Journal ★ Sumeet Jain

Big Wheel Brigade

2011-08-13T00:00:00-07:00

After arriving in Omaha (again), my uncle/cousin Rahul and I completed a conversation we had started several weeks earlier about doing business together. The long and short of it is that we are going to make products for personal profit and also to contribute revenues to causes we care about. Our company is going to be called Big Wheel Brigade¹.

Related to this decision, I’m moving to Omaha. I’ve found an apartment (I’ve exhausted every possible joke about how cheap rent is compared to San Francisco, so this is the last I’ll mention the subject.) in the hip Dundee neighborhood - I move in September 15.

Recovery

Big Wheel Brigade was born just after I arrived in Omaha after the snakebite. For 2 weeks after that I lay in bed - hopping to and from meals on one foot. Then I took my first step on the snakebitten foot - it felt okay! But it was still stiff and weak, so I decided to walk sparingly. For another week, I worked my way up from hopping-and-walking to walking-with-a-limp.

I finally felt healthy enough to make the drive back to California for Rakhi and to collect my things for the move to Omaha. But first I would detour to Chicago to visit some friends and family.

Saturday, August 6 - Chicago

Aniruddh and Rebecca taught me how to make pizza. In the beginning, I had trouble kneading my dough into a disc. Aniruddh stepped in to show me how it’s done, but he couldn’t reverse the damage. By that point, neither he nor I wanted to claim credit for the goopy mound in front of us:

I complained some more about how hard making pizza is and asked impatiently when we get to throw it in the air. Rebecca informed me that their pizza instructor (from New York!) had taught them not to throw, because - though it’s fun - pizza comes out better when it’s flattened by hand. I stored that trivia away for another time (Perhaps some day I can impress a foodie dame with my purist pizza philosophy.) and told her flatly that nothing would stand between me and throwing pizza in the air.

At last, great success was had!

After visiting Neeru Masiji and Manish Masarji in Naperville, it was time for me to go home to California.

Tuesday, August 9 - Not Quite Homeward Bound

The drive didn’t last long. I was (and am) experiencing a surge of freelance work. I quickly discovered that the looming deadlines make a lengthy drive impossible to enjoy. So I stopped just hours out of Chicago - in Des Moines, Iowa - to do some work and rethink my travel plans². It’s now four days later, and I’m still in Des Moines. Little did I know when I stopped here that the center of the universe was about to fall down in Iowa.

None of the things that have happened during my stay here were anomalies. I’m just out of touch with politics, so I hadn’t considered the impact of the 2012 Presidential Campaign Season: The day after I arrived in Des Moines, Sarah Palin rolled into town with her posse; the Republican Party’s Presidential candidates held their FOX-televised debate in a neighboring city; the Iowa State Fair held its Opening Day; Jon Stewart opened his show with a lengthy segment about the debates and the Fair, and Stephen Colbert launched his second Super PAC commercial and spent 10 minutes admonishing local news channel WOI-DT for not airing it.

I experienced most of these events with my AirBNB hosts - Cat Rocketship, Scott Kubie, and Darby Shannon. Darby happened to be my barista at the coffee shop where I’d been working since arriving in Des Moines. Cat Rocketship and Scott Kubie happened to be friends with the Omaha tech community; they know Rahul - my Big Wheel Brigade partner. I’m constantly amazed by the prevalence of coincidence during my travels.

Friday, August 12 - Iowa State Fair

In the evening Cat, Scott, Darby, some of their friends, and I went to the Iowa State Fair together. The experience began with parking, which there wasn’t. This is a deliberate limitation that is embraced by the residents of the neighborhoods surrounding the fairgrounds. Visitors to the fair pay the residents to park on their lawns. Scott told me they make enough to cover their property taxes each year.

After parking, we walked a short distance to the fair entrance. It was “East Side Night”, which Cat explained is the night when all the city’s “rednecks” flock to the fair. I honestly couldn’t tell. The fairgrounds were packed to the edges with fun-loving folks eating and drinking to their heart’s content (and - I’m sure - eventual demise).

Photo by Iowa State Fair

I will never be able to eat like a Midwesterner. I entered the fair with every intention of chowing on some fried butter, fried ice cream, fried vegetables, fried cheese, doughnuts, turkey leg, pork loin, corn dog, and beer. But the fair did defeat me. In fact, I nearly filled my stomach on the smell alone. Walking through the crowd and alleys of food stalls, I actually began to feel nourished (or at least satiated). When it was finally time to eat, I couldn’t handle more than tastes of a few fried delights. I will forever live with the regret of not having tried fried butter. I still don’t understand what that is.

We are both freelance web developers with active clienteles that we care about, so our day-jobs aren’t changing. Big Wheel Brigade is going to be an important part of our lives, and we’re going to spend a lot of time working on its projects. But - for now - it’s a part-time endeavor with potential for growth.
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If you’re curious, the revised travel plan is to drive only as far west as Omaha. Then I’ll then fly back to California and celebrate Rakhi. And I’ll fly back to Omaha in September - bringing back the few things that aren’t already in my car.
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Omaha Loop

2011-07-19T00:00:00-07:00

Thursday, July 7

I left for Omaha early in the morning. Watching the sun rise during a long-distance drive will always be one of my favorite kinds of experience.

For about 4 hours, I enjoyed such scenes as the above as I drove through various Colorado state highways. Once I reached Cheyenne in Wyoming, I had about 8 hours of boring interstate to look forward to. Not a problem though - that’s what audiobooks and singing loudly to pop music are for.

I spent a week in Omaha, where I had an experience that was essentially equivalent to the first time - but also unique its own way. I really do love visiting Omaha and spending time with my family there. The time passed too quickly.

My next destination was St. Louis.

Thursday, July 14

As usual, I began my drive very early. Much of the direct route from Omaha to St. Louis follows the Missouri River, which had flooded recently. There were indications that the flooding had affected traffic on I-29, which would have been the quickest path; so I took some detours through smaller highways in Iowa and Missouri instead. Staying off of the major interstate resulted in a more interesting landscape during the drive, but it also increased the amount of attention I needed to pay to directions. I think it was worth it. I did make sure to keep my gas tank full, though.

I checked into the Huck Finn Hostel in St. Louis around 6pm and then found a coffee shop to get some work done. After dinner, I met some locals at Square One Brewery. They were kind and eager to know about me. As much as I tried to move the conversation to other things, all they wanted to know about was India. They were very careful not to offend me - asking repeatedly for the correct term to use for things. “Is Indian offensive? Do you prefer to be called Hindi?”

Friday, July 15

The Gateway Arch is the tallest man-made monument in the country. It’s a steel monument near the riverfront in St. Louis downtown, and it is worth seeing.

Photo by SkylineScenes

What’s unusual about the Arch is that it’s most impressive from a distance. Up close, it’s a large, steel arch. Big deal. But from a few blocks away, you can’t help but stare. It’s so unusual. It looks like an alien spacecraft landed in the middle of a city.

Distracted

I should confess that the previous evening and this day in St. Louis were enjoyable but not ideal. I was distracted by the thoughts surrounding an important career (and therefore lifestyle) decision¹. Sometimes it’s nice to walk around a new city while mulling things over in your mind. But in this case, the decision was consuming enough that the city was just a distraction. So I left.

Saturday, July 16

I enjoyed clarity of thought on my drive to Hawn State Park - about 90 minutes from St. Louis. I would think, camp, cook simple meals, and return with a decision made.

I arrived in the afternoon, chose a marked campsite near the water, and took a walk around the creek. Then I made dinner, cleaned up, and settled in for a night’s rest.

The noise was deafening. As the day faded out, every creature in the woods seemed to come alive. Croaking, snapping, scratching, chirping, singing. The cacophony built over the course of an hour. I can only guess when it peaked, since I wasn’t there for the finale…

Snakebit

Dark had fallen. Amid the heavy noises of the night, I emerged from my tent to use the bathroom. The path back to my tent was lit sporadically by my headlamp. I didn’t see the slithering creature beneath my feet, but it saw me.

A rapid motion. Intense pain.

0.0 - 0.4 Seconds:

I jumped up and away from the source of the pain. It was immediately obvious that I’d been bitten by a snake. I’d seen the shape of the creature. I wanted to be elsewhere right now. My heart rate rose dramatically.

0.4 - 0.9 Seconds:

Gripped by fear and pain, I yelled some very bad words very loudly.

0.9 - 1.0 Seconds:

I felt bad for any nearby families who heard my outburst.

1.0 - 1.3 Seconds:

Forget the families. I just got snakebit. Find help. Relax yourself - venom spreads faster when you panic.

I found three college kids at a nearby campsite and hopped over to them. “Hey guys, I just got bit by a snake. Do any of you know much about snakes?” They stared blankly at me from their seats. One shook his head. “Can you please get the camp supervisor? He might know a thing or two.” One of them replied: “Dude, I don’t think there is one.”

I regretted my choice of helpers. “Yes there is. He’s the guy you paid when you entered the park - he stays at the first campsite by the entrance. Let’s just go there together - get your car please.” They complied, and we drove to the camp supervisor’s site. During the brief ride, I glanced at my ankle where I’d been bitten. Two drops of blood indicated the fang marks where I’d been bitten. Fear began to rise in me again, so I resumed deep breathing exercises to keep my heart rate down.

The camp supervisor asked me what kind of snake it was. “I don’t know.” I felt stupid for panicking in the beginning. I should have had the presence of mind to get a look at the snake.

The camp supervisor explained to my helpers where the nearest emergency room was. They drove me to Farmington (Farmington!), where the nurses took over my care. I thanked my helpers and told them they could leave - I was going to be here for a while.

My nurse gave me a wonderful drug called demerol. It made me feel very, very good. I might have made romantic advances towards the nurse in my stupor. I don’t remember. Everyone wanted to know what kind of snake had bit me. I wished I knew.

I spent three nights in the hospital. Since my heart was still beating and I wasn’t paralyzed, vomiting, or screaming, it was decided that my snake had been a Copperhead. Venomous but not really anything to be worried about. My foot and some of my leg swelled up - a lot. After the third night, I asked to be released. Farmington’s hospital didn’t have wifi (Surprised?), and I was going mad.

I informed the doctor that I would drive to my nearest family. “Where is that?”, he asked. It was back in Omaha - 10 hours away. He was surprised but recovered quickly. After checking me over once more to make sure I would be okay for the drive, he left the room to “get some stuff”. I waited. Twenty minutes later, he entered the room with a garbage-size bag full of snacks and bottled water! And he had the nurses prep two ice packs to keep my foot cool during the drive. Farmington, you’re A-OK in my book.

The nurse wheeled me down to my car (which another Farmington resident had picked up from the campsite for me!) and got me settled in. I couldn’t walk yet, but I could hop around easily enough.

I blasted the AC and began my drive. Straight to Omaha with one stop for gas, which was an awkward experience since I had to hop around the gas station and bathroom. I was back in Omaha by 10pm - greeted by loving family. My aunt hugged me gently and asked repeatedly what she could do for me. My uncle gave me a beer and couldn’t stop laughing at my puffy foot.

More on the decision in a future entry.
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The Colorado Rockies

2011-07-13T00:00:00-07:00

Saturday, July 2

From Salt Lake City, my drive to Colorado began at 3am. I wound through Emigration Canyon in darkness and silence, finally passing into Wyoming just as the morning’s first glow and sounds arrived. At Laramie, I took US-287 to enter Colorado. As it had in Texas back in December, the familiar highway provided beautiful vistas - this time the landscape looked like Jurassic Park.

About 50 miles into US-287, I began to feel nervous about fuel. There had been no “Next Services: 100 Miles” sign, so I had (stupidly) passed by gas stations an hour before and now I was in a very rural part of Colorado with nothing but dregs in the tank. I had no cellular service, so I couldn’t look up when the next gas station would show. The not-knowing was what made me nervous. I have an iPhone, so I’m not used to not-knowing things.

I had been coasting carefully for some time when I eyed a maintenance truck stopped by the next exit. I decided to stop and ask if he had a gas can. He did not. “Where is the next gas station?” “Around 40 miles further.” Damn. He seemed kind, so I asked him to remember my car. If he saw it parked by the side of the road on his way back into town, would he please give me a ride so I could get some fuel. He agreed, and I continued my slow roll towards the oil oasis.

About 10 minutes later - cars honking in annoyance behind me - I saw a fuel icon on the upcoming exit sign. Excited, I took the exit and parked at the old-fashioned fuel pump. It didn’t take credit card, so I walked to the office to pay in person. The office was closed. I went across the street to the tiny post office to ask when the gas station would open again. “Never. That station’s been out of service for years now.” I was annoyed but not too worried. At least I knew how far away the gas station was and that I would be picked up if I ran empty. So I set out again.

