Further iPad thoughts

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I’ve been thinking more about the iPad, and I believe I have a better grasp on the intention behind the product. It doesn’t make it a more attractive product for me. But at least now I can see the intended market for it. And why the iPad might turn out to be a massive hit.

Here’s the deal. The Macintosh has traditionally been a great product for producing creative content. Writers, artists, musicians, film makers, photographers all have a variety of reasons for loving the Mac platform. In particular, Mac OS X has a really sweet spot between simplicity and power that appeals to creative professionals, people who create content.

And that’s not what the iPad is for. The iPad is intended to be the ideal platform for consuming creative content. Read books, listen to music, watch YouTube videos, surf the web, read email… the iPad should be very good for those. And, because the iPhone OS (guess we have to come up with a better name for that, huh?) is much simpler and more limited than the Mac OS, it’s a hell of a lot harder to break. Think about all the time you’ve had to spent doing tech support for Mom, Grandpa, etc. The iPad should be an ideal product for that family member who knows jack squat about computers, who isn’t producing content, who merely wants a rock stable, reliable, very easy tool for viewing and consuming content.

Okay, I get it now.

Took me long enough. 🙂

iDontGetIt

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I’ve read over the various press releases and news stories about the iPad. And… iDontGetIt.

A recent Daring Fireball post said something really smart about any forthcoming tablet product from Apple. (I’m paraphrasing) “What are they good for, besides surfing the web from the bathroom? Apple must have a compelling answer to that question.”

From everything I’ve read, I just don’t see what the compelling answer is. To my eyes, the iPad is a smaller, lighter laptop. With limitations. Let’s talk about conventional laptop keyboards. They currently provide a number of functions.

  • Obviously, they provide a hardware keyboard. And this is a really useful thing; it allows my display to be dedicated to my content, rather than tying up some portion of the display to be used as an input device.
  • When a laptop is closed, the keyboard provides physical protection for the relatively fragile display.
  • A dedicated hardware keyboard provides some measure of ergonomic support, in that it allows the display to be presented vertically in front of the user while the keyboard is lower and parallel to the palms.

I don’t think it makes sense to deviate away from that design unless you can present clearly superior solutions. And does the iPad? Not by my accounting. No hardware keyboard, so for a lot of usage scenarios, my display is occupied by the software keyboard. There’s no protection for the screen; you’ll want a slip cover of case for your iPad. And there’s no propstand for the iPad, you’ll have to hold it in your lap and crane your neck to view it, Or hold it up with one hand and type (vertically) with the other. Ugh.

It seems to me, for what the iPad delivers, a smaller (less powerful) laptop (dare I say, netbook?) would be a superior solution.

And, don’t even get me started on the name? iPad? That pales besides every other noun I saw suggested. Tablet, Canvas, Notepad, Slate all would have been far less mockable.

I’d love to be proven wrong. But so far… this one isn’t making sense to me.

25 Things

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I’m astoundingly late to the “25 Things” meme. And yet, here it is.

I’m unmarried, have no kids, and am happy about both. I think I’m allergic to white picket fences.

I know the words to the Swedish Chef’s song.

I know the secret family recipe for Sweet Potato Biscuits.

I am a reformed southerner, but somehow I did not acquire the accent.

When I was nine years old, my family house was destroyed in a fire.

I put myself through school working as a bouncer, a trolley car driver, a book store clerk, a copy editor, a show carpenter, a tutor, and a library clerk.

My major was Civil Engineering, so of course I ended up working in computers. *shrug*

Most people who meet me think I’m an extrovert; it’s only the people who know me well that realize I’m a huge introvert.

I once moved five times in a year and a half.

For a year, my voice was used for all the phone tree recordings for a corporation. “Welcome to Radius Technical Support. All of our agents are currently busy with other callers…”

I’ve been ocean kayaking in the Monterey Bay.

I took flying lessons and completed ground school, but never got my license.

I’ve seen Les Paul perform live. Twice. And Annie Ross at Birdland.

I took sailing lessons over the course of two summers, getting as far as sailing 30-foot keelboats.

I walked the Paris ossuary catacombs on Halloween Day.

I took a year and a half off work, just because.

I made a three month road trip in a VW camper bus, all on the backroads (eschewing the interstates), west coast to east through the US, east to west through Canada.

