Found on Digg, 8 reasons Windows users don’t switch.

I have to say this reminds me of a thought I posed to Most-Honoured Girlfriend in the car last week. We passed one of those cars that seemed painted with slogans, so ubiquitous were its bumper stickers. These stickers had expanded their territory well across the trunk and rear windshield. To a one, they were emblazoned with “clever” phrases designed not only to criticize the current political administration, but also to raise the ire of its supporters.

Said I to that person, though only Clare could hear, “Don’t do that. You’re not helping.” She turned to me. “What?”

My argument is thus. The current government is supported mainly by persons who would be generalized as conservative. Republicans are ostensibly the conservative party. The denotation of the word is “holding to traditional values and cautious regarding change or innovation.” The connotation of the word (not to say the ideology, neccessarily) is someone who is unlikely to change their opinion easily or quickly.

So, if a person of this ideology has been demonstrated that all persons of the opposite liberal viewpoint make inflammatory comments rather than argue logically, then the conservative person’s opinion will be formed. Next time they argue with someone of a liberal ideology, certain understandable prejudices will exist. Even the word “liberal” has come to mean something filthy to many conservatives, when really it only means someone “open to new behavior or opinions and willing to discard traditional values.”

This explains also the religious divide seen in the two-party system. Organized religion is certainly a traditional value, many of them having existed for thousands of years. Whereas the “godless” gravitate toward the political party that espouses* views less grounded in religion**.

Apple – PC is an easy analogy to liberal – conservative, hence the commercials which are likely another point of contention for a conservative person. Unfortunately, the suffers from the same arms-length mud-slinging between people. Many people are unwilling to even dip their toe in the other water, seemingly due to fear of an undertow.

So, knowing full well that many people are disappointed with their experience, I hold to my standard answer regarding computers: “If it does what you need it to, then you’ve got the right one.” But, I invite you to prove otherwise.

* – though in recent memory, parties have not cleaved to even their own values.
* – in the US, almost solely Christianity, which seems inappropriate considering our country was founded on freedom of religion

Filmed in 2003, but still relevant. Seth Godin: Sliced Bread and other marketing delights

It turns out I have the otaku.

Earlier today, like a good little member of the online social community (in which, my circle has grown by 4 friend requests just today, so eat it), I changed my Facebook status. I changed it to read “Christopher is … a lone monkey contemplating infinity.” I heard the phrase somewhere and it still resonates with me.

Evidently, it moved one of my friends as well, as she replied on my “wall” that infinity was a deep thought for a monkey to have. Immediately, I was reminded of an Ernest Cline spoken word piece called Dance, Monkeys, Dance. Without delay, I searched it out on youtube and sent it to her, after another viewing myself.

Since I am in a relatively new office, I thought I would also send it out to my colleagues, as it might make their day. It met with approval. I was pleased.

Then, after lunch, I went to Digg and discovered one of the top items listed was another version of the video on youtube. Now, I doubt it was any one I would have sent it to, as they likely would have posted the version I sent. Somehow, as one colleague theorized, I tapped into the great geek unconscious. Or perhaps, as Tim postulates, I am simply from the future.

Regardless, its appearance on Digg wounds my hipster bone – my “hip,” as I call it, but only ironically and only when people can hear me – much in the way that sudden public support of an underground band you’ve loved for years (I’m looking at you, Flight of the Conchords) can sting deeply, despite your seat at the reigns of the bandwagon.

So, as is the purpose of blogs, I hereby present proof that you heard it here first (after I found it, probably on MetaFilter): Buddha’s Bellyaching » A bit o’ the ol’ optimistic nihilism.

And no, I did not change the timestamp, you bastards.

The speech found at the link below should be required to become a teacher. It reminds me of some of the larger concepts presented by Keith Johnstone in his remarkable book, Impro, which has been in my top five books for as long as I can remember. Give it a watch; twenty minutes well spent.

TED: Sir Ken Robinson on creativity

Discussing media with gamers (gamers in this case specifically meaning players of tabletop role-playing games) can be frustrating for me. My gamer friends, with few exceptions, are very bright people with a wealth of experience each. Their opinions are not often the result of simple preference, or so I choose to believe.