After what seemed like an eternity, I spotted a Chevron. It was teeming with cars thirstily drinking up. I filled up and was on my way out when the maintenance truck from before turned into the Chevron. Its driver and I exchanged friendly waves, and then I pulled onto the highway. My phone vibrated - I had a voicemail waiting. Cellular service was back! Once again, I was wrapped in the warm comfort of a full tank of gas and a usable iPhone. Superman would feel less secure than I did at that moment.

Rocky Mountain National Park

After picking up some groceries, I drove to the campground where I would be meeting some friends. I arrived earlier than them, so I set up camp and took a nap.

After they arrived, we built a fire and made dinner. We would build many fires over the next three days - each time with such ease that I foolishly began to think of myself as a skilled outdoorsman. Trying to build a fire during our fourth night at Strawberry Park Hot Springs, where the wood was thin, wet, and not store-bought would return my humility to me. More on the hot springs later. First, here is a pictorial summary of the first three days of camping:

Cooked our meals on fire.

Hiked to Cub Lake.

Deer trespassed in our campsite.

Rode horseback.

Tuesday, July 5

On the fourth day of our trip, we drove a few hours to Strawberry Park Hot Springs - naturally heated pools embedded in the lush Routt National Forest.

In the daytime, the pools look like a small, boring children’s water park. There are no rides or slides, and the water is too hot for children (or adults) to stay inside for very long. But after dark, the pools are closed to all visitors besides those camping overnight (which we were) and clothing becomes optional. The result is that the pools are nearly unoccupied by 10pm. They are also entirely unlit - both out of respect for the nude and as a profound courtesy for everyone else.

We hiked from our campsites to the pools around 11pm. We couldn’t see anything, and we didn’t know the layout of the area well enough to walk blindly to the water’s edge - it would be very painful to accidentally fall into the hottest of the pools. So we walked close-together and nervously - only using our headlamps when absolutely necessary. Finally we reached the medium-temperature pool and stepped into the blissful water. We let ourselves soak for an hour, while we gazed at the magnificent night sky.

Photo by Kao Wen Sheng

“How do you feel?”
“Amazing. Like I could write an entire book right now.”
“What about?”
“Just empty pages, but it would be brilliant.”

We took another dip early the next morning, had a simple breakfast, and then went our separate ways. The rest of the group went on to Boulder. I spent a day working from a local coffee shop, camped another night (not at the hot springs but nearby), and then left for Omaha, Nebraska.

Around America (Part 2)

2011-07-11T00:00:00-07:00

Recap

Back in October 2010, I began a trip around the USA. I visited several cities by train and eventually drove home from the east coast.

I kept a not-at-all comprehensive journal of the trip. Its last entry in late December puts me in New Orleans on the way back home. After spending a day in New Orleans (”B” on the map below), I continued my return drive through Houston, Austin, Flagstaff, Joshua Tree, and Santa Monica.

The drive home.

In Houston and Austin, I picked up two passengers whom I’d met on an online forum. They were college students interested in visiting San Francisco for their Winter Break. Together, we drove straight through beautiful Texas highways¹, sleepy New Mexico, and storm-ridden Arizona². We finally stopped in Joshua Tree, where we camped for a night at Indian Cove.

Indian Cove at Sunrise

Climbing back down some boulders.

The next day (Thursday, December 23), we left Joshua Tree for Santa Monica. I had never been to Joshua Tree before, so going there did not feel like returning home. Rather, it felt like yet another new place in my travels. The Pacific Ocean was my real homecoming.

Photo by jaredé.

The drive from Santa Monica to San Francisco felt short. Before I knew it I was home with family just one day before Christmas Eve. It was a joyous holiday.

Over the next few months, I stayed at home to build a small web consulting business, learn to garden, and meditate on some new thoughts related to Hindu philosophy.

On the Road Again

Thursday, June 30, 2011

I left home again at 6am. Salt Lake City would be a 12-hour straight shot from Fremont, where I had been living for the past few months. This part of my trip would differ from the first in two significant ways:

I’m driving instead of taking trains. The drive home from Charleston back in December convinced me that driving is the way to go. It’s “lower to the ground”, the perspective is straight-ahead instead of out a side window, and the food is better.
I’m not unemployed. I quit my job before starting the first part of the trip. I thought I would learn technologies and code more with all the new free time. It did not turn out that way. This time around, I have clients for whom I need to meet deadlines. The enforced breaks to get work done will - I think - be useful.

Driving to Salt Lake City was truly a gift. Through California and Nevada, the scenery was the same as when I took the train. But the train had passed through Utah during the night, so I was not able to see anything at the time. Now - driving myself through during the daytime - I saw Utah for the entrancing landscape that it is.

Salt Flats (Photo by p.folk)

Salt flats - like the ones in Utah - are created when wind moves thin layers of water from the Winter months around huge expanses of land. The water evaporates in the arid Summer, leaving behind hard minerals. The result is a flat, hard surface covered in salt. In addition to serving as the subject of stunning photos, it’s also where scientists take cars to set worldwide land-speed records. Like driving on the moon really, really fast…

Not all of Utah is a wintery salt land. Much of it is a more traditional desert. But the evaporating water creates such wide mirages that distant mountains look like they’re floating islands in a sea of vapor.

Photo by chicadecasa

I reached Salt Lake City by evening. The campground I tried was not yet open, so I checked into a hostel. I ate a meal at Bayou, where the would-be Cajun food was unfortunately over-spiced and under-loved. Afterwards, I walked to The Republican Bar for a drink or six. There I met interesting people - like Cockroach, a compassionate vagabond who had spent the early ’90s panhandling in the streets of San Francisco. Cockroach was sure of the truth of reincarnation, because he knew the identity of his previous body (He showed me the person’s picture on his phone - I think it was Mark Twain).

I met other people, too - though they were unfortunately not as interesting as Cockroach. Most of them said they worked at various coffee shops in the city. I confirmed this fact the next morning, when I walked into a random coffee shop to do a day’s work. Lo and behold, two of them worked at this very place! Minutes later, my waitress from Bayou the previous night sat down at the table next to me! Just a small-city coincidence? Or a hint at the veracity of Cockroach’s philosophy? Make of it what you will.

Our path to I-40 was US-287 on which we had the pleasure of driving into the sunset.
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One stretch of the freeway in a non-stormy part of Arizona was so smooth that it felt like our vehicle was flying through the air. There was no sensation of tires on road or even G-force from turns. The only indication that we were not literally flying through the air to our deaths was the curving road in the glow of our headlights in front of us.
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In a Moment

2011-06-03T00:00:00-07:00

I’m participating in the Trust30 Challenge, where I’m given a prompt to write about each day for 30 days. Here’s the first prompt, followed by my reaction. Forgive the unpolished writing - it’s a bit outside my comfort zone.

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

You just discovered you have fifteen minutes to live.

Set a timer for fifteen minutes.

Write the story that has to be written.

Once upon a time, I forgot to live freely. I remembered much later. I freed myself from unwanted battles - like the one against the system. I am not obligated.

When I no longer walked the soldier’s path, I found new treasures of which the brightest were moments. I searched for years to find my first moment. I finally found it in the depths of a forest, where I stood breathless from my trek and pointed my face at the heavens. Worldly splendor washed away my perception of time. I was at peace in my first moment.

After that, I lived for moments. But I did not search for them. My first moment had shown me the futility of time, and there is no search without time. A free man, I found a free woman and made free children. I worked freely and taught my children to do the same. Together we lived for moments and shared them with our loved ones.

Then one day, a man said the world was about to end. He couldn’t believe we hadn’t heard. Still in disbelief, the man began to explain our imminent downfall. But then the ground lurched violently, and a cosmic surge freed everyone in a moment.

Pursuing Good

2011-05-14T00:00:00-07:00

I want to talk about piracy. It makes me furious that so many people in my generation have such little regard for other people’s creations. Where has respect for hard work gone? Surely the thieving members of my cohort can appreciate that someone’s life is inside the words, notes, and scenes of the files which are so easily added to their favorite peer-to-peer application… Right?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a dork who takes things too seriously - but I doubt it. Rather, I think that widespread theft is just a symptom of the much greater problem that people don’t make things anymore. When we make things, we gain a love for processes. We grow patient. We start to respect patience. But patience isn’t much of a virtue anymore - it’s largely been replaced by achievement. Desire for achievement without respect for patience is a dangerous thing. It’s the fundamental flaw of most villains in the stories we cherish.

Everyone is too wrapped up in their self-inflicted stresses to give a second thought to the fact that they’ve stopped caring about being good. There was a time - not long ago - when we aspired to be good. It was such a simple pursuit. What happened?

Perhaps you’re reading this and thinking, “This guy doesn’t understand. We’re not stealing from artists - we’re stealing from publishing companies, who are all assholes anyway.” But I beg you to be more honest with yourself. Admit to yourself that you don’t really care about the ethics of record companies and the legal details of contracts between artists and distributors. Admit to yourself that you just want more than you’re willing to work to achieve.

It’s good to have less than you want. Limitations help us value what we have. Valuing what we have helps us empathize with those who have less than we do. Empathy for the less fortunate among us encourages us to be more compassionate. It’s good to be compassionate. Can’t we make room in our minds for atheism, capitalism, and compassion? Surely there is space for all that and more.

Reject the temptation to write me off as yet another 20-something who decided to become a preacher on his blog. I’m more like you than you think. I see the way the world is headed - just like you. And I like it - just like you. But I have some fears, and shouting out to the cosmos makes me feel a little bit better. The cosmos are for shouting out to, after all.

When I’m in the company of loved ones, I’ll tell them the same things I’ve typed here - but in a softer voice. If you don’t respond well to shouting, come visit me. Let’s talk about this like people do. Let’s talk about how great the future is going to be - and how much greater it will be if we keep pursing good, too.

Quote #14

2011-02-16T00:00:00-08:00

“Humans keep running races even though cars and trains have been faster than us for more than a century.”
Ken Jennings when asked about the future replacement of humans with intelligent robots.

Going Home

2011-01-24T00:00:00-08:00

Saturday, December 18th

Excitement kept me awake during the night, so around 6am on December 18th, I called a cab and went back to the beach where I’d watched the meteor shower some days before. It had been raining, and the forecast called for more rain. But I wanted to see a sunrise on the east coast (to bookend the many sunsets I’d seen on the west coast) before heading home. It was unlikely to be viewable with the cloudy sky, but I didn’t have anything to lose (and I was awake anyway).

As it turned out, the forecast was correct and no sunrise was visible. Oh well. The hours on Folly Beach that morning were beautiful all the same. The past week had been full of quiet excitement. Charleston had cemented itself in my memory with its engaging history, kind people, delicious food, and beautiful sights. I could not have asked for a better stage for my various inner dialogues.

The plan now was to pick up a rental car, get some sleep back at the hostel, and then head home to California. But when I sat in the driver’s seat of a shiny 2011 GMC Acadia and my hands gripped the steering wheel, adrenaline pumped into my system, and I took off for California right away.

I drove into the night and approached New Orleans just after midnight. Driving is freedom. Trains weren’t taking me anywhere - I was taking myself wherever I wanted. When I looked down the long road ahead of me, the seed of this thought planted itself in my soul and grew all throughout the drive. As each mile passed, that thought breathed evermore life into me and kept me in a state of focused joy.

When it’s nighttime, the road between cities might as well be anywhere. Nothing but fields and small towns for miles and miles. I couldn’t see anything except the bright glow of my car’s headlights and the reflectors indicating my lane. An occasional car passed me, and there were exits every few dozen miles; but aside from this the scenery was a beautiful darkness. I opened the car’s moonroof and stole glances at the full sky above me.

Once, while driving along one of these empty stretches of road, a brilliant set of lights emerged from the darkness in the distance. It moved fast, and the lights were organized in large shapes with a couple extra-bright ones on the front. I entertained the most absurd thoughts before realizing it was an 18-wheeler truck crossing an overpass ahead. With no light around, the overpass had been invisible to me. It had looked like the truck was flying.

Photo from US Dept. of Labor

The darkness would play more tricks on me. For 45 miles before reaching New Orleans, I drove along I-10 through swamp and lake and saw that the roadside was littered with strangely-shaped, leathery objects. Crocodiles. I was driving through crocodile-infested roads. Were they going somewhere? Was I supposed to do something? I only had a half-second to consider answers to these questions before realizing that the objects were just shredded tires.

Tired but enthused, I finally parked in front of India House - the same hostel I’d stayed at during my weeklong visit a month before. I would rest here before continuing the drive.