I’ve traveled to Hawaii, Alaska, Mexico, Canada, London, Paris, Bruges, Amsterdam.

I’ve had 400+ hours training as a massage therapist.

I’ve taken two classes in a cadaver lab.

I completed a pre-med program, despite having no interest in med school.

Despite not being a mental patient, a chef, nor a Scot, I own a straitjacket, a chef’s coat and a black watch kilt.

My yard has an apple tree, cherry tree, pear tree, grape vines and boysenberries. And rosemary, thyme, bay, oregano, and catnip. And other stuff that isn’t edible.

I’ve smelled five different body parts (my own) burning. Hair is not the worst.

I’m currently tutoring Math, Physics and Engineering at a local community college, just because it’s my twisted idea of fun.

Dear Sir

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To the driver of the dusty red, ragged-out pick-up truck that honked at me, swerved around me, then ran through a stop light as I was pedaling east up SE Hawthorne at 4:30 today: that truck makes your dick look small.

Love,

me

Back to School

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I’ve been meditating a lot about going back to school at my *ahem* perfectly reasonable age, and how the experience differs from my first time around.

One aspect of that is power. There is already such a charged power dynamic between teachers and students. The teacher has all the knowledge, sets all the rules, measures and judges the students. Add to that the additional authority of age that a teacher (usually) has over a student. It’s a wonder more teachers don’t get a little heady from the position.

But it’s a dynamic I’m largely immune to now. For starters, I’m older than a fair number of these teachers. I’ve had the luxury of being treated like an adult for a great number of years, and I’m not yielding that simply by walking into a classroom. And I’ve had the great fortune to work with some extraordinarily smart individuals.The intellectual prowess of a grad student teaching Calculus 1 does not, all by itself, set me aquiver. I’m respectful of the position, and hugely appreciative of someone who is really good at it. But I’m definitely not cowed by it.

Another significance difference involves money. Seemingly all my memories of being in school the first time involve money. I remember calculating if I could delay buying a textbook until the following week, so i would have money to buy food for the weekend. There were a couple of years where I had to alternate going to school a term, then working a term, trying to make ends meet. It is a completely different experience to be able to go to school without issues like that hanging over your head.

The last big change I’ve noticed involves the internet. When I first went to school, registering for classes involved huge lines in massive ballrooms, endless waiting and incredible frustration. Today, it’s all done on-line with barely any effort at all. Requesting transcripts can be done online. Getting a report on your progress towards degree requirements is done online. Heck, I’m amazed I can email my instructors and get answers to challenging homework problems.

This is all a long-winded way of saying that I’m really enjoying the school experience. So far. Let’s hope the enthusiasm holds out for a couple of years. 🙂

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I finally snapped yesterday, and laid the smack down on a professor. In front of the entire class. Here’s the story, with too much background.

Over the last several classes, the professor has been getting increasingly cranky over the lack of classroom participation. Usually he’ll leave a question hanging in the air, and either I’ll answer it or there will be an awkward silence for several seconds before someone kinda sorta mumbles something from the back of the room. Increasingly, I’ve been trying to shut up in the hopes that it will prompt more people to speak up. Mostly, that hasn’t helped. And so, the prof is getting worked up about that.

Add to that, the guy just isn’t a very good teacher. He knows the material backwards and forwards, but he doesn’t have a grasp of how to present the material to someone who might be seeing it for the very first time. If I hadn’t seen this all in high school, I can only imagine how lost and confused I would be. For instance, the prof seems to think it’s useful to back up a new rule or concept by actually performing the proof for it in front of the entire class. Despite the fact that the proofs can be pretty gnarly, well above the head of 2/3rds of the class, and it’s not the sort of things he would hold us responsible for in homework or on a test. It’s kind of like trying to teach someone how to drive by showing them how the carburetor is assembled.

So Friday, he’s at the whiteboard in the middle of one of these proofs. It’s filled the entire whiteboard, half the class is glazed over, and he’s still going at it, working on this series of one limit plus another limit plus a third limit. On one of the limits he factors something out of it and asks over his shoulder, “And when we pull that out of the limit, what are we left with?” From across the room, a tentative voice says, “Umm, it’s undefined?”

He spins on his heel and with a raised voice says, “What?! No! What’s left is the definition of a derivative! C’mon!”

