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Sparks

I think, even before it started, we both knew that the third date was going to be the last. Her last comment to me made it a certainty: “I had fun tonight, but I didn’t feel any sparks.” If that isn’t a death nell, I don’t know what is.

She had mentioned ‘sparks’ in an email from the previous week. Almost immediately, I started to ruminate on what she might mean. I didn’t come to any conclusions. Instead, the chorus from “The Battle of Camp Cucamonga” kept rattling around my head.

We’re the boys from Camp Cucamonga.
Our mothers sent us here to study Nature’s ways.
We learned to make sparks by rubbing sticks together.
If we catch a girl, we’ll set the woods ablaze.

A great tune to be sure and it held an important clue for me. Sparks are not about get a big roaring fire started immediately. Sparks are something that are worked towards.

My Scouting history proves that out. Any method of fire starting that requires friction and no rapid combustibles like gas or magnesium will take a long time. Even the most effective methods can break a sweat on the brow of the fittest person. Also, it takes time and care to get a fire started. Anyways, Sparks don’t just happen when trying to make fires. Then again, we are talking about camp fires and not human passion.

We humans are quite a bit more complicated. You could have two attractive, physically fit, sexually ready and capable people set up in a bedroom that has the Best of Barry White and mood lights filling every corner, and still get no action. Something between them just wont catalyze. It’s sad, really.

The ego bruising will pass. To be honest, the feeling was mutual. I could rattle off my reasons, but it would just sound spiteful. This is one of those cases where the first person to speak is the honest one and the second person is just being petty. The odd part is that I feel like I was saved for someone else.

Last night, I woke up face down in my pillow. Just before waking up, I was dreaming of mashing lips with a pretty blonde dressed in white shirt and slacks. The blonde seemed both familiar and new to me. I do recall dreaming of her before, but it was at least a couple of years ago. I had no better idea then as I do now who this blonde is. Maybe, she represents the possibility of the right one for me. All I know is that we made sparks.

Getting Mad. Feeling Good.

Yesterday was a cathartic day. First let me recount the events and then I tell you why it was cathartic.

My day job is pretty routine. I repair computers. The company I work for has a big contract that I administrate. Part of my duties is deliver and pickup computers to and from the customer’s various locations. At minimum, a quarter of my day is spent running around. Some days it’s frustrating dealing with other drivers, but most days it’s relaxing and uneventful. The exception was yesterday.

There is a tricky part to my return route to the repair shop. I merge onto a main artery from the left side of a two lane one-way street. Because of a right turn I need to make, I usually move over to the right lane as soon as possible. To complicate things, both sides of this street has parking and the left lane is particularly narrow.

Yesterday, I started to merge. In the right lane were three cars that paced me. I would have needed to stop to merge into the right lane. So I sped up to get ahead of the first car. I was nearly neck and neck anyways. However, the driver of Car 1 decided to accelerate, too.

Moreover, it looked like Car 1 wanted to move to the left lane. I noticed this because his front fender was dangerously close to mine and getting closer. Even if I fell back quickly, I still might have caused an accident with the drivers behind me. So I did the only thing available to me. I honked my horn.

Car 1′s driver was startled. He veered quickly to the right of the street. Then he veered quickly back toward me. In the few moments that it took for that manuever, he had rolled his window down and was flying the bird and shouting obscenities at me out of his window. I could see an earbud hanging out of his ear, too. Car 1 wasn’t paying attention to his driving.

I downshifted quickly, accelerated far ahead of him, and made the lane change I wanted to make. At the next red light, I took a moment to see where he was – left lane. I was furious and wanted to shout a few obscenities at him, myself. With a flick of a switch, my window rolled down. When Car 1 rolled pass, I could see that he was still swearing up a storm and making gestures. I put my hand out the window and waved for him to pull back along side me.

He gets out of his car. That’s right. His vehicle is running and he gets out of his car. Up to this point, I have had a near collision and angry exchanges with another car. At this moment, the exchange becomes a genuine confrontation. I stay in my car. Cowardly or smart? I am still not certain. I knew though, that getting out would mean that our argument would become physical. I also knew that if he reached into my car, I would have the upper hand. Neither happened. Instead, we spent the red light shouting at each other. When it turned green, I pulled away and returned to work feeling oddly happy and relieved.

What a strange way to end an intense emotional event – relieved. It didn’t take me too long to figure out why. For that past few days, I was in a deep blue funk. The type of funk that, if unchecked, leads to real depression. For me, the deep blue funk comes on because I have let several things go fallow or out of my control. The loss of focus and apparent control can be immobilizing. When I feel immobilized, I end up falling into despair. The real kind. Not the lip service despair that some people fain.

For me to move forward, I have to get out of my own way. This usually means that I start sorting the piles of projects and emotional attachments to see which are fruitless and taxing. Ditch the detritus and then start plugging away again at the worthwhile endeavors. It takes ignoring the voice that says my efforts are hopeless and being a force of nature unto myself.