On the "Chinese Mothers" Controversy

2011-01-10T00:00:00-08:00

The talk of the town for the past couple days has been an excerpt from Amy Chua’s upcoming book Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. The excerpt, published in the Wall Street Journal with the title “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior”, sparked discussions on Facebook, Reddit, Hacker News (1, 2, 3), Quora, and probably whatever website you use to keep up to date.

I won’t rehash those discussions here (Some get pretty heated and most are severely anecdotal.), but I do want to share two notes:

1. Appreciate the conversation.

As a subject of discussion, “Parenting Styles of Different Cultures” is relatively new. For the subject to break out of academia and into coffee table conversation, populations had to mix. International travel has only recently become safe, reliable, and affordable. Then the various components of a mixed population needed to achieve some similarities in socio-economic standing. Otherwise comparisons would fail due to fundamental differences before a subject like parenting nuances was breached. Finally, the subject’s reach was extended by some kind of media to kickstart a discussion.

In other words: Airplanes, digital technology, and social media came together to bring - for the first time in history - a widespread discussion about the sharp contrast between how parents from different continents raise their kids. Such a complex topic deserves all the viewpoints it can get, and today’s technological and economic achievements have made that possible.

Hooray!

2. Amy Chua is not the devil.

I worry about the Chua Family. People on the Internet can (and do) mobilize quickly and effectively against forces they claim to be evil. The hive mentality of Internet “pundits” has already spawned hateful blog posts blaming “mothers like Amy Chua” for the problems in the world. The best case scenario is that the backlash ends in a healthy discussion - even one containing scornful Tumblr essays. The worst case scenario entails Internet “Do-Gooders” seeking misguided real-life retribution for online controversy.

I hope it doesn’t go that far. If it does, it will have been because the excerpt from Chua’s book was taken somewhat out of context and then given a linkbait headline for the Wall Street Journal issue. Amy Chua clarifies:

I did not choose the title of the WSJ excerpt, and I don’t believe that there is only one good way of raising children. The actual book is more nuanced, and much of it is about my decision to retreat from the “strict Chinese immigrant” model.
Amy Chua's response to Christine Lu

The broader point here is that we are all often too quick to assign blame to parties who unwittingly and unwillingly become champions of some argument’s perspective. And in assigning the blame, we lose sight of the issue itself. So the nuances of an issue fade away, and we emerge from the fight angry and bruised but only marginally smarter.

Charleston (Part 2)

2010-12-18T00:00:00-08:00

This is my last day in Charleston. The past week has been wonderful. Charleston is full of holiday spirit, and I am excited to return home to be with my family during this joyous time of year. I’ll be driving back, but more on that later.

Over the past few days, I’ve explored Charleston a bit. Here are some of the highlights:

Fort Sumter

This is where the Civil War began. Abraham Lincoln had just been elected President of the United States, and South Carolina had seceded from the Union. Major Robert Anderson, loyal to Lincoln, defended the fort against attack by South Carolina’s militia but had to retreat after the fort was set ablaze. One of the guides’ favorite stories at Fort Sumter is the ironic tale of how, after the war ended, President Lincoln declined an invitation to come to the fort for a ceremony honoring Major Anderson. He had a prior obligation to see a show at the theater, where he was assassinated.

Something about how this story was told made me feel uncomfortable. There was a “told you so” smugness to it, which jived with the strangeness of hearing the South’s position in the Civil War depicted as an heroic struggle against anti-market forces. How should the champions of antiquated beliefs tell their histories? With apologetic tones? I’m not sure, but there has to be a better way than focusing on only those motivations that make ourselves look best.

Visiting Fort Sumter is a must for anyone traveling to Charleston. The fort itself, which sits on its own island some miles from Charleston downtown, is interesting; but the best part is the boat ride back to Charleston. On this ride, one gains an appreciation for the importance of such a fort, which was integral to defending the vital port of Charleston. I also enjoyed the site of Charleston’s skyline against the setting sun, which reinforced the idea that Charleston is a city of churches - not skyscrapers.

Karpeles Manuscript Library

Another must-see in Charleston is this museum of manuscripts, part of the Karpeles museum, which is the largest private collection of original manuscripts and documents in the world. The collection at each branch of the museum changes over time. When I was there, the main exhibit was of correspondence between governors of the southern states and military liaisons before the start of the Civil War.

The elderly gentleman who curates Charleston’s Karpeles Museum is a kind and knowledgeable person. The museum gets few visitors - during my visit, we were the only people in the building. So I benefited from his undivided attention - and gave him mine. He shared a historical gem with me - about a man from India who traveled to various churches in the US to paint murals on their ceilings.

The last remaining piece of his work was at a nearby church, and the curator told me the location. He described it as “an outsider art version of the Sistine Chapel”. I was intrigued and tried to visit the church several times, but they were never open and did not answer their phone. This will be my first stop the next time I am in Charleston.

Geminids Meteor Shower

This yearly meteor shower peaked during my stay in Charleston. Meteor showers are best viewed in dark places, where light pollution isn’t an issue, in the wee hours of dusk. I passed time waiting for nightfall by wandering the streets of Charleston’s French Quarter and historic market district.

I met various people, whom I invited to come watch the meteor shower with me. Everyone seemed genuinely interested, but no one came through. I was disappointed but didn’t fault them. It’s not easy to join the plans of a stranger on a whim. Not to mention my plans included a trip to Folly Beach - 20 minutes away - where it would be dark and empty. And also not to mention that it was a record-setting cold day - with windchill bringing the low to 11ºF. A few people told me I was crazy to want to go in the first place.

Something was pulling me to Folly Beach, though. I hailed a cab and told him to take me to a place where I could see the stars on the beach. The driver was kind and interesting. We talked about the changing world; and he explained to me that change always seems more significant to young people, because they are more prone to presentism than older people who have lived through multiple generations.

After twenty minutes of good conversation, he stopped the taxi in front of the Tides Hotel - a massive establishment that obstructs the view of the beach entirely. I was about to tell him I wanted to go somewhere else - since this was not at all what I had envisioned - but he spoke first, “Trust me. The other side of the hotel is all beach, and you can walk along it as far as you need to. It’ll be dark. And if you get cold, which you will, you’ll have a warm hotel lobby to retreat to.” It was good thinking. I thanked him and walked through the hotel lobby to the beach.

The beach was empty and dark. The sky was brilliant. And it was very, very cold.

I started walking down the coast towards even more darkness, and the sky just kept getting more luminous. I had seen a few stray meteors back in downtown - maybe 5 or 6 per hour - but here I saw as many per minute. It was raining stars, and I was… rapt. I had never seen a meteor shower before.

Photo by Mike Haynie.

It was so cold. I’d brought a blanket in my backpack and wanted to wrap it around me. But I was too cold to dislodge my hands from my pockets. Retrieving the blanket would require shifting my backpack from my shoulders and exposing the back of my jacket to the wind, and I could not summon the courage to do so. I decided I was cozy enough and kept walking. Eventually I found a partially sheltered area and watched the meteors in relative comfort. I was much happier than cold.

After an hour, I feared for my toes; so I retreated to the hotel lobby (and said another silent thanks to my taxi driver). I warmed up quickly and set out again - this time in the opposite direction to explore the streets of Folly Beach. The bars and restaurants had closed. A band was hastily packing up its truck - everyone rubbing their hands together furiously. I asked them where I could get some coffee at this hour. “Bert’s. It’s the only place.”

The short walk to Bert’s includes a couple dark streets, so my eyes again turned upward for a view of the stars at play. I stumbled blindly along the road - occasionally glancing down to make sure I wasn’t walking into a car or anything - and soon arrived at Bert’s. It was warm inside. I gleefully sipped my coffee and chatted about the meteor shower with the other two people there. One of them - Brandon - was very interested, and we decided to go back out for another viewing.

Brandon told me he was a musician. Long-haired, soft-eyed, skinny, a gentle voice. We chatted about this and that, enjoyed the meteors for a short while, and lamented our now cold coffees. He was good company; and I accepted his invitation to hang out at his nearby home. We sat in his basement and talked about cities, music, and the importance of honoring one’s promises.

It was a very good day, full of walking, wonder, and new friendship.

Charleston (Part 1)

2010-12-13T00:00:00-08:00

I spent Thanksgiving in Atlanta with close friends and relatives. We feasted properly, watched football, played a ”Titanic Drinking Game”¹, and had ourselves a merry time. It was nice to be with loved ones for a few days. I slept in a comfy bed, took long showers, and basically relaxed.

After a few days, I made plans to drive to Charleston, South Carolina. I rented a car and left the morning of Monday, November 29. The drive to Charleston was easy and peaceful - especially once I got onto I-26, which is mostly two lanes through occasional hills and lots of trees. It felt very good to drive.

My arrival in Charleston was more exciting than I had expected, because the rental car agency gave me a return location that - it turned out - was not accessible to civilians. So the guard at the armed gate of the Naval Weapons Station turned me away, and I found another return location nearby.

Notso Hostel

Charleston’s well-known hostel is downtown - about 3 miles from the coast. An enclave of three classic Charleston houses built in the 1840s, it was almost empty when I arrived (and has stayed nearly empty for the past two weeks). The weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas are the slowest for tourism in Charleston. I had my 4-person room all to myself.

Two of the three houses that make up Charleston's Notso Hostel. My room - the "Cuba Room" - is on the first floor of the blue building.

Business Trip

I spent my first couple weeks in Charleston working on Sari Saheli. I began each day by walking to Hope and Union, where the coffee is great and the Internet is fast. But it closes at 7pm, when Mom - still in India - would still be asleep. So closing time at Hope and Union was my cue to get dinner and walk deeper into downtown, where there’s a Starbucks that stays open until 11pm. Then, after Starbucks closes and I end my workday, I would walk back towards the hostel - with a stop at Juanita Greenbeerg’s for beer and smalltalk. I found Kudu Coffee House a few days ago - open until 10pm - which has replaced Starbucks in the routine.

It’s interesting traveling to a new city and having such a routine. I felt neither like a traveller nor a local. I saw the same people each day, and they got used to seeing me, but we’ll forget each other soon. And when I walked back to the hostel, I didn’t relate to the other visitors either.

Historic Downtown

In the 1700s, Charleston was the hub of trade, culture, and commerce in the South. Known as the “Holy City”, it offered uncommon religious tolerance. Its status as the largest port in the southern United States brought it wealth and prosperity. And in the century between American independence and the end of the Civil War, it was a frequent battleground.

All of these influences can be seen clearly in a day’s walk around downtown. The city skyline is dominated not by skyscrapers or large office buildings, but rather by church steeples. Parks and libraries are dedicated to local war heroes - especially Francis Marion, whose green space in the middle of downtown is the site of the farmer’s market, the city’s large Christmas tree and ceremonies, and outdoor performances.

Farmer's Market at Marion Square

Christmas at Marion Square

Charleston’s prosperity declined sharply after the Civil War². But today it appears to thrive, as the local liberal arts college maintains a healthy influx of artists; and the beautiful surroundings and excellently preserved historic destinations attract tourists from all over the world. I found in my various sessions of eavesdropping that Charleston is full of people who are passionate about building their community.

You know - drink whenever someone says “unsinkable”, whenever emergency flares are fired, when the Celine Dion song plays, when the guy hits the propeller as he falls to his death, etc. Yes, this actually happened. As you might expect it was… awesome.
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The Emancipation Proclamation and the end of the Civil War marked the national freeing of slaves across the country. For Charleston, this meant that the labor force with which it had built its prosperity was no longer theirs to command. Charleston languished economically and culturally until the 1970s.
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Texas

2010-11-22T00:00:00-08:00

Outside the train is vast farmland surrounded by hills covered with red forests. Strange clouds drift across the sky, and the sun comes in and out of my vision as the train turns gently from south to southeast back to southwest. We passed a wide river a while back and are now blessed by small creeks. Sometimes the tracks dip into dense forest, and the shadows of the thin trees mix with the little sunlight that escapes between them to create a mysterious setting - fitting for either childlike play or a musical fight between masters of the katana. Calves playfully run in circles; horses shake their manes; unidentifiable birds silhouette the sky; and a large group of cattle walk single file back to their field after having drank from a stream. My only stress is a forceful longing to be outside the train where I could enjoy this wonder more primally - but I am tolerant of my otherwise fortunate predicament. I’m leaving Texas after two weeks of mixed experiences. I’ll be back.