But there are occasions where I wonder what we really have in common. When the subject of media as art becomes the focus of conversation, our positions are so disparate as to be cause for argument. Half the time I don’t believe we are actually discussing the same subject.

Instead, I feel like they are weighing the entertainment value while I am weighing the intrinsic value. Entertainment is wonderful, and even schlock has its place, but it seems people give equal creedence to true art as to things that have no greater message.

The greatest example of this in recent memory is preference of Offices. The BBC original is fully formed, with realistic characters and scenarios and a truly human quality with the capacity to move one to catharsis as well as laughter. It is often thought-provoking and philosophical without reaching beyond the natural accessiblity of its material or genre. I would even go so far as to say it helped me gain perspective on my own life and where I truly want it to go.

The American version on the other hand rarely elevates itself above farcical sitcom stuff. The strongest human connection I have made is with the minor characters, such as Phyllis or Jan. I can see it being dated in five years, where the original I believe will stand the test of time.

It’s difficult to explain. It’s beyond what I can do on my little blog. But when we’re chatting and you tell me you prefer the American Office, my immediate prejudice — for better or worse — is that you prefer not to be challenged by your entertainment. It’s a bigger question than which you think is funnier. At least it is in my head.

Luv u. kthxbye.

Oh, and I fully expect to see arguments for and against in the comments, so … open season on pretentious little me.

There’s something inherently beautiful about this.

YTMND – Homeless Fred Sanford

The attempt to pass an alternative fuel bill advocating the use of liquid coal has me thinking. Maybe there’s an energy source that we’ve overlooked. Solar, wind, geothermal, etc. are all better options, of course, but I’m talking about something that should be obvious from our childhood.

Think now… once upon a time, there was an engineer. Choo-choo Charlie was his name, we hear. He had an engine. And he sure had fun. He used Good ‘n’ Plenty candies to make his train run.

This isn’t just some crackpot we’re talking about here. It takes many years of intense academia to become an engineer. And so many people don’t like black licorice, I doubt we’d be in any sort of crisis any time soon. Besides… there’s plenty; it says so in the title.

I’m just putting it out there, legislators. It’s as well-conceived an idea as you’ve had so far.

I don’t like to be a complainer.

I am one, but I don’t like to be. So, I hide this entry behind a link. You choose to read my moaning at your own peril.

Any moment now, though, life/fate/whatever-you-call-it can just stop running up at random and kicking me square in the balls.

(more…)

I saw a performance of this in Chicago over the weekend. This monologue was particularly well done and made me think of some of the things Most-Honoured Girlfriend has intimated in moments of weakness that became moments of strength.

Women, Where We Are Going
from The Heidi Chronicles
by Wendy Wasserstein

Heidi: Hello, Hello. I graduated from Miss Crain’s in 1965, and I look back on education in Chicago very fondly. One of the far reaching habits I developed at Miss Crain’s was waiting until the desperation point to complete or, rather, start my homework. Keeping that noble academic tradition alive, I appear before you today with no formal speech. I have no outline, no pink note cards, no hieroglyphics scribbled on my palm. Nothing.

Well. So you might be thinking, this is a women’s meeting, so let’s give her the benefit of the doubt after teaching at Columbia yesterday, Miss Holland probably attended a low-impact aerobics class with weights, picked up her children from school, took the older one to drawing with computers at the Metropolitan and the younger one to swimming-for-gifted-children. On returning home, she immediately prepared grilled mesquite free-range chicken with balsamic vinegar and sun dried tomatoes, advised her investment-banker, well rounded husband on future finances for the City Ballet, put the children to bed, recited their favorite Greek myths and sex education legends, dashed into the library to call the twenty-two year old squash player who is passionately in love with her to say that they can only be friends, finished writing ten pages of a new book, took the remains of the mesquite free-range dinner to a church that feeds the homeless, massaged her husband’s feet, and relieved any fears that he might be getting old by “doing it” in the kitchen, read forty pages of The Inferno in Italian, took a deep breath, and put out the light. So after all this, we forgive Miss Holland for not preparing a speech today. She’s exemplary and exhausted.