Yesterday was different, though. I was able to focus all of the frustration and brooding from the days before and unleash it on a deserving person. It came out of me like dragon fire. I spat every desperate painful emotion onto a stranger. His thoughtless driving lit a short fuse that most people never see. And in the span of a few blocks, I was able to explode releasing all of the pain. By the time I pulled into the parking lot, I was laughing. I owe the driver of Car 1 thanks.

Porn on my iPad

I am really very confused by this whole ‘Freedom from Porn” [link] thing that is bouncing around the net. Jobs is telling me that by keeping the iTunes App store free of porn that he is keeping my iPad free from porn.

This is just not true. I have porn movies and images synced to my iPad and iPhone right now. There is a world of porn on the Intertubes. It’s ripe for the picking. Hell, if I’m feeling really literate, I could find myself some public domain porno lit and squirt it through an ePub generating app. Voila! Text smut in iBooks.

What I don’t have are iPhone OS porn apps. And you know what? I really don’t miss them. I sampled a bunch of those apps when they were available in the walled garden. They were tripe. Utter dreck. I did find a couple of date-sim apps that were fun for a run-through, but didn’t hold my interest because they lacked real porn. The rest were just gateways to some porn vendor’s website. “Here’s some samples. Now pay for the full set.” Bah!

Worse than the tease was the quality of the apps. A very small percentage of the apps were written decently or useable for that matter. A lot were fart out of some developers ass as the aftermath of a burrito binge. Because they were dumped into the store as freebies and flooded the market, many of them rose to the top of the charts for no other reason than their download count. What that tells me is that we like porn! Simple.

The push back came in the form of the expulsion of the porn apps from the garden. They were lowering the bar for developers and consumers and providing nothing that couldn’t be delivered via a website. Any web developer worth his or her salt could write a web page for the mobile platform that delivered the same content.

What happens instead? Everyone bitches that Apple is censoring developers and content providers (and there have been legitimate instances [link] & [link]). The blogosphere rippled with indignation. Jobs uttered that he didn’t want porn on the iPhone or iPad.

The statement that he really should have said is that he didn’t want porn in the App Store. Sure it is the only mall in town for iPhone OS apps, but it is his mall after all. Steve gets to decide what he wants to stock the shelves with. I think it reprehensible that there isn’t a way for us to drop apps from other vendors into our Apple branded mobile platforms. When it comes to porn though, the Internet is my oyster.

Addendum: I dropped in on Violet Blue’s site and saw that she was fielding queries regarding this. Here’s my two cents to her.

Okay, here’s the thing that bugs me. One, the Gawker writer admits to having “a Stinger cocktail at [his] side” when he sent his email and the replies and two, well… It was two in the frikkin’ morning! Very few intelligent conversations happen at two AM.

What I don’t get is the big stink. Everyone is blowing this out of proportion. Jobs wants to keep porn out of his store. We have known this for a while. It’s his store (sadly, the only one) and he can stock the shelves how he sees fit. His statement about keeping the device “free from porn” is unsettling, but I think I have shown that there is room for interpretation here.

On the flip-side, the internet is full of porn. The only app needed for that is a browser. Voila! Porn in one palm and yourself in the other. Easy-peasy. Why worry about the availability of porn apps? When there were ‘sexy’ apps in the store, I downloaded several. Most were sub-par and still others were one-trick ponies. I did checkout a couple of dating sims that were fun, but mostly novel and short lived.

There are maybe two types of apps that would be suitable candidates for pursuit. First, sex games: 2+ people playing digital spin the bottle or something like it. It’d be fun, right? Pornographic Scrabble. Strip Boggle. The mind reels at possibilities here. Second, an app that functions as a device controller. With a multi-touch interface, a couple could have a grand time with an iPhone controlled sex toy (just watch out for lube. Apple’s pretty strict about liquid damage).

In the end, we have access to all of the porn out there. Right now, my iPad has 4 adult movies and monster collection of images. Give me public domain pornographic literature and an ePub generator, and I can naughty up iBooks in hot minute. Jobs can rattle his saber, but I have already defeated his intent for the Apple mobile platform.

Passive Shields

Yesterday, I got my new toy: an Apple iPad [link]. I spent the day at home installing applications, playing with features and games. All around, yesterday was about me bonding with my iPad. For those curious, I named it P.A.D.D. (after the devices on Star Trek [link]). It was a day of finding positions. Lounging on the couch to watch videos and read was never quite so comfortable with my laptop. This morning, though, I wanted to take P.A.D.D. out in the world.

I went to my java juice joint. Within minutes, I heard a remark about the iPad. It was complementary. While I settled into my breakfast bagel and mocha, I practiced sketching on my iPad. Within a few minutes of this another comment. This one from the table next to me. “My Apple stock just went up. Thank you.”