San Antonio: Saturday, November 6

Empty E Commerce St. in Downtown

The train pulled into San Antonio at 3:30am. Downtown was empty. It was a warm morning. The loudest sound was the chirping of what must have been a thousand birds - either recently born or migrating en masse. I walked quietly from the station into downtown’s historic area, which - for my purposes - consisted of the Alamo and a Denny’s. I had some eggs, saw the Alamo, and walked around downtown for the next 7 hours.

Empty Riverwalk

It was both calming and somewhat thrilling to walk around the city alone with no one else around. The imagination can run wild when the only task is adding features instead of removing them. I dreamed as I walked - gunfights, zombie attacks, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle encounters (not related to empty cities, but I couldn’t help it), romantic encounters, epic tales. I watched the sun rise over the Alamodome and had coffee at a cute bakery called Frosted Delights by Joyce before checking in with my Airbnb host.

Empty Alamo and Historic District

Finally, I took a cab to my home for the next few days and slept a good 30 hours. I welcomed the rest after New Orleans and my half-marathon in downtown. The rest of my stay in San Antonio was spent in my room catching up on some work.

Austin: Thursday, November 11

Austin, Texas is strange.

They make pizza here.

Every shop’s sign is a work of art. Every tattoo is interesting and beautiful, and everyone has them. Bumper stickers proudly cheer, “Keep Austin Weird”. The most popular movie theaters don’t have a “Twenty™” where they show extended commercials for television shows. Instead, they show reels of odd videos from Youtube. The best coffee house in the city is across the street from a huge cemetery in which thousands of dead mental hospital patients are buried - among them is the founder of the city of Dallas.

The cemetery. I first thought it was a new cemetery, since there are so few graves. I learned of its sad history after a quick Google search.

This love affair with strangeness isn’t some hidden aspect of Austin’s culture. Austin’s bathroom walls are full of extended debates about the reality of counter-culture. “You think you’re unique? No! Society gives you just enough counter-culture to make you feel safe, while it feeds you more and more materialism. Wake up! Ask questions! Open your eyes, mouth, and heart!” If great cities send a message of ambition to their citizens, Austin’s is most certainly “Be unique”.

Austin is full of food stands.

The view from Hostelling International-Austin

The hostel is Austin is excellent. If you’re visiting Austin, there’s really no reason to stay elsewhere: It’s around $25/night, very comfortable, never lacking in interesting travel characters, 10 minutes to downtown, and has a great view of Austin’s skyline from across the lake.

Dallas: Wednesday, November 17

Dallas is huge. It’s hard to even think about it as one place - because everything is so spread out but also (and I think more significantly) because it doesn’t seem to have any strongly defining characteristics. It’s just a place with a lot of people and tons of shopping centers. (Dallas has more shopping centers per capita than anywhere else in the USA.) Living in Dallas must be fine - there’s something for everyone (if they’re willing to drive to it), and you’ll likely find like-minded people somewhere. But as a visitor, I found it lacking in personality. Still, I had some good times.

I went to a rodeo in nearby Fort Worth. As with many kinds of events, the rodeo began with a rendition of the USA national anthem - introduced by the announcer as “the greatest song ever written”. Sometimes - at baseball games, for example - I feel like the national anthem is a formality. But at this rodeo, it was taken seriously.

Photo by Sabine.

A woman on horseback held an American flag high and raced around the arena several times to energize the crowd. Then she took center stage and everyone - even the horse - adopted an air of solemness as we sang The Star-Spangled Banner. It felt good to sing a national anthem free of implied cynicism, but I couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable.

The rodeo itself was partially entertaining and partially disconcerting. I learned that a rodeo is actually a collection of several events - whose names I forget. The first and most prominent event entailed a cowboy riding on the back of an annoyed bull, which trashed and bucked in an attempt to dislodge the cowboy. If the cowboy was able to stay on the bull for 8 seconds, he was declared a winner. There were very few winners (except maybe the bulls).

Photo by UPI

One note of interest here is that the cowboys riding the bulls had payed to participate. They were just random guys - many from out of state - who paid a fee to be thrown off a bull and potentially trampled afterwards (This only happened once, though; and he was alright-ish). Of course, fame is its own reward - and there seemed to be quite a bit of it to be had.

In another entertaining event, young women on horseback raced around the arena on a pre-defined route. The fastest lap was declared the winner. An eight-year-old girl won second place - she was a thrill to watch. Seeing someone so small maneuver a large animal around tight turns with such grace and force was something I’ll never forget.

My least favorite part of the rodeo was the event in which cowboys on horses chase down scared calves and tie their legs together.

Photo by Sabine.

I’m probably succumbing to a stereotypical “city-boy” response to this event by being repulsed. Surely there is a long history of events like this helping young men develop skills which are useful on farms, and I “just don’t get it”. But I can’t ignore my feelings.

A grown man throws a lasso around the neck or torso of a child cow, jumps off his horse to the fleeing but leashed calf, flips it onto her side, wrestles three of her legs together in one hand, ties them together with the rope, and throws his hands up in triumph. There is nothing gentle about it, and I was glad that this event ended as quickly as it did.

Of course, none of the above criticism has to do with Dallas in particular.

What I'm Packing

2010-11-21T00:00:00-08:00

Here’s what I’ve been traveling with:

MacBook in padded sleeve and power cable
Amazon Kindle and cable
Notebook, ballpoint pen
iPhone 3GS and cable
Compact digital camera (not pictured) and charger
USB mouse
Noise-isolating earbud headphones
Deck of playing cards
Headlamp
Leatherman mutli-tool
3-liter hydration pack with drinking tube
Flask¹
Microfiber towel (highly absorbent, takes up little space)
4 shirts²
1 pair of pants (not pictured)
Sneakers (not pictured)
Super-warm, super-compressible jacket
Beanie
3 pairs of socks
Hand-washable, quick-drying underwear (not pictured)
Handkerchief
Some crushed Indian root that cures upset stomach. Not yet used, but highly prized!
Thin wallet
Toiletries (shampoo, toothpaste, lotion in little bottles, toothbrush, lip balm)

This all fits in my backpack:

Trash bin and left shoe shown for size context.

There’s room left to fit food I might buy for a long train trip or to munch on while walking around a city. The hydration pack feels like the heaviest item, but it gets lighter as I drink more water from it.

The computer and other hard items are inside the main storage area. I keep my clothes in the outer pocket. I used to roll the shirts and towel, but I was surprised to find that folding them flat takes up less room. I still roll the socks, though.

The jacket, which is super-compressible actually fits into its own inside pocket:

However, I just stuff it into my backpack when packing. It’s quite dense when stuffed into its inside pocket, and I worry that it will press against the electronics. Stuffing it in loosely instead lets it act as additional padding for the hardware inside the pack.

If I’m still traveling in the Spring, I’ll probably take my larger backpack instead and bring along a sleeping bag and tent (and some other relevant outdoor supplies) so that I can camp a bit.

This was given to me as a gift mid-trip.
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Three are pictured - one was on my person. I actually left home with 3 shirts total, but I was given one on the road (OMAHA ZOMBIES 4LIFE!).
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Traveling with Technology

2010-11-15T00:00:00-08:00

Technology makes travel easier.

MacBook

I decided to bring my laptop with me, because I wanted to get a lot of work done while traveling. I wanted to learn a new programming language, contribute more to open source projects, and stay up to date with new startups and tech commentaries. I wish I could say that’s how it played out, but the truth is that I’ve done a poor job of balancing work and play so far. I’m only one month into my travels, so I have plenty of time to get back on track. But it’s fair to say that this particular use of technology while traveling has not gone as expected.

One of the biggest departures from my expectations has been the role played by Internet tethering. Before I left, I decided against buying a MiFi dongle and instead just jailbroke my iPhone to unlock Internet tethering. I thought I would be coding non-stop while on the long train rides, and I anticipated using my iPhone’s Internet connection to push code, get help, and promote my work.

The reality has been that I’m exhausted when I board most trains and end up relaxing in the lounge car, catching up on my journal, or watching a movie. I code occasionally, but not so much that I need a constant connection to the Internet. So far, my trip would not have been too different if I left my iPhone un-jailbroken. Free wifi at hostels and most cafes in cities has been sufficient.

iPhone

Most of the time, I leave my phone in the “Airplane Mode” (no cell, data, or Internet connection) to preserve its battery throughout the day. I rely on my phone so much that I want to ensure I’ll be able to use it all day as needed - even if my night ends up running to sunrise. If I switch it off of Airplane Mode, it’s probably to use one of the following features:

Google Maps

Cabs are an expensive last resort, but figuring out a new city’s public transportation system can be difficult. With Google Maps on my iPhone, I can usually get bus and light rail directions to my destination.

Travel Guides

I really like WikiTravel.org for understanding a city and learning what to do there. Their travel guides are written by their users, and the resulting collection is very informative.

I use an app called Tourist to browse the guides on WikiTravel. Tourist lets me download a city’s WikiTravel guide, so I can view it even without an Internet connection. This is useful, because I can take periodic looks at recommended attractions in my area without leaving Airplane Mode.

The guides on WikiTravel are organized. I can dig deeper into a city’s guide by selecting a particular district - like the Castro in San Francisco, the Bywater in New Orleans, or South Austin in Austin. I can get information on how to get around the city, where to eat, what to see, etc. (And, of course, I can also choose to leave my phone in my pocket and ask locals for their personal recommendations.)

Itinerary

It can be difficult to keep track of the various trains, buses, hostels, vacation rentals, etc that I use for each segment of my trip. TripIt.com does a great job of organizing my trip details. Their actual website kind of drives me crazy, but they have two killer features.

First: Automatic extraction of trip details from an emailed reservation confirmation¹. After I make a reservation, I almost always get an email confirmation. Then I just forward that email to plans@tripit.com. TripIt reads the email and adds the details to my trip. I’ve successfully added plans from email confirmations from Airbnb, HostelWorld, and Amtrak - and TripIt supports a thousand more sites. This feature hasn’t failed once for me yet.

The second killer feature is a comprehensive API and reasonably active developer community. In other words, anyone can make an app that accesses TripIt’s data. TripIt themselves have released an app to browse your TripIt plans, but I think the guys behind TripDeck have outdone them. The interface is cleaner, faster, and more usable.

The combination of TripIt’s itinerary importing with TripDeck’s iPhone interface lets me avoid the usual headaches around complex itineraries. I never need to…

hastily open GMail to find out what time my train is leaving or what the address of my hostel is.
manually enter any information into my itinerary.
worry about time-zones - TripIt takes care of that.
print anything out or write anything down.

Kindle

I travel with a backpack, so I try to be efficient with my cargo. A single book is about the same weight as a Kindle but about twice as thick. It’s also less durable (I keep the Kindle in a case). I understand the visceral joys of a real book’s smell and the feel of the pages, but I can enjoy them when I’m not living out of a sub-20 liter backpack. I was skeptical about bringing a Kindle before I left, but it’s proven to be a very useful asset.

Point-and-Shoot Camera

I left my Nikon DSLR at home. Instead, I’m borrowing my mom’s compact camera. The quality is good enough, and I’m thankful to not be stressed about damaging my bulky Nikon. I love to take photos, but I don’t believe the purpose of my travels is to maximize every level of enjoyment. In the tradeoff of those extra pixels of photo quality versus space in my backpack and stress, I think I come out ahead.

It did occur to me to get an iPhone 4 and not bring another camera at all. I decided against this mostly because I didn’t want to renew my contract with AT&T so close to the likely Verizon iPhone launch.

Other itinerary organization websites offer this feature, too. But in my experience, TripIt does a better job than the rest.
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New Orleans

2010-11-05T00:00:00-07:00

People here pursue pleasure like New York pursues money; Los Angeles, fame; Berkeley, the good life; Las Vegas, sin. Throngs of pleasure-seeking dreamers come to New Orleans to be swept away by this ambition¹, and the industry is more than happy to receive them. The industry keenly walks the line between the immorality of sin and the plainness of fun.

Seafood

Photo from The Faster Times

I’d never seen oysters prepared before. The line at Casamento’s was out the door, so I had plenty of time to watch the shucker pry open dozens and dozens of shells. We were finally seated and immediately requested a dozen oysters. I added both oyster loaf and crab loaf sandwiches to my order. This was my first true New Orleans meal - and all foods I’d never eaten before. I laid siege to my plate - leaving only a crab leg and some bits of bread as wounded survivors to tell the tale.

The French Quarter

During my stay in New Orleans, the huge Voodoo Music Festival, Halloween, and an important New Orleans Saints football game all fell on the same weekend.