And I snapped.

Right there, in front of the class, I cut him off with a sharp tone.
“Look. Just stop it. That’s unnecessary. Take a deep breath.”

“Yes, I understand the thing you’re pointing at is the definition of a derivative. But her answer wasn’t crazy. Yeah, if you just looked at that limit, it looks like it would be undefined. That’s a reasonable guess at the answer.
If you want people to participate in this classroom, shouting at them for a wrong answer is a really bad strategy.”

“So back off, calm down, and try again.”

For a couple of tense seconds, the only sound was the muted traffic outside.

He stammered out an awkward apology, and repeated it at the end of class. I think he knew he had been busted big time. I only hope he thinks about how he got in that state, and how to avoid it in the future.

Cats versus Demons

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Sunday night, one of The Girls and I went to see “Paranormal Activity”. If you’re not already familiar with the movie (no spoilers, don’t worry), it’s this season’s “Blair Witch Project”. Shot almost entirely with handheld digital video cameras, one set, shot in one week. The basic plot is a couple whose house appears to be haunted; in the middle of the night, doors slam, unexplained noises come from downstairs, etc. It was an enjoyable scary movie for the Halloween season.

After the movie, we headed home and settled into bed. Sometime in the middle of the night, some clatter from the living room woke us both up. We rolled over, one of us muttered “damn cats” and we fell right back asleep.

Which is to say, it’s a certainty that the characters in the movie didn’t have cats. If they had, any unexplained noises or slamming doors would have failed to make an impression. Or, if you look at it another way, demonic possession, … owning cats… not as much difference as you might think.

School days

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All at once, Summer is over in a definitive fashion. I enjoyed a bit of sun this weekend during a short little bicycle ride on Sunday and lounging in a park afterwards. But the wind has picked up, clouds have gathered and this morning it was so cold I went around the house making sure windows were closed. I’m pretty happy about how I spent the season. There was just a ridiculous amount of biking around, wringing out every drop of fun I could manage.

On the work front… there’s very little work front left. My last day is Thursday of this week. All the company-owned equipment has already been returned and I’m merely waiting for the paperwork to arrive. It was a good ride and I’m sure I will miss it considerably. But I’m looking forward to what comes next.

And speaking of next, classes started yesterday. The one waitlist class was successfully added, all my forms were turned in and I don’t feel quite so lost wandering around campus now. Two of the classes should be readily manageable, more review than anything else. But one of the classes should be more of a challenge. I’m realizing it has been *cough* over 20 years since I’ve taken a math class! I’m not even sure I know how to take a math class any more. Does one take notes? What do the notes say? “Carry the seven.” “It’s spelled ‘sin’, but not like the fun kind; it’s pronounced ‘sign’.” “Base 8 is just like base 10… if you’re missing two fingers.”

Meanwhile at the other campus, tutoring has started for the Fall term, and it is already crazy busy. I arrived early on the first day, and while waiting for the tutoring center to be unlocked, I had students asking me to help them with problems in the hallway, squatting on the floor. The center is filled to overflowing and I spend the entire shift going from question to question without break. Frankly, I prefer that to sitting idle, but still… it’s an unmistakable increase in traffic from last year. I wonder if it will stay like this all term? And I’m amused to note I’m pretty comfortable tutoring one of the classes I’m taking this term… and the class after it. But that could easily change as the term progresses and the classes move into more challenging material.

Getting from one campus to the next is going to be a challenge. MHCC is far enough east that it’s a hell of a hike just to get to the last MAX station. If the weather is passable, I can bike it easily enough. But in foul weather, I’ll have to drive to one of the MAX stations and take the Green line from there. I’ve got just enough time to make that work (at the cost of any possible lunch), but it’s a bigger hassle than I might like. I’m investigating changing around my tutoring schedule to make this all rather easier.

Odds and ends

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No particular story to tell today, just a few random bits floating through my brain this morning, chit-chat over the morning coffee.

Goodness, this has felt like an autumnal weekend! A serious dose of rain and cooler temps. And I’ve been noticing the first few drift piles of leaves littering the curbs and driveways. Fall isn’t here yet, but it’s in the post. Walking upstairs this morning to make the coffee, the floor was cold in a way that felt distinctly familiar. Best make the most of what little remains of Summer.

