have the Olympics all to themselves. They pay to get it and then we are stuck with them. So much for the invisible hand of the market – NBC is apparently content with just the middle finger.

So don’t let the numbers fool you, Peacock Network: your coverage has taken the Pea out of your name. If we had any sense, we’d all rely on the stream and only the stream and maybe move the needle a little. Except, because we “need the contextual help”, NBC wouldn’t stream the opening ceremonies.

Cocks. All of them.

Bill Simmons stole my thunder a little, with his huge Grantland post about the summer Olympics as the signposts of his passing life.  He sticks only to the summer games, which leaves out a lot as far as I’m concerned – I’ve always liked the winter games better, and they are my own set of signposts – 1980 as the first Olympics of any kind that I actually remember. 1988 bound up with the Presidential primaries and a friend’s huge sweet-16 surprise birthday party and those first inklings that there would be something to this college business. 1994 tied in with the last semester of undergrad and watching ice skating every time it came around. 1998 in that strange liminal period after first moving north, 2002 seen from DC in the wake of the attacks, 2006 invariably tied to the wedding of Team Black Swan East and my transition at Cupertino Hexachrome Fruit.  2010 should be brighter in my memory, what with curling-mania and the fact we had a friend working the Games, but apparently not yet.

But this is summer, and I’m thinking of the last couple of games.  2004, when we’d first moved here and were kind of housesitting-slash-sorta-babysitting at my sister-in-law’s house, with their much bigger TV.  And the ubiquitous AT&T ads that pushed me to want a faster and more capable phone (though it wasn’t much of a push). Again, that liminal period when I hadn’t really gotten a sense of where I was or what my life was going to be like, having just started a contract job with an uncertain future (albeit, in retrospect, one a lot brighter than it would become a couple of months on).  And 2008, which overlapped with my latter time on the NASA contract, when I was still pretty miserable about work and wondering what I was going to do.  Six months later, I had the job I have now – a job which is driving me up the wall at present.  Good job the wife and I are taking a week off.

Four years seems to be a pretty good marker – long enough that you can see what’s happened in your life with a little bit of distance.  And yet not so long that it seems forever ago.  I’ve been here at this job longer now than I was at my first one, even including contract time – but it doesn’t seem like as long.  Maybe it’s because I’m older and time goes faster, or maybe because I haven’t had as many changes of job duties and my general role to act as markers.  I’ve avoided surgery at this job, at least, and that’s got to count for something.

And now London, first three-time host.  The Olympics weren’t yet the Olympics in 1908, not as we think of them now – the main point was washing away the bad taste left over from the horrific sideshow-trainwreck of St Louis.  And 1948 was the year of the famous “Austerity Games,” the UK staging an Olympics three years removed from war in Europe and rationing still in full effect.  This time, it’s the real, full-blown, modern Olympic machine in full roar.  We were there in London in April 2005, before the games were awarded, when everything was “BACK THE BID” and enthusiasm was high.  And then they got it, and then the July 7 bombings, and then seven years of “how exactly is this going to work?”

I haven’t seen the opening ceremonies yet, thanks to the worst network in America handling the coverage – NBC, the people who brought you “plausibly live” tape-delay coverage of an Olympics held in Eastern Daylight Time – but the spoilers and bits and bobs leaking through Twitter make it sound like it’s going to be a right knees-up and no fooling.  I hope it is.  I hope they get to enjoy it.  I hope I enjoy it, which is largely to say I hope the iPad battery holds up and the streaming doesn’t suck.

Light ’em up.

Not enough that Samsung came out with a thin-and-flat flip phone called the Blade, or a keyboard phone called the Blackjack, or that their tablet’s charger looks amazingly like a certain 30-pin connector, or that their trade show booth in Germany was chockablock with the icons of iOS default applications…

Now comes the one-two punch: the judge sanctions Samsung for destroying email after already having notice to preserve documents, and evidence in court suggests that Google actually warned Samsung off the design for the Galaxy Tab because they thought it looked far too much like an iPad.

You don’t have to be a MacMac or a fanboy or think Apple is some kind of saintly organization made of rainbows and puppies to realize that as it stands, they’ve got a pretty damn good case that Samsung is a colossal rip-off artist.  This is the legacy of that intro speech in 2007, when Steve Jobs said they’d patented the hell out of the iPhone and would defend it.  This is the ghost of Steve Jobs remembering the “look and feel” case against Windows and, once again, doing everything in its power to make sure Apple would never be taken advantage of again…

Caterpillar, off the back of a record $4.9 BILLION in profits and even higher forecasts, is demanding a six YEAR wage and pension freeze from its employees.