Photo by Bayou Campers

Crowds gathered in the French Quarter on Saturday night for an early Halloween celebration. The costumes were as fabulous as I’ve ever seen. And again, on Sunday night the crowd swelled as even more people pushed their way onto Bourbon Street. As each performance at Voodoo Fest ended, more people joined the party in the Quarter. Many people crowded around TVs to nervously watch the Saints game. When the game ended (with the Saints victorious), the mass of football fans from the nearby stadium invaded the Quarter. City officials estimate the crowd in the French Quarter peaked at 300 billion people that night.

Uptown and Carrollton

I spent most of my time in Audobon Park and in cafes on Magazine Street and Oak Street. Two universities (Tulane and Loyola) inject these areas with young people, and the picturesque houses and buildings have a quieting effect.

Backstreet Cultural Museum

Costumes worn by Mardi Gras Indians. Costing thousands of dollars each, new suits are made every year.

Near the park in Tremé, there is a home whose front two rooms are known as the Backstreet Cultural Museum. The curator of this museum (and the tour narrator) is deeply involved in the culture whose artifacts are on exhibit.

India House

Photo by Oszkar.Jozsa

I stayed at the India House Hostel for my last few nights in New Orleans. It was my first time staying in a hostel, but it won’t be the last. So many travelers are coming in or going out - there is no better place for meeting interesting people.

I befriended three Danish travelers one evening. They taught me about hygge - the fundamental Danish ambition. Unable to find an English translation for the term, one of them described it like this:

Imagine you’re dad comes home from work one beautiful day. He suggests a trip to the woods for a walk. Everyone agrees, and together you ride along a scenic road. Eventually you park somewhere and continue on foot. Everyone walks together but with no explicit direction. No one says, “What a beautiful day!” - because everyone knows it. Together, you pass time quietly - enjoying nature and companionship. After a while, everyone sits close and shares a cool drink. This is hygge.

During the time I spent with the Danes, they used this term often. We rode the St. Charles streetcar up to Carrollton and played cards at a cafe. “This is a good place to hygge”, they said. Later, we went to Vaughan’s in the Bywater to hear some jazz. “Very hygge, man”. It was.

Paul Graham has a great essay about cities and their ambitions: http://paulgraham.com/cities.html.
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Chicago to New Orleans

2010-11-02T00:00:00-07:00

Thursday, October 28: Leaving Chicago

I don’t like downtown Chicago - at least this part near the Union Station. Every cafe closes early, and the streets are full of business (also busyness). I can’t find the charm of Chicago’s neighborhoods that won me over - this feels like every other downtown. Worst of all, the magical winds of the past couple days now feel angry and cold. I’m annoyed as I finally head down to the tracks for my train to New Orleans.

As I board the sold out train, I take in the energy of my fellow passengers. Everyone is too high, and I am too low. People whoop with joy - I’ve always wished I was a whooper. I begin to feel intimidated by their freedom and excitement. I’ve felt this way before, when I’m overwhelmed by others’ glee that I can’t relate to. I toy with the idea of sleeping all the way to New Orleans.

Instead, I start watching Lawrence of Arabia. By intermission, this truly epic tale has infused me with the desire to cease my antisocial behavior. I head to the lounge car, meet interesting people, feel better about myself, and go to bed hours later happy.

Friday, October 29: In the South

I woke up groggy and perplexed to see southern India outside my window. It took me a moment to realize I was in Mississippi. Although air conditioned coolness flowed through the train, I could sense the damp hotness of the tropical wonderland outside and felt the familiar excitement of an impending arrival. A few hours later, I was in New Orleans.

My reservation at the hostel wasn’t to begin for a couple days. I would first stay with Jules - a woman whose side income comes from renting out a room in her home to travelers. She picked me up from the train station. As we drove along Canal Street through the Marigny, Jules talked about how she’d studied all over the world and now taught in New Orleans but always thinks about traveling - and how she’d finally found a job on a ship that would go everywhere and pay her three times what she made now. She talked about how upset it made her that people who visited New Orleans confused the city’s large black population with a large criminal population. Jules talked, and I listened; but my eyes were focused outside, where the buildings were new to me and every side street seemed to contain an adventure.

Jules lives in the Bywater district - a poorer area in New Orleans’s Ninth Ward. I read that the Bywater is a “bohemian neighborhood” where artists and musicians moved from the French Quarter after tourism drove up the cost of living there. After I settled in and cleaned up, Jules offered me her bike to get around New Orleans. I said thanks, but I felt like walking.

It was early evening as I walked through the Bywater, over the bridge and into the Marigny.

Crossing the bridge at sunset.

I walked around Frenchman Street for a little while. Music from the jazz clubs spilled onto the street, and my begging ears picked it up graciously. Later, I met up with Eric (a new friend from the wedding) and some of his local pals, and together we added our notes to the sounds of revelry pouring into the night.

Around five in the morning, we piled into a cab to go home. I crashed on Eric’s couch, which felt a thousand miles closer than my room at Jules’s place.

Quote #13

2010-11-01T00:00:00-07:00

What I learned from trying to study philosophy is that the place to look is in other fields. If you understand math or history or aeronautical engineering very well, the most abstract of the things you know are what philosophy is supposed to be teaching.
Paul Graham

The Way Chicago Moves

2010-10-28T00:00:00-07:00

October 25-28

The wind moves Chicago. All of it. Trees tilt softly then with vigor. Some bicyclists ride defiantly against the wind, while others pedal delicately - but they all stop periodically to rebalance. People check that their beanies have not been blown away. Even the buildings sway gently.

Fall Faerie by Ruth Sanderson

And the leaves dance. Giant swirls of red and yellow rising, racing, falling, exploding. I walked through a park in Chicago on a windy Autumn day and felt as if the leaves were performing just for me.

Omaha

2010-10-24T00:00:00-07:00

A Story of Tweets

OMAHA: Coworking today includes french press coffee (since drip is broken), and special guest star: @sumeetjain! NOT TO BE MISSED!Wednesday, October 20 via TweetDeckRahul Gupta
rahulgupta

It’s Coworking Wednesday™! My uncle posts his weekly tweet that he’s hosting any lone workers that want to work with others for a day. A handful of Omaha entrepreneurs, coders, and artists arrive in the morning - laptops in tow.

After introductions and a brief hunt for power outlets, everyone settles into their chair/couch/bed/desk and gets to work. The day is punctuated by geeky conversations - mostly about 80s music, the day’s Apple event (App Store for Mac?! Apple’s “netbook”?!), and the definition of “grilled cheese sandwich”¹. I get some work done and make some new friends. This is a great weekly tradition.

I'm at @omahaplayhouse for A Thousand Clowns! Pretty excited...Thursday, October 21 via TweetDeckRahul Gupta
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My uncle is a member of the Buzz Team for the Omaha Playhouse. He gets free tickets to new shows, and - in exchange - will tweet to his 1000+ followers that he is attending.

I accompanied him to a showing of A Thousand Clowns. The show wasn’t bad. We ran into a few of my uncle’s friends. On the ride home, we discussed acting philosophy and the future of Omaha’s stage performance culture.

OMAHA FOOLS: Game night tonight, 8:30, our place. BYOBG, BYOB. msg for address. #gameNight #moreFunThanClubbing #clubbingSeals #sealsClub?Friday, October 22 via TweetDeckRahul Gupta
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About a dozen people show up for Game Night at the Guptas™. I recognize a few of them from Coworking Wednesday™ and the Playhouse. We play board and card games until 3am. It’s a swell time.

Museums

The Joslyn had a few exhibits. One of my favorites was a showcase of lithographic prints by Currier and Ives. From the 1800s, they are a fascinating depiction of American life.

Here’s an interesting fact about these prints: After the prints were produced in black and white, they were given to an assembly-line of women to color by hand - using a chart to ensure the prints looked the same in the end. This wasn’t very creative work - more like painting by numbers. Still, some women found a way to impress their uniqueness onto their prints. One woman, Fanny Palmer, started in a coloring assembly line but ended up gaining fame and eventually became the first woman in the United States to make a living as a full-time artist.

My other favorite there was the exhibit of pencil drawings by Kent Bellows. He achieved more realism and emotion using a paper and pencil than I have seen in most high-resolution photography. Magical work.

If you’re in or near Omaha, I urge you to visit the Joslyn - to support your community and to experience the fine art that’s on display.

I also visited the Durham - a museum built inside the now defunct Omaha Union Station. It is a train station from a time when trains were revered - and in a place where the railway held special importance².

Lunch Date

I’m telling my uncle about an idea I have to improve education with technology. He listens patiently, and - when I finish - says, “You need to have lunch with Andrew”.

The next day, my uncle and I drive to Daily Grub³ and meet Andrew, who is an education improvement crusader. We eat together and chat about education and technology. I learn some things and make a new friend and potential future crusading ally.

This Omaha Life

Omaha is a great city. The people who live there are passionate about building their community, and there is an awesome level of camaraderie and collaboration. My uncle believes Omaha is “on the cusp” of something. I feel this, too. Every culture - from technology to food to the arts - is growing rapidly.

For the record, a grilled cheese sandwich is any food item that consists of at least cheese surrounded by bread prepared on a grill. The presence of extra ingredients like veggies does not invalidate the food item’s status as a grilled cheese sandwich. So let it be written. So let it be done.
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Omaha is home to the Union Pacific Railroad company, who - in 1869 - created North America’s first transcontinental railroad (together with the Central Pacific Railroad). This road connected the East and West coasts of the United States - an achievement that would transform the country on every imaginable level.
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Delicious!
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Know anyone in New Orleans?

2010-10-20T00:00:00-07:00

I was hoping never to use my journal for this, but I’ve run out of options¹.

Every hostel and every surfing couch is booked for Halloween weekend in New Orleans. If you or someone you know live there and can offer me a couch or piece of floor to crash on for the nights of October 29 and 30, please email nola@sumeetjain.com. I’ll be in your debt.

Except for actually paying for a room in a hotel, which I’m lucky to be able to do - but I’m trying not to do that for this trip.
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Back to Nebraska

2010-10-19T00:00:00-07:00

Crossing the Mississippi (the first time)

I’m on the train again, headed to Omaha, Nebraska to visit relatives. Let’s rewind to 4 days ago for a quick catch-up.

Friday, October 15 - Monday, October 18

Not long after enjoying the beautiful sunrise in Nebraska, James walked into the lounge car. I met James the night before, as we rolled out of Denver. A lot of people got on at Denver - young people. The train had been empty and old up to that point. Watching my peers board, I got so excited. In an instant, I visualized the next 20 hours of the trip with these new friends. We would share our stories, drink, play cards, look out the window together, ask abstract questions, exchange contact information, and part with warm but tentative hugs. And that’s pretty much what happened.

I met one young woman named Bette who is an aspiring artist - she studied fashion design in Los Angeles. Bette had never heard of Etsy (an online marketplace for people who make things - especially arts and crafts). I couldn’t believe it. Obviously, after living in Silicon Valley my entire adult life, I’ve had to learn not to assume people know every nook and cranny of the Internet.¹ But this was outrageous. How is it that not one of her professors at the Fashion Institute told their students about Etsy?

The train was running a couple hours late by the time we crossed into Illinois. Although I was excited to get to Chicago, I was surprised to notice that I wasn’t impatient. I was enjoying the last moments of the journey, and I had no reason to feel rushed. This calm excitement lasted through my walk to the wedding hotel and the taxi ride to the restaurant where the rehearsal dinner was being held. Then I pushed open the restaurant door, saw my smiling friends and a waiting feast, and my heart exploded.

All of the feelings that had been built up by my long and wonderful journey were freed, and the result was electrifying. The rest of the weekend was a party during which I was living on a level I hadn’t known before. I was enthusiastic, strong, and feeling everything. I sang with friends for the first time that weekend.²

Aniruddh and Rebecca left for their honeymoon on Sunday; but my train and Aniruddh’s sister’s flight weren’t for some time, so they let us stay in their home until our departures. We walked around Wicker Park in the evening and had good ice cream in the afternoon, but I’ll remember doing dishes together. Amazingly, I never knew doing dishes could be a shared activity. Someone washes and someone dries and puts them away. I think it might take more time than just washing them and leaving them to drip overnight like I’ve always done, but it’s so much more enjoyable. It feels silly to write this, but we don’t get to choose which memories make an impression on us.

Tuesday, October 19

The whole world got on the train at Chicago Union Station today.

After some writing in the lounge car, I returned to my coach seat for a nap and to work on the Sari Saheli website. A crew member bothered me about having moved seats; but I needed a power outlet, so I would have battled the Conductor in hand-to-hand combat to keep my seat. I arrived in Omaha around 11pm, where my uncle picked me up. I ate an apple and some spinach and went to bed smiling. I have a good feeling about this visit.