And speaking of which… a friend of a friend died Sunday morning. She was very recently diagnosed with stage IV cancer, and still I find myself stunned by how swiftly it progressed. As if that’s the sort of thing that should be called progress. After having recently endured a bunch of family deaths that hit pretty close to home (grandfather, uncle, mother, MJ, grandmother, in that order), this is the first death in a while that I’ve been able to watch with some distance and perspective. It’s not the most original thought, but I find myself wondering how much of our grieving is related to a deep emotional sense that our day will come too. And then Melody reminded me that some amount of it is simply lost history. Someone dies and you realize that was the last person who could have reminded you of lost stories, could have explained small mysteries, could have filled in specific holes in your life story. I want to ask Mom how to do the perfect barbecue pork shoulder, or ask my grandfather about growing up on a farm and fighting in WWII. Those stories are gone now, forever and ever.

Death, in its democratic fashion, votes for each of us, eventually. So there’s your theme, Summer and life, make the most of however many days we might have left.

I did my second ride through the SW hills yesterday, about 30 miles., on a route that went down to Lake Oswego, circled the lake, then back up to Stumptown. I felt reasonably strong and could have gone faster than the collective group speed, but I won’t pretend the hills didn’t kick my ass. The elevation profile for the ride looked like an EKG. And while 20 miles feels like a fun night of lazy riding, 30 miles definitely feels more serious. At the very least, it’s the threshold where I want real padded biking shorts for my delicate bum. I’m still trying to top 1000 miles for the year. I know some of the people reading this will scoff at that number, and some will be impressed. It’s just a number; at the end of the day, we’re only competing with ourselves.

Still expecting to be laid off from the Big Fruit in two weeks. I’ve been accepted into PSU for the Fall and I’m still awaiting word on my transfer credits and how much distance might be between me and a math degree. I’ve thrown my name in the ring to continue tutoring at MHCC this fall, but depending on schedule that may not work. Or maybe I’ll look into tutoring at PSU. Of course, I’ve also got my resume into a couple of tech recruiters in the area, and if something interesting came up I might get distracted by a sparkly shiny new job/project. But with this economy, I wouldn’t count on it. Ahh well, I refuse to get stressed over it. New adventures, one way or another.

Stop me before I plumb again

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It all started trivially enough. One of the girls had a toilet with a leaky flapper, so that it would periodically top off the tank, several times per night. Annoying, but a problem I’ve tackled several times before. No sweat. I showed her pictures of what to buy, and told her I would install it next time I came over. Big boyfriend points, eh?

So, last week I came over and looked at what she had bought. Yep, exactly right. There was a new fill valve to replace the ancient ball float valve and a new flapper. I opened up the tank over the toilet and got to work. Removing the fill valve was trivial, done in minutes. The flapper… was more of a challenge. The overflow tube was ancient copper, and had a large collar that extended an inch or more up the tube, tall enough that it was a challenge to get the flapper collar seated low enough. In fact, I couldn’t. Over multiple tests, the new flapper leaked enough that the fill valve kicked in every five minutes or so. And we were both appalled by how loud the fill valve was. Even more disturbing, the gasket at the bottom of the overflow tube was rotted; every time I brushed it, a stream of solid black squid ink floated away from the decaying gasket. Gahh! Okay, it was getting late and the hardware stores were already long closed. I re-installed the old flapper and called it “good enough” for the night. That would make things usable until the next time I could get to the hardware store and do the job right. Right?

Today, I headed to the hardware store (1) and got a new fill valve (quieter!), a new flapper (leak proof!), and a new gasket to fit between the tank and pedestal. I was even smart enough to get new bolts to attach the tank and pedestal, anticipating the existing ones would be too corroded to reuse. Gosh, I’m clever.

Over at the girlfriend’s, I ripped out the current fill valve and flapper and disconnected the tank from the pedestal. The bolts were just as corroded as I feared and took considerable work to get free, but we managed to get that done with no more damage than a bleeding knuckle. I started to investigate the decaying gasket. Aww, poop, it’s really the gasket at the base of the overflow tube, not the gasket between the tank and pedestal. No worries, we can replace that too, if I can just get the overflow tube removed. Twist, turn, snap. The copper overflow tube snapped off at the collar, an inch above the gasket. Shoot. Oh well, we were gonna have to go to the hardware store anyway to get the right gasket; I’ll just replace the overflow tube altogether. Easy. So, off to the local big box hardware store (2) where a little hunting found a replacement overflow tube. Back home.