The couple next to me (let’s call them Joan and Bill) were in the late forties to mid-fifties. We struck up a conversation about technology and cafe culture. Bill is planning his own coffee house. He wants a place where people are more likely to strike up conversations with strangers than to tan by the light of computer screens or attempt to stuff cellphone handsets into their ears. His solution was to not provide wireless internet access and set up a bank of phone booths for callers. A friend suggested that he could go a step further and wrap his shop in chicken wire. Effectively turning the shop into a faraday cage and blocking all signals.

Bill sees computers and cell phones as an insulator between bodies. People will go to their coffee shops with laptop in hand or cellphone plugged into their ear, buy a cup of coffee, and camp out for several hours. The most direct human contact they have is with the people behind the counter. Walk into any coffee shop offering WiFi today and you will see at least a half dozen screens up and headphones on. We go to coffee shops now for free WiFi rather than human contact.

Historically, the cafe culture was about meeting with friends, exchanging ideas, making new acquaintances. The late twentieth century added computers. Now we can connect with anyone around the world. This connection comes at the cost of connecting with a person that is next to us. Coffee shops look like a Hasbro Battleship gaming convention. I told Bill that if he really wanted to solve the cellphone etiquette issues then he should treat cellphone users like smokers – make them go outside to make calls.

In our conversation, we did have to admit that the iPad is a game changer. Shortly after we started talking (imagine that – talking to real strangers in person), I noticed that the iPad we set aside. I produced it only to show Joan and Bill how the little wonder performed certain tasks. The iPad was as easy to set down as a book. It offered less interference than a laptop. I showed them how it could be used as a centerpiece for a group a la Scrabble.

P.A.D.D. opened up a connection between local humans. I’m sure much of this is the iPad’s newness, but I have to wonder. Pundits talk about how the iPad is a computing game changer. They remark about it’s size, ease of use, and flexibility. Yet no one has mentioned how damned easy it is to put down and set aside. The laptop lid can be closed. True. But the laptop will still sit their like a brick in an invisible wall between users and their neighbors. Cellphones will always remain at the back of everyone’s mind. P.A.D.D. disappeared from view easily and re-entered our conversation only when it was appropriate. That to me is amazing.

I was Steve McQueen

Last night, the conversation I had with a friend drifted toward recollections of school. I ended up telling her stories about my first grade teacher, Ms. Jensen. More accurately, Ms. Jensen was my nemesis. My step-father would describe her type as an ‘officer’s bored wife looking for something to do.” It was 1976 and my step-father was stationed in Germany. That should explain most of the situation pretty well.

Ms. Jensen was the kind of teacher that had no business watching children. Her thoughts on education were pretty lame to say the least. She once told my mother that because I was taller than most students that she would promote me to the next grade. Ms. Jensen was going to do this even though my grades were not up to standard. My mother’s response was outrage. If her son didn’t meet standards, then he should be held back regardless of his height advantage. This meeting was followed by my mom supplementing my education.

My weak points were in math. At the time, the lessons revolved around counting coins and math basics like addition and subtraction. Mom would show me a handful of coins and ask me how much. After a fews weeks of drilling me like this, I was able to quickly rattle of the amounts in her palm. This would begin the battle of wills between me and Ms. Jensen.

One detail no one took into account was my capacity to become bored with repetitive tasks. Once I had a skill learned and mastered, I wanted to move on to the next skill set. However, a class moves together and Ms. Jensen didn’t know how to deal with a restless student. I wandered the classroom helping other students with the lessons. Rather than capitalize on the assistance, Ms. Jensen punished me.

Ms. Jensen was creative with her discipline. In my class, we had discovered the curiosity of Elmer’s Glue. We would spread a little on our palms and let it set. Then we’d peel the layer of glue away like skin. The glue picked up the impression of our palms. Ms. Jensen caught two girls in class “wasting glue.” She had them stand face to face, spread glue on their palms, and then press their palms together. They were supposed to stay that way until the glue dried. Even I could see how pointless that punishment was. The girls ended up with a cool double-impression.

Her solution for my wandering ways was to tie me to my chair with yarn. It was a loose loop, but a restraint none the less. When I would talk out of turn or without permission, Ms. Jensen would tape my mouth shut. I spent much of the first grade tied to a chair with masking tape on my face. The rest of the time I spent plotting ways out of bondage.

The tape was easy, but tasted foul. I simply licked the tape until it peeled from my face. By the time I was done, the tape waved from a corner of my mouth like a victory flag. Slipping the yarn took craft and bit of Houdini channeling. The loop was loose enough that I could slide out from underneath. This had the extra advantage of putting me under my desk. I used the cover of the desks like a tunnel and made my way to the other students.

When I was caught, Ms. Jensen would march me back to my chair. The tape and the lash were reset. Then I’d wait patiently for the time to be right for my next escape attempt. [Cue the Bernstein theme.] The image would have been properly complete if I had a rubber ball. As a matter of fact, the thump-a-thump of the ball probably would have driven Ms. Jensen into early retirement.