As I type this word - heading to Omaha three days after meeting her on the way to Chicago - Bette walks into the lounge car of the train I’m on now. She’s sitting across the table from me, reading her book, as I write about her. Trains are made of magic.
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I’m aware that I’m referring to ”this weekend” as ”that weekend”. I don’t know why it feels so long ago already.
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Nebraska

2010-10-15T00:00:00-07:00

Let me share a scene from this morning. The sun is rising - not yet full over the horizon. The train is surrounded on all sides by fields, pastures, and trees. Everything seems to glisten as the soft sunlight interacts with the morning dew. Nearest me is a large, rowed, fenced-off area that is drier than the rest - I think it might be a cornfield. Behind the field is a farmhouse, and next to that is a small pond from which a thick fog is lifting - slowly drifting to one side. Beyond the house and pond, a school bus drives on an empty road. A family of deer are playing close by. I am in Nebraska.

Happy

2010-10-14T00:00:00-07:00

The ride into Utah last night was quiet. There was even less outside than when in Nevada, and the night sky was bathed in clearly visible stars. We reached Salt Lake City around 3AM local time and should exit Utah for Colorado in about 4 hours.

When I bought my train tickets, I had to decide if I wanted to pay extra to reserve a sleeping cabin - or sleep in my coach seat for no extra charge. I figured it was a no-brainer to just buy coach seats: I’ll rarely spend more than a night in the train anyway, the cost for sleeper cars is significant, and I can sleep pretty much anywhere. Indeed, I slept in my seat when my family took a similar (but shorter) train trip when I was a kid.

Well, when I was a kid I didn’t have to deal with this cumbersome 6-foot-4 body. Last night was restless! I tossed and turned for hours until I was mercifully allowed one hour of disturbed sleep. I figure by that point, my weariness outweighed my discomfort. I woke around 6AM with advanced carpal tunnel, a twisted spine and oppositely twisted neck, and numb feet. But as I sit in the lounge car, sipping coffee, surrounded by vast chaparral and watching the sun rise over painted rock formations - I’ll be damned if this isn’t the happiest I’ve been in years.

Update: Colorado (4:45PM MT)

The California Zephyr follows the Colorado River through most of the state, before it enters Nebraska. The scenery is unreal - like out of a Western movie. Just canyon after canyon, mostly undeveloped land and the occasional ranch, and the snow-capped Rockies in the distance. It actually takes effort to not imagine cowboys watching over our vulnerable train from a high vantage point. Ruby Canyon is particularly cinematic. We’re now making our way down the Rockies into Denver. The path through the mountains is tunnel-ridden - one is almost 3 miles long.

Today I befriended the bicycle hobo who stole my seat yesterday - Dmitri. A Colorado native, he’s been riding his bike around the country for the past year. He got off a couple hours ago at his hometown of Fraser. I talked to Dmitri for several hours today, but I only understood some of what he said. He mumbles, and his stories often go in circles or quadrilaterals or something.

Dmitri is a bonafide traveler. He believes in self-sufficiency and aspires to be invisible. You can smell how light he packs. He’s camped in everything from snow to Redwood forests to sidewalks. Before he biked, he kayaked; and before that, he drove trucks. Dmitri derives much joy from being rude to invasive cops and is more than happy to skip town when a warrant is issued for his arrest after he refuses to pay his fines. Canada won’t allow him entry - he wouldn’t tell me why.

Traveling

2010-10-13T00:00:00-07:00

I left home this morning and took the BART from Union City to Oakland downtown. Like the excited fool I am, I forgot to take a transfer slip from the BART station, so I had to pay the full fare for the bus to 59th Street. From there, I walked a half-mile to the train station at Emeryville, where I waited 30 minutes for the California Zephyr on which I sit comfortably now.

Over the next few months, I’ll be taking trains all over America. I’ll stay in each city for about a week. I’ve only booked travel up to the end of November so far, which includes Chicago, Omaha, New Orleans, San Antonio, Austin, Dallas, and probably Atlanta. I left my job a few weeks ago, so I won’t be “working” during my travels; but I’ll be doing plenty of Work™ - learning new programming languages, writing, strengthening the online business for Sari Saheli, and more. I pack light - a backpack contains my necessary possessions. I’ll write more about what I’m carrying another time.

My first stop is Chicago to attend the wedding of some dear friends. I’ll be there in just over 50 hours, and the train will pass through forest, desert, river, and prairie. I bought Amtrak’s 45-Day USA Rail Pass, which lets me buy up to 18 tickets for travel within 45 days (I doubt I’ll ever need to use all eighteen tickets). A Pass costs $750, but I bought mine from an Amtrak employee who sells them for $500 (He uses his employee discount). When one Pass runs out, I’ll buy another. I’ll be doing occasional freelance web development work to temper the effect of this trip’s payment on my savings.

If you want to read about my travels, you might like to subscribe to this website in your newsreader - or get email alerts when I add an entry to the journal. That’s all for now.

Update: Emeryville to Truckee (3:30PM PT)

I boarded an empty train this morning and chose a seat near the entrance to the lounge car.¹ I returned to my seat for the first time just five minutes ago only to find a bicyclist hobo passed out across the row of seats. A fellow traveler in a nearby row was disembarking in a few minutes, so I moved my seat marker to his soon-to-be-empty row and returned to the lounge car.

The scenery thus far has been very pretty. The path from Emeryville to Sacramento runs along the coast, through old cities with large factories. Once you hit Roseville, the land is considerably less developed - charming little farms spatter the natural landscape. And as you head into Truckee, the view opens up to reveal lush forest hills as far as you can see.

There are a lot of old people on the train. Now retired, they seem to be making good use of their time by traveling extensively. I met one couple who took trains all over Canada (from Toronto to Vancouver), are now exploring the United States, and plan to repeat the travel model in another country next. They and another couple I spoke with were kind and enthusiastic. On the other hand, the few young people I have spied and eavesdropped upon have seemed awkward - as if they couldn’t decide whether or not they wanted to be social.

We’ve just passed into Nevada. About 48 hours to go until Chicago.

Update: Truckee to Winnemucca, NV (7:00PM PT)

Nevada’s desert scene is intoxicating. Miles and miles of flat emptiness contained by distant dry hills. If you don’t get sick from it, you can hypnotize yourself by following with your eyes the power lines that run alongside the tracks. Up, down, up, down. I saw a few mirages but kept quiet about them. They felt like secrets. As evening set in, I put away my things and just watched the sky change from blue to red. How I wished time would stop then, so that we could live forever in a world warmed by the gentle glow of the setting sun. So gentle you can look right at it.

I met a young man named Dustin, who shared his dreams with me. He comes from a family of cops but always wanted to be a schoolteacher - 7th grade science. For various reasons, Dustin never achieved his dream. It makes me sad to think about passions lost or ignored. And it frustrates me that I know so little of the pursuit of passion in the face of struggle - luck has been so kind to me.

We’ll be in Utah by morning. About 44 hours until Chicago.

The lounge car has bigger windows than the coach cars and consists mostly of tables - ideal for watching the scenery, playing cards, and working on a computer.
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Homework Blogging

2010-02-10T00:00:00-08:00

Note: Sorry if this old article shows up in your newsreader. I needed to change a few filenames, and my site’s RSS generator might pick up the changes and republish the articles.

Anyone who has ever been on a hike, inebriated late at night, or refreshed early in the morning can tell you that the best conversations cannot be forced. When the air is fresh, the senses focused, the mood right - only at such times will the Muse begin her song.

Classrooms are ill-suited for genuine, in-depth conversations. They are run by one individual, limited by time, crowded, indoor, and the seats are uncomfortable. Members of a classroom are obligated to be there, and most forms of jesting, fighting, and crying are discouraged. The Muse can choose any audience: Why would she sing to such an unnatural and unhappy crowd?

This article is not about the shortcomings of any system of education. For now, I accept that broad-scale education cannot be as inspiring as a walk through the woods or a twilight dialogue. But it can be better than it is right now.

Start small: Students should blog their essays.

They need to be reminded that they are part of this world - not just components of a tiny classroom. Understanding common literary themes is important, because that wisdom helps people live well - not because it will get them good grades. When a student recognizes this, the quality of their writing will improve. The stakes are higher, so they will take more risks and enjoy the work more.

And they will remember. Students forget an assignment after its completion, because the assignment is the only part of the learning process over which they have any control. By preserving an essay, opening it up to discussion with people who have lived some of the lessons about which the student is learning, and removing the grade dynamic, the value of the assignment becomes unpredictable and thus intersting (and thus less temporary).

I firmly believe that a child’s mind expands to fill the space it is allowed. Let’s encourage our students to broaden their worlds and blanket us in the warmth of their brilliance.

Real quick, my thoughts on Apple's iPad

2010-01-27T00:00:00-08:00

Note: Sorry if this old article shows up in your newsreader. I needed to change a few filenames, and my site’s RSS generator might pick up the changes and republish the articles.

It’s a gap-filler. A few niches have been created where the current offering of gadgets is inadequate for whatever reason, and the iPad can cater to many of them.

Students

In the future, every student at Acme University will carry a single item for all their classes. As class begins, the professor instructs them to refer to their textbooks. Every student touches the item’s screen, and their textbook appears. As class continues, the students navigate from page to page, typing notes as they go, calling a calculator to the screen for some quick math magic, adding an exam date to their calendar without reaching for their datebook, confirming some facts on the Internet, sharing notes with a tardy classmate (without having to hand over their notebook), and eventually taking a quiz and getting their scores… All from a single, slim, usable screen.

This is possible right now - no second-generation features are needed to achieve this future. Just adoption by a school. If I was a student at such a school, you bet your overstuffed backpack I’d spend $499 on an iPad to participate.

Old People

Today’s elderly don’t have a good computing option. I know this is terribly unoriginal, but my grandparents need only a handful of features on their computer. Everything else is either a distraction or an obstacle in the labyrinth that is a typical operating system (Yes, even Mac OS X).

Tablets of the past basically replaced the mouse with a stylus, so using them wasn’t much easier than using a laptop. But having to touch an icon to look at photo albums, play a movie, have a video call, write an email¹… That’s easy.

This is simultaneously both the most awesome evolution and devolution of digital interaction ever: We’re a huge step closer to Minority Report, but all we’re basically doing is grabbing, poking, and groping the areas of a screen that look like they’ll accomplish our goals. (“Unhh. Must watch movie. Must press movie picture. Funny movi-Must make bigger. Must stretch movie to make bigger. Stretch with hands. Gooood.”)

Healthcare

Everyone knows doctors like tablets. Nothing new here. Google if you’re curious.

What It Isn’t - and Some Closing Thoughts

The iTab isn’t a replacement for anything Apple is selling right now. I’m not buying one, and I’d be surprised if many of my friends do. I simply don’t buy Steve’s claim that the iPad does things the iPhone and Macbook do - but better. Designers, programmers, CAD engineers, gamers, and people who just like to tinker with their computers won’t want an iPad - at least not in lieu of a Macbook. And I doubt lots of people are going to double up on their mobile devices.

But I do think Apple has the opportunity to take hold of new and developing markets. This is a checkpoint (milestone?) in the computing revolution: Hardware innovation is plateauing as integration with public services, ubiquity of data networks, and efficiency and grace of software mature. To all the people underwhelmed by the iTab, I empathize. But to the people who are trashing the iTab for being a huge disappointment, I have to ask: In what massive way has the iTab failed you?

I think the truth is that it got reasonably close to our mental image of a mythical digital gadget. Yea, it needs a camera, AT&T needs to start not sucking, multi-tasking, and a couple other things which we’ll get soon enough. But what the heck else were you expecting? Hardware is done innovating for a little while.

Apple is wise to spread its user experience magic to as many niches as it can. Get those credit cards into the iTunes Store, impregnate educational institutions with Apple’s sensibility and usability, rejuvenate relationships between grandparents and their grandkids, replace hospital clipboards with iPads.

Every major technology company should be focused on merging itself with people’s lives. Steps toward this goal are the only achievements that sound impressive anymore! (“Solar panels on your company’s roof? Cute trick, kid. Your company’s solar panels power my house? Holy shit!”) Google is making itself the omniscient brain of the world, Amazon is a seemingly omnipotent consumer universe sitting on a single mouse-click, and Apple could be the company that makes all of this omnipresent… and elegant.

Yes, I know there’s no camera on the iPad. Just be patient.
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Avatar

2009-12-21T00:00:00-08:00

I saw James Cameron’s new film Avatar this weekend. It’s wonderful.