Damn, the retaining bolt for the passage between the tank and pedestal must be 3 inches in diameter, and corroded solidly. The tiny little channel pliers in the girlfriend’s supply of tools isn’t anywhere near big enough to get it free. Le sigh. Back to the hardware store (3).

I came back with an adjustable wrench specifically intended for plumbers, that opened 3 inches and had very narrow channels to fit in the narrow space of the retaining collar. I wrestled with the damn thing over and over; once in a while I got it adjusted to just the right width, but still couldn’t get the nut/collar to budge. Another bleeding knuckle later, I went back to the hardware store again (4). I returned the previous wrench and bought three new ones, a massive pipe wrench, a massive channel pliers and a wide wrench intended for plumbing and removing oil filters. Back home.

I tried all three wrenches, with not even a smudge of success. At one point I was pulling with all my might with both arms while the girl held the tank down, and still didn’t make even a smidge of progress. Dammit! Back to the hardware store (5). Again!

I returned the previous three #$%!* wrenches. Bloody hell, I was gonna buy a new tank and be done with it; I was sick of this game. Back in the toilet section, I found an employee to query. He quickly informed me that tanks were pretty nonstandard, and trying to find one that fit some random toilet, especially an older one, was essentially a fool’s errand. I briefly considered an entirely new toilet; a decent one could be $200 easily. I cursed (not for the first time), wondered how I had gotten myself into this situation (not for the last time), and proceeded to the tool section to buy a hacksaw.

Back at the house, I started sawing through the collar/nut and tube that connects the tank and pedestal. And sawed. And sawed. More bloody knuckles. More cursing. An aching back. Forearms that whined at the abuse. Nearly an hour later, I finally snapped through the damn pipe and pulled the last troublesome piece out. As I paused to catch my breath, I also boggled at the absolute disaster zone the bathroom had become. Removed plumbing parts scattered in the sink, black smears of decaying gasket dripped and smeared all over the floor and bathtub. My hands were solid black, spotted with the occasional dribble of blood. I took a brief break to wash myself while the girl rinsed down the tank, and then we started the reassembly.

Overflow valve installed, bolts installed. I didn’t like the sponge gasket that came with the overflow tube (too big), but thankfully I had bought a different one (trip #1) and that seemed to fit okay. Tank reattached to the pedestal and bolts tightened until everything seemed stable. Flapper chain attached to lever. New fill valve inserted, retaining nut tightened, silicon tape applied, water reconnected. Still sprawled out on the bathroom floor, with no small degree of trepidation, I slowly opened the water valve. Water started filling the tank, no leaks at the water line or from the tank/pedestal gasket. With gradually swelling confidence, I opened the valve all the way and let the tank finished filling. When it stopped I laid very still and listened for the possible sound of a leaking flapper. Silence! I reached an arm up, flushed and listened to the tank fill again, once again listening for signs of a leaking flapper at the end. Satisfied, I finally levered myself up from the floor, feeling every single year of my considerable age.

Tools put away, packaging trashed, unused components set aside to return, the worst of the grime swiped away, a blindingly hot shower, a massive cocktail. Four hours, five trips to the big box hardware store, Saturday night lost. But the toilet is silent. Hopefully this blog post will help purge the remaining scars. Whew.

Sunday Update:
Dammit! Spoke too soon. Woke up to notice dampness on the floor behind the tank, most likely a leak in the connection between tank and pedestal. Sigh. Take it apart and reassemble. Still leaking. Ask girlfriend to head to the hardware store for plumbers putty while I take it apart again. Apply plumbers putty around the base of the overflow tube and reassemble. Still leaks. Weep openly. Pull out my hair. Kick in a stained glass window. Punch a nun. Call a contractor pal for advice. Take apart tank again, remove previous plumbers putty, and put down a fresh bead inside the tank, where the connecting bolts feed through the tank. Reassemble. Hold breath and… so far, no leaks.

If I see more droplets, I’m going to lie.
“That’s just condensation.”
“I think it’s raining in here.”