Thank you, but you forgive too easily. And I respect my fellow alumni enough to know that I should attempt to tell you the truth. Oh, hurry up Heidi. Okay. Why don’t I have a speech for the “Women Where Are We Going” luncheon? Well, actually, yesterday, I did teach at Columbia. We discussed Alexander Pope and his theory of the picturesque. And afterward I did attend an exercise class. I walked into the locker room, to my favorite corner, where I can pull on my basic black leotard in peace. Two ladies, younger than me, in pressed blue jeans were heatedly debating the reading program at Marymount Nursery School, and a woman my mother’s age was going on and on about her son at Harvard Law School and his wife a Brazilian hairdresser, who was by no stretch of the imagination good enough for him. They were joined by Mrs. Green, who has perfect red nails, and confessed to anyone who would listen the hardship of throwing a dinner party on the same night as a benefit at the Met. And in the middle of them was a naked gray-haired woman extolling the virtues of brown rice and women’s fiction.

And then two twenty-seven year old hot shots came in. How do I know they were hot shots? They were both draped in purple and green leather. And as soon as they entered the locker room, they pulled out their alligator date books and began madly to call the office. They seemed to have everything under control. They even brought their own heavier weights.

Now Jeanette, the performance-artist-dancer-actress-aerobics teacher, comes in and completes the locker room. I like Jeanette. I’ve never talked to her, but I like her. I feel her parents are psychiatrists in the Mid-west. Maybe Cedar Rapids. Jeanette takes off her blue jeans and rolls her tights up her legs. I notice the hot shots checking out Jeanette’s muscle tone while they are lacing up heir Zeus low impact sneakers, and Mrs. Green stop’s talking about her dinner party long enough to ask where did they find them. Every where she looked on Madison Avenue is out. And the lady with the son at Harvard joins in and says she saw Zeus sneakers at Lord and Taylor’s and were they any good. Her daughter-in-law likes them, but she can’t be trusted. The mothers with the pressed blue jeans leap to rescue. Yes, they can assure her, despite the daughter-in-law, unequivocally, absolutely, no doubt about it, Zeus sneakers are the best!

It was at this point that I decided I would slip out and take my place in the back row of the class.

I picked up my overstuffed bag. But as I was just between Mrs., Green’s raccoon coat and a purple leather bomber jacket, I tripped on one of the hot shot’s goddamn, 5-pound professional weights and out of my bag flew a week’s worth of change, raspberry gum wrappers, and Alexander Pope on the Picturesque right on the naked gray-haired fiction woman’s foot.

I began giggling. “Oh.” “That’s okay.” “Excuse me.” “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry I don’t wear leather pants.” “I’m sorry I don’t eat brown rice.” “I’m sorry I don’t want to stand naked and discuss Zeus sneakers.” “I’m sorry I don’t want to find out I’m worthless. And superior.” I’m embarrassed, no humiliated in front of every woman in that room. I’m envying women I don’t even know. I’m envying women I don’t even like. I’m sure the woman with the son at Harvard is miserable to her daughter-in-law. I’m sure the gray-haired fiction woman is having a bisexual relationship with a female dock worker and is driving her husband crazy. I’m sure the hot shots have screwed a lot of thirty-five-year-old women, my classmates even, out of jobs, raises and husbands. And I’m sure the mothers in the pressed blue jeans think women like me choose the wrong road. “Oh, it’s a pity they made such a mistake; that empty generation.” Well, I really don’t want to be feeling this way about all of them. And I certainly don’t want to be feeling this way about “Women, Where Are We Going.”

I hear whispers. I hear chairs moving from side to side. Yes, I see I have one minute left.

The women start filing out of the locker room. Jeanette puts her hair in a pony tail and winks at me. “See you in class, Heidi. Don’t forget to take a mat this time.”

And I look at her pink and kind face. “I’m sorry, Jeanette, I think I’m too sad to go to class.”

“Excuse me?” She smiles and grabs a mat.

And suddenly I stop competing with all of them. Suddenly I’m not even racing. “To tell you the truth, Jeanette, I think I better not exercise today.”

“Is there anything I can do?” She puts her arm around me. “Are you not well?”

“No, Jeanette, I’m not happy. I’m afraid I haven’t been happy for sometime.”

I don’t blame the ladies in the locker room for how I feel. I don’t blame any of us. We’re all concerned, intelligent, good women.

It’s just that I feel stranded. And I thought the whole point was that we wouldn’t feel stranded. I thought the point was that we were all in this together.

Thank you.