Much has already been said about the film. Response is mostly positive:

The visual effects are stunning and new.
“Pandora” is one of the most lush and breathtaking fantasy worlds ever created.
The 3D is implemented tastefully and enhances the film rather than distracts from it.
The characters are real enough that you care for their cause and fate.
The CGI natives of “Pandora” are the best attempt so far to overcome the Uncanny Valley.
The film has positive messaging, including strong environmental and anti-war stances.

Of course, the film has left some fans disappointed as well. Mostly, they complain about the following:

The story is predictable and recycled.
The soundtrack is uninspired.
“3D glasses give me a headache.”

I fall into the group of fans who loved the movie with a passion, and I’d like to see it again some time. Here some personal thoughts of mine that I hope are not just a restatement of the above consensuses:

“Pandora” is remarkable. However, I think it will be a challenge to achieve the same diversity of life in this world that - for example - Star Wars achieved with its massive Empire and Rebel planets. This might be due to the fact that only one species (the Na’vi) actually speaks on Pandora, whereas most species have some kind of communicable language in the Star Wars movies. I believe this challenge is not insurmountable, but future films won’t be able to rest on their visuals’ laurels. So they better get to work on adding more rich primary species or other planets.
This is the first 3D film in which I didn’t get a headache. Much obliged.
Reading a bit about the struggles overcome and investments required to make the film added to my excitement and enjoyment. (Further Reading: 1, 2, 3)
Even though it’s almost 3 hours long, I didn’t have to go to the bathroom during the movie.

Some Holiday Randomness

2009-12-14T00:00:00-08:00

Today, I present three pieces of randomness. Enjoy.

1. Java House

I go to the same place almost every day for lunch. It’s called Java House. It’s basically a really big shack on the marina. I like to look at the sailboats. I love it. The food is okay, but mostly I go because I love the environment and people.

The owner, Philip, hates that I do web design. Every time I come in, he’s like “What’s your business?” and I’m like “Philip! It’s Internet!” and he’s like “Ahhh, I don’t understand that stuff. It’s God’s curse to us. Just you wait, we’ll all be robots in 10 years!” and then I tell him off and he waves me off.

He’s Greek and very, very old. He was a civil engineer back in the day and helped build San Francisco’s traffic management system.

Last week one day he sat down with me, and we were chatting. And in the middle of the conversation, he just picked up the syrup bottle and poured more syrup on my pancakes. “There, now they’re Java House pancakes.” And they tasted better!

Philip is set on me marrying an Indian girl - soon. Today he told me to go to temples because girls with faith are better than girls without faith.

2. Sachin’s Graduated

Well, he walked anyway. He graduated months ago and has been in Washington, D.C. Interning for Senator Feinstein and attending George Washington University for his Master’s Degree. He came back this weekend to be in his graduation ceremony at UC Berkeley, and it was wonderful watching him get his degree. He looked so studious in his cap and gown!

More important than his graduation is his return. In an impressive but not surprising display of maturity, Sachin decided to finish his Master’s Degree online from California. He’ll also be preparing for law school and perhaps doing a social project on his own. The maturity of his decision lay in his motivation - part of which was to be nearer to his family. We’re all happy he’s back. Color this brother proud.

3. Christmas Time

I’m on record as having stated that I’d give up Thanksgiving and Christmas for another Halloween. I hereby retract that statement. Winter - and the holiday season in particular - have a unique magic which I hope to preserve forever. Even in warm(ish) California, we appreciate the occasion to settle into our blankets around the fireplace and sip hot cocoa as we chat about this or that. Or - as we’re more likely to do in our family - settle into our blankets around the fireplace and sip hot Chai as we listen to Naniji play the harmonium.

Gift-giving is also one of my favorite activities - a practice which was sadly left out of the design spec for Halloween. I love thinking of the right gift for a person. I’m certain I fall short often, but the thinking process itself can’t be done without revisiting fond memories.

Please don’t throw rocks at me for this, but I love Christmas music. Walk by the street corner at 17th and Noe in San Francisco around 9:00pm and you’re likely to hear holiday standards coming through the window from my apartment. Nothing beats coding sessions set to “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”.

Mommy, where do websites come from?

2009-02-28T00:00:00-08:00

Note: Sorry if this old article shows up in your newsreader. I needed to change a few filenames, and my site’s RSS generator might pick up the changes and republish the articles.

The Internet is a medium for human interaction.

Even when we use an intelligent and automated web application, we interact with the humans who created it. Their choices, tastes, words, designs, failures, and successes are all contained within the code that serves us. You cannot escape the humanity of the Internet.

The human connection is more obvious in some online experiences than others. Video-chatting on Skype with my grandmother across the world is direct interaction, and the technology is only secondarily apparent. Even if you take away the video, her voice is still human enough that I don’t feel the filter of technology.

Other experiences begin the transition away from direct, human interaction. Instant Messaging like with AIM or MSN Messenger is still direct communication, but the human aspect of it is lessened by the introduction of a person’s “cyber-ego” (or “online identity”). Not being able to see or hear the person with whom we’re speaking necessitates the creation of an image in our minds of who (what?) the person is. We can’t help but project our own assumptions and judgements onto them. Still, at least we’re conscious of the fact that we are communicating with a human - though our image of them is admittedly inaccurate.

At the other end of the spectrum are online experiences where the human connection has been completely erased. That is, when we use applications in this realm, we forgot that humans are involved at all. The big example? Google, of course.

Let’s say I forgot the keyboard shortcut to open the last-closed tab in Firefox. As I Google for this keyboard shortcut, I’m aware of my expectations: The query will be processed by Google’s engine. I will be shown many results. Clicking one of them will likely provide me the answer I desire.

But as I read lifehacker’s post on the keyboard shortcut, at no point am I considering that a human being wrote this tip. It’s information, and it’s there, and that’s that.

For our younger generation, the removal of this human connection is even more apparent. They have no reason to equate information with humans, because they were never alive during a time when humans gave each other information directly. Their entire view of acquiring information has its premise in the Internet - and more than likely in applications like Google.

What I’m curious about is how long it will take for applications that are not like Google to become equally human-less. Twitter seems poised to be the first. This is a site with an overwhelmingly expansive data structure that I actually feel fear when I think about it. It’s huge. Perhaps its most powerful feature is its search, which looks through all Tweets by all users.

Try searching for a good budgeting application for the Mac. Or what’s new with the San Francisco Giants? Your results will vary, but you’ll find a wealth of information about whatever you search for.

Another way to get information from Twitter is to just ask. Say you hear some folks talking about the Rolling Stones touring in the USA and get excited. Quick, Tweet a question to the world at large: “Are the Rolling Stones really coming to the States?” You might get a couple people giving quick replies within the hour. Specific information - on demand.

So far, Twitter’s users are very aware of the fact that all of this information comes from people. There hasn’t been enough time for a Twitterer’s real identity to become dissociated from their online persona. Once that happens, it doesn’t take long for the online persona to fade into obscurity and become one with the Internet.

But Twitter grows - as do many of the Internet’s offerings. And as a new generation grows up with these resources more available than any other resource - man-made or natural - I wonder how long the Internet has before it’s wholly a non-human entity.

A pivotal point in human development is the asking of that existential question: “Where do babies come from?” Among other things, it marks a child’s awareness of the world as something which is created. How soon will our informational development be marked by our awareness of the Internet as something which is created? When will children ask, “Mommy, where do websites come from?”

Quote #12

2009-01-22T00:00:00-08:00

You can’t run away from trouble. There ain’t no place that far.
Uncle Remus

Quote #11

2009-01-20T00:00:00-08:00

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, “Don’t do it!” He said, “Nobody loves me.” I said, “God loves you. Do you believe in God?”

He said, “Yes.” I said, “Are you a Christian or a Jew?” He said, “A Christian.” I said, “Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?” He said, “Protestant.” I said, “Me, too! What franchise?” He said, “Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?” He said, “Northern Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?”

He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?” He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?”

He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912.” I said, “Die, heretic!” And I pushed him over.
Emo Phillips

Giving Excess

2009-01-19T00:00:00-08:00

Look:

A girl - no more than eight years old - walks with her father down the street on a cold night.

As they approach a turn, she notices a shivering man sitting on the sidewalk. Without hesitation, she removes her scarf and hands it to the shivering man. There is kindness in her eyes but no pride.

Her father looks at her with concern, then surprise, and then asks stupidly, “What are you doing?”

The girl looks up at her father and replies simply, “There’s nothing of interest in what I’ve done. I found someone in need and gave him my excess.”

Quote #10

2009-01-13T00:00:00-08:00

Steve Jobs gave a small private presentation about the iTunes Music Store to some independent record label people. My favorite line of the day was when people kept raising their hand saying, “Does it do ‘x’?”, “Do you plan to add ‘y’?”. Finally Jobs said, “Wait wait - put your hands down. Listen: I know you have a thousand ideas for all the cool features iTunes could have. So do we. But we don’t want a thousand features. That would be ugly. Innovation is not about saying yes to everything. It’s about saying NO to all but the most crucial features.”
Derek Sivers

I Believe I Can Run

2009-01-07T00:00:00-08:00

Leif Ericson Middle School doesn’t educate students beyond the sixth grade. When I attended, the graduating class was to sing I Believe I Can Fly by R. Kelly. The preparation for this event was a source of annoyance and embarrassment for the students participating, but that’s not relevant right now.

One day, during rehearsal, a rare moment of revelry was permitted to continue beyond a few seconds. A friend - Alex Stollar - began singing a parody of R. Kelly’s song. He was making it up on the spot, and the class was eating it up. Alex was very popular, but whether this contributed to his song’s positive reception is not clear. Regardless, I was jealous of Alex’s popularity, so I decided to one-up his song by singing my own immediately after he finished.

For your reference, the actual lyrics of the song are:

I believe I can fly I believe I can touch the sky I think about it every night and day Spread my wings and fly away

I’m not a song-writer or a singer, but moments of desperation can bring out strengths we do not know we possess. I sang:

I believe I can run I believe I touch the sun I think about it every night and day Spread my legs and have some fun

If you’re even a little bit shocked right now, you’re far less sheltered than I was in the sixth grade. My brilliantly spontaneous song and plan had backfired. With the last line of the stanza, the class fell silent. All eyes turned in my direction. Our teacher Ms. Robertson, a tall blond woman with unnecessarily sharp features, stared at me with wide-open eyes.

I was paralyzed. I had expected - in order of preference - either glory, quiet chuckles, or quick dismissal. But this response was completely unforeseen! Whispers filled the room, some girls were snickering at me from the corner, not even my friends were laughing at my parody, and the stupid R. Kelly song was still playing on the stereo.

Frozen in time, I slowly evaluated the situation. Clearly, my song had some evil power of which I was unaware. No one was hitting me, I hadn’t wet my pants or thrown up, and my grades were fine; so survival was not at risk. I decided there could be no harm in asking my teacher what I’d said that was so egregious.

I turned to Ms. Robertson, and - before I could open my mouth - she screamed at me in an awful, angry, male voice, “What are you doing! What did you just say!” I would have liked to answer, but her anger petrified me. She continued to berate me in front of the class. It seemed like hours, but I doubt the scolding lasted for even a minute.

Eventually, the class decided what was to be seen had been seen; so they returned to their work. Rehearsal was over the day. When I got home in the afternoon, I mentioned nothing of the crime I’d committed. I just did my homework while trying to figure out exactly what I’d done wrong.

I never told anyone the story, so I never found out what was so terrible about my parody. Obviously, as I grew older I learned how the song could be construed to have illicit meaning. Today, the memory is source of laughter for me.

But I do wish I could bottle up the feelings of confusion, shame, fear, and anger that I felt that day - and give the bottle to anyone who interacts with children. These were the feelings of an innocent boy who was beaten down for a misdeed he did not understand.

I wonder how many children are too scared to ask what they’ve done wrong when they’re scolded. Why are people so quick to make assumptions upon which negative conclusions depend?

A plea to educators, parents, siblings, friends, strangers: Always be listening. Always be teaching.

Create and Consume

2008-12-24T00:00:00-08:00

Note: Sorry if this old article shows up in your newsreader. I needed to change a few filenames, and my site’s RSS generator might pick up the changes and republish the articles.

Consume, consume, consume.

With all the cool websites to visit, thrilling television shows to watch, movies and music to steal, books to read, and games to play, it’s a wonder we’re not walking around in a post-Thanksgiving-esque stupor.

Then again, maybe that’s exactly what we’re doing.

Listen: It is vital for the growth of children and adults alike to create as well as consume. This is especially true for our youngsters, who may not remember a time when the world wasn’t accessible from a desk chair. We have to show them - remind them - that the world they experience doesn’t merely exist. Rather, it is built.