Why? Presumably because they can. After all, in a down economy, who’s going to quit their job?

This is why I remain a steadfast supporter of unions. Say what you like about feather-bedding and corruption, the fact is that if your employer will not hesitate to screw you in the name of padding profits, you need somebody able to draw a line and say NO.

“I’m taking your raise, whatcha gonna do about it?” Bully capitalism. This is the future unless somebody punches them in the face, hard, repeatedly, until they stop.

…There is no one in charge in college football. There likely never will be. One lie leading to another forms the bridge the present takes to the future, and your steps don’t lie: it feels as solid as truth, and holds up for far longer in some cases.

The editing matters so much here. You can say the sport is rife with filth, and you would be right. The negligent policemen of the sport strike intermittently at thieves. One side makes up the law as they go while the other politiely ignores it. Bowl games grease the palms of venal public officials. Television networks buy off longtime allies and reconstruct the map as they fit, as drunken in their excesses as the mustachioed cartographers of any careless empire. Players steal what they can when they can. Coaches do the same, but to much greater effect.

We know this. This is not news. Please stop acting like it is. That’s very ingenious that in the bombed-out church of football, you have figured out that there is no God, and someone is running out the door with the coffers. The only intrigue is in the variation, not in the repeated exaggerated reminders that this is a sport of charlatans, sweathouse labor conditions, and a thousand dodges behind the shield of amateurism. 

You can also give us other news to use if you’re into creative editing. You will enter into a one-way contract upon birth. All goods are temporary, and your most personal property, you, will stop functioning completely without warning or refund. Your employer, despite what you believe, does not care about you, and is only interested in the capital you can help them accrue. Your home is a house, and is a good. Your organs can be sold for a certain dollar amount on the open market. The people in charge of the imaginary territory that someone made up to fill with saleable goods are, by all accounts, unqualified for their jobs and very much do not have your best interests at heart. Your wife or husband is under a chemical delusion that ends in six months, and likely continues for the convenience it provides in raising children.

There is always free cheddar in the mousetrap, and it is always a deal.

In this edit, Pinocchio is a story about bad firewood that ends with the whale, and George Teague’s play didn’t matter because it was cancelled by a penalty. 

There is another edit. The one between naivete and cynicism. It is a delicate one. You will first have to accept that this breaks your heart. You will have to accept that this is in some part a scam. You will have to accept that you are bad firewood walking: wooden, a puppet guided by strings pulling you in directions you can’t always understand or accept. You’ll have to accept, in one form or another, that God’s away on business, and you will have to take care of this yourself no matter how long you have to run. You have to accept that the only redemption for the large, cheap machinations of life is the redemption of experience, the only thing you can control…

Spencer Hall, the greatest living sportswriter and the author of the single best piece ever written about college football, has reacted to the NCAA’s neutron-bombing of Penn State precisely as I myself would have.

Read this, and know that I concur in every particular. There is something to be done here, but the NCAA is basically jumping on the pile and indulging the mob – and doing something I thought would be impossible; they’re actually making me feel pity for the football organization at Penn State.

This isn’t about punishing Penn State.  Penn State football was permanently damaged already.  This is the NCAA taking a shit on the corpse and seeking applause and approbation for doing so – and, much like the NFL, asserting that it is the great and powerful Oz and in no way whatsoever throwing stones from a glass house.

 

ETA: I don’t know what they’re doing down there at Florida that makes sportswriters, but this post at Alligator Alley also nails my thinking with accuracy and precision: the NCAA is trying to make this go away for themselves as quickly and loudly as possible, and in doing so is simultaneously shining their own ass, protecting themselves from any tangential connections, and setting a disturbing precedent for massive intervention with minimal process.

 

EATA: Jon F. Morse, stalwart Kansas State partisan and outstanding chronicler of college football at the less hype-ridden levels of the game, has the definitive breakdown.  

Not much to say. We’ve seen this show before, over and over, and we will continue to see it, because a dozen people shot dead in a movie theater, or a church, or a buffet line, or wherever – that’s apparently the price we as a society are willing to pay to avoid inconveniencing the people who want to need the guns.

At this point, there’s no other explanation.