There are an infinite number of ways to create. Here are just a few:

Draw. Just draw. Take 15 minutes this evening, go outside, and draw the clouds and moon.
Write an Op-Ed for your local or a national newspaper. Even if it doesn’t get printed, you’ll learn about where you stand in the process of writing it.
Cook something for the first time. Grab a recipe and get going.
Become a photographer. Buy a disposable camera from a store like Safeway and take 5 photos from the perspective of an ant and 5 photos from the perspective of a bird (This means climbing!).
Start a blog. Tumblr is easy to use and takes 10 seconds (literally) to set up.

And if none of those are appealing, think of another way to create. Or help someone else create.

Supplementing consumption with creation enables growth on multiple levels. When you create, you build the confidence in your abilities that’s required to take risks in the future and think quickly. What’s more, your creation may become a form of consumption for others. The world grows as we create.

One final method of creation: Responding to the creations of others. As you experience something, feelings and thoughts must go through your head. What do you do with them? Most people either forget them or don’t even notice them in the first place. But developing an awareness of your self, so that you can detect and understand your fleeting emotions and thoughts, is perhaps the only way to truly improve yourself from within.

As practice, try commenting on blog posts and online news articles. This will force you to think about what you just consumed, and eventually your thoughts will become clearer and awareness will require less effort.

Slumdog Millionaire

2008-12-19T00:00:00-08:00

You can’t shake it. The feelings of suspense, warmth, anger, sadness, and terror are so strong in Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire that I was on a post-film high for hours after the showing.

Our hero is Jamal Malik, a boy from the slums of Bombay. In the first few minutes of the movie, we learn that he is a contestant on India’s Who Wants to be a Millionaire?. His success has the host of the show - Prem (played by Anil Kapoor) - doubting the integrity of Jamal’s answers. After all, how could a “slumdog” answer questions that doctors, lawyers, and professors cannot? Prem hands over Jamal to the police and assumes that a night of torture will elicit a confession of cheating.

But Jamal isn’t a cheater. As the police inspector forces him to explain how he knew the answers, Jamal recounts the relevant experiences from his life. We are given a glimpse into this “bizarrely plausible” tale of a slumdog, who has approached the many joys, adversities, and horrors of his life with courage, wit, and appreciation.

What makes Slumdog Millionaire different from other Dickensian “journey” films is that Jamal’s story is presented with such intense sights and sounds that you are transported to India and are therefore witness to a wide array of imagery unseen on this side of the world.

Boyle’s most ambitious goal and his greatest success are both the fair depiction of India’s many sides. The pain and bleakness of the slums, an unfairly wealthy upper class - often controlled by gangsters and thugs, and more people between these extremes than the population of North America. Sprawling metropolises, vast deserts, pockets of jungle, war zones, and quiet neighborhoods. Vibrant colors, bold smells, a cacophony of city, country, and individual clashing to create a unique portrait of humanity.

Jamal is driven throughout his life by a fairytale love for his childhood companion Latika (Rubina Ali). Theirs is a love challenged by distance, betrayal, and the hopeless gravity of life in the slums. And although the plot is formulaic (a boy in love wins a quiz show to reunite with his soulmate), the drama of the setting is so powerful that it rises above the formula to deliver a profound experience in movie-watching. Every time the movie flashes back to show us more of Jamal’s past, it escapes the formula and taps into the richness of his story.

At least, that’s how I felt about the flashbacks and their value. Some disagree:

Now, for viewers who want to know everything about Jamal’s painful boyhood, the flashbacks present no difficulty. But for others, who are captivated by the drama unfolding in the present - how will he elude the police? What will happen on the quiz show? What will happen if he wins? - every retreat into the past feels like a suspension of the story.
Mick LaSalle

I believe appreciation of Slumdog Millionaire hinges on the cause of this disagreement. If you are interested in the quiz show and feel that Jamal’s past is an annoying departure from the “real story”, then you will either dislike the film or simply find nothing unique in it.

But if you are captivated by the setting - the world created by Jamal’s memories - and you see the quiz show as merely a starting point, then you will leave the theater feeling like you were part of something special. And you might agree with me that this is one of the year’s best films.

Quote #9

2008-12-18T00:00:00-08:00

The pawns, man - in the Game - they get capped quick. They be out the Game early.

Unless they some smart-ass pawns.
The Wire

Trump

2008-12-11T00:00:00-08:00

If she’s ambitious, a person will strive to be an Ace in the Deck. Aces are masters of their realm, and they live most of their life feeling successful - and they often deserve their success.

Less ambitious - or perhaps only less successful - people make up the rest of the Deck. From the apathetic or pathetic 2s to the second-place Kings, we all have to fall somewhere.

And so we live - fighting our way to the top until we choose another Game to play, give up, or die. In the course of our lives, we come across individuals against whom we must battle - be it for respect, our jobs, or even our very lives. 2s don’t beat Aces.

What happens when two Aces must battle? Say two supremely gifted mayoral candidates are debating tonight. Well, every one will want to watch that debate. But if these two mayoral candidates are seen to be a couple of 2s, viewership will definitely take a hit. More often than not, we are only interested in the lives of those whose card we believe to be greater than our own.

In the Game of Life, there are Trump cards: An entire suit consisting of cards which rise above The Game to play by different rules and thereby redefine the Game itself. Trumps compete only with other Trumps - if they even come across each other. This isn’t to say a Trump won’t trounce all over an average card. They will. But they’ll feel no pride for having done so.

Trumps you might have heard of include Mahatma Gandhi, Robin Hood, and the Joker. These are all figures - of good and evil - whose presence in their world made it necessary for all others to change their way of thinking, acting, and living.

Not all Trumps achieve the fame of the aforementioned characters. It can take an unusual amount of attention to detect such a unique individual - especially since it can take a most unassuming form. But if you believe someone in your life to be a Trump, find the strength within to commit to them. From them draw inspiration and learn about the world, but be sure to guide your Trump through a life of goodness.

Quote #8

2008-12-11T00:00:00-08:00

I have learned through bitter experience the one supreme lesson: To conserve my anger, and as heat conserved is transmuted into energy, even so an anger controlled can be transmuted into a power which can move the world.
Mahatma Gandhi

Kallow - Single Product Recommendations

2008-12-09T00:00:00-08:00

Note: Sorry if this old article shows up in your newsreader. I needed to change a few filenames, and my site’s RSS generator might pick up the changes and republish the articles.

It’s gift-buying time. And whether your process involves driving to a local retailer, browsing Amazon, or scouring Craigslist, you’re likely to be inundated with so much choice that you’ll spend most of your time researching to find the best products and deals.

This is always a source of frustration for shoppers, because most of the time people just want a good value: Something with slightly above-average performance and a reasonable price. And even helpful reviews on Amazon or sites like CNET don’t narrow the possibilities down to a manageable two or three.

Caleb and Jordan at Kallow have discovered what I think could be a useful idea - especially at this time of the year: They’ve chosen 22 product categories (like Digital Camera, Headphones, and even Laptop), researched each - taking into account performance, ease of use, and price - and then listed one recommendation for each category.

According to them, if you’re looking for a good deal on a digital camera, you can’t go wrong with the Canon PowerShot SD790IS for $179.99. That’s a good value, and for the vast majority of shoppers who don’t care about 3x versus 4x optical zoom, 8 megapixel versus 10 megapixel, and Canon versus Panasonic, it’s a done deal.

The beauty of Kallow is that it’s either a conclusion or a beginning. That is, you might look at Kallow and immediately decide to buy the recommended product. So it’s the conclusion of your shopping cycle. But some users can use Kallow as the beginning of their shopping cycle by following the product recommendation to Amazon, viewing similar products, and eventually choosing a competitor’s product. The moral of the story is that you’re more likely to find a quality deal by beginning your search with a good product than if you began your search from scratch.

I’m curious to see how the site develops after the holiday season. While cleanliness and simplicity are integral to the site, it goes without saying that more product categories are a must. But beyond that, I think adding a premium level to each category would draw in more of the power-user audience. Properly implemented, such a feature wouldn’t have to detract from the site’s ease of use.

The decision to get prices from and link to Amazon is also something that I think will require revision. It’s not uncommon for buyers to find better prices at smaller shops. If Kallow is really about recommending quality deals and saving consumers time, it should link to the best deal at a reliable online retailer. Of course, this flies in the face of Kallow’s business model (They make money by getting paid every time someone buys one of their recommended products on Amazon.), but I’m sure Jordan and Caleb can think of some other way to stay in the black.

Check out Kallow for yourself, and let me know what you think. Were the recommendations helpful either as conclusions or beginnings? What product categories would you liked to have seen that weren’t available? Did you tell anyone you know about Kallow?

Quote #7

2008-12-08T00:00:00-08:00

The answer is that we must learn to accept suffering, especially the suffering involved with anxiety. Suffering, consciously accepted, has the ability to catalyze people, shocking them into awareness. Suffering also compels us to choose what meaning it has for us. When we choose a meaning for our experiences, we create ourselves. When we actively use suffering as a positive force in our lives, we not only give meaning to our lives, we also sustain our awareness of ourselves. The person who is able to give meaning to his or her suffering is both the self who suffers and the self who transcends suffering. In that moment, the self is aware and unified.
Don Richard Riso

Quote #6

2008-12-03T00:00:00-08:00

If men learn writing, it will implant forgetfulness in their souls; they will cease to exercise memory because they rely on that which is written, calling things to remembrance no longer from within themselves, but by means of external marks. What you have discovered is a recipe not for memory, but for reminder. And it is no true wisdom that you offer your disciples, but only its semblance, for by telling them of many things without teaching them you will make them seem to know much, while for the most part they know nothing, and as men filled, not with wisdom, but with the conceit of wisdom, they will be a burden to their fellows.
Plato, Phaedrus 275a-b

Quote #5

2008-11-17T00:00:00-08:00

Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels; For I was an hungred, and ye gave me no meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me no drink; I was a stranger, and ye took me not in; naked, and ye clothed me not; sick, and in prison, and ye visited me not.

Then shall they also answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee hungered, or athirst, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not minister unto thee?

Then shall he answer them, saying, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.
Matthew 25:41-45

Quote #4

2008-11-17T00:00:00-08:00

I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.
Thomas Edison

Quote #3

2008-11-16T00:00:00-08:00

The wise sees knowledge and action as one; they see truly.

Bhagavad Gita

Children of Heaven

2008-11-14T00:00:00-08:00

Here is a film for which I need not restrain my praise. Regardless of how irresponsibly I manipulate your expectations, you will fall in love with Ali, Zahra, and most definitely their story.

Ali and Zahra are child characters, which is rare enough. But they are also kind, intelligent, helpful, and not bullied every day. They are children who will grow up to be respected - if they are not already.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. This isn’t a film about kids growing up to be leaders of their industry or famous rock stars.

Rather, it’s a story of a big brother who picks up his sister’s shoes from the cobbler. He has to buy some potatoes for his mother before returning home, and - as he digs through the cheap potatoes pile - a blind trash collector mistakenly takes the shoes. Ali is terrified to find the shoes have disappeared, and later returns home, tears in his eyes, to tell his sister he’s lost her shoes.

Her only response is to ask how she will go to school tomorrow without shoes. Ali and his sister Zahra work out a plan right under their parents’ noses (It’s homework time, so talking is not allowed.) by writing notes to each other as they pretend to study. The plan? Zahra will wear Ali’s shoes to school each morning. When her final class ends, she will race back to their alley to give Ali back his shoes. And then he will run to his school, which starts a little later.

Of course, sometimes either Zahra or Ali cannot run fast enough; and Ali, who is an excellent student, has to deal with punishment for being tardy:

I submit that this situation is scarier and more absorbing for children than a movie about Godzilla or other manufactured entertainments. Even when you’re a kid, you know you’re not likely to be squished by a giant lizard, but losing something that has been entrusted to you? And getting in trouble at school? That’s big time.
Roger Ebert

And that’s really the nature of much of this film’s beauty: In the hands of a good storyteller, real life is more captivating than any science fiction or fantasy tale. Indeed, all fiction aspires to distract us long enough to make a statement about our reality.

This review merely introduces you to the film’s premise. So much more is packed into Majid Majidi’s master work that you’ll just have to watch it for yourself to see.

Note: Children of Heaven is a foreign-language film. But you don’t need to worry. This is absolutely a film for children. The subtitles are brief, simple, and easily understandable for kids in the 2nd or 3rd grade.

Quote #2

2008-11-13T00:00:00-08:00

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.
Mahatma Gandhi

Quote #1

2008-11-13T00:00:00-08:00

A song is anything that can walk by itself.
Bob Dylan