So this sixth grader brought a Sports Illustrator magazine to school. The annual swimsuit issue. And he got suspended for it.
This is great PR, huh? I'm not sure how mainstream this news story is, but it showed up on an RSS feed her in Newport Beach. Good lord. I wonder if this kid brought a Victoria's Secret catalog, too. Maybe an mpeg-4 of Janet's Super Bowl spectacular?
No question that there is quite a bit of skin in swimsuit issues of Sports Illustrated. And there's no way we'll understand the context here. Problem is, it's impossible to block out everything offensive. Whether it's provocative photographs of men or women or terrorists. No gauntlet will stop everything. So does that mean we have to live in fear or by a watchful eye?
Geeez. This is printed stuff. The swimsuit issue is much more tempered than some pop-up ads that launch if you happen to be an unwilling suspect of some nasty e-mail effort.
Not that I am any barometer to the US economy, but I've noticed a lot of increased excitement and activity in business of late. I know several associates embarking on new marketing projects; others are reporting modest, yet real, increased activity in inquiries. Overall more excitement, energy and positive attitude. Is it just me? Or because I've been a troubadour that all this activity is simply my distorted perception because I'm finally sitting in one place for more than a few days?
Doug Adams posted this script that will export selected subscriptions in NetNewsWire in vCard format to the contacts folder of the iPod so upon sync you can read your RSS subscriptions on your iPod. Very cool. I'd love to see one that exports NNW subscriptions to my Symbian-OS capable phone. That would rock!
I just moved to a comfy leather chair with a built-in cup holder, an floor lamp and a pivotable and moveable table extention attached to the chair. This place has it going on. Could be my new office. Still raining so now I'm plugged in and maybe I'll grab a cup of soup and a coffee.
The rain is pouring madly outside. The green umbrella wavers in the wind, it's rope flapping wildly. Terracotta stones seem slippery, dangerous. the wifi access is free. The ice tea refills: free. The window seat: free.
Free.
The most powerful word in advertising. And I've done a lot of advertising. Sometimes even for free.
I'm sitting in Panera Bread. A bread, pastry and sandwich cafe here in Newport Beach. And I'm amazed and please that they are offering free wifi access. Stabucks and T-Mobile eat your heart out. Penera is growing, too.
The sandwich, a Turkey Fresco, was good. Can't say it was great. But it's better than the sealed in Saran Wrap sandwiches found at some of the Starbucks. And the staff is attentive, friendly and very organized.
Two students sitting at the table next me passing back and forth the book
by James Porter Moreland and Kai Nielsen, Does God Exist?: The Debate Between Theists & Atheists. They are deep in discussion while eating a broken cookie on the table in front of them. Freshman philosophy class students from University of California Irvine, I'm guessing. Two twenty something smartly dressed career women sitting behind me rambling about the company log and gossiping about the girl in HR. I thought for a minute they said company blog. Wishful eavesdropping I guess. But that's not far off.
I'm not going anywhere till the rain stops. So you get the pleasure or pain of my rambling hump day post.
But check the Panera site. See if there's a cafe near you with wifi. I urge you to check it out.
Photos: Outside and inside Panera on Bison Avenue in Newport Beach 2PM on Wednesday February 18, 2004. Taken with a Sony Ericsson P900 phone transferred to my PowerBook via Bluetooth and posted to the weblog. Kind of the long way to moblogging.
As you may have followed I purchased a new Sony Ericsson P900 phone in late December. The phone has had great reviews and its predecessor, the P800 has a loyal following including Janet and other SmartPhone fans.
The phone has a camera that supports not only still photos but video as well. Though like most digital cameras the phone shipped with a 32mb Sony Memory Stick Duo card. I won't even get on my rant about Sony's proprietary formats, I've done that already here.
So in early January I ordered a 256mb San Disk Memory Stick Duo card from Amazon hoping to receive it prior to my trip to France. Didn't show up. Installing the card on my return I found it to be defective. So I went through the fairly efficient return process at Amazon and the next day UPS had a prepaid label delivered and off the defective Memory Stick Duo went off to Amazon. Amazon confirmed that they would send me a replacement. The estimated ship date was February 4th -- just two days after completing the return on February 2nd.
So today I wondered why I hadn't received my new Memory Stick Duo. I tracked my order on Amazon and I discovered something I didn't notice before: the ship date was February 4, 2005 (yes 2005) Good god! I then clicked the item link and the availability indicates: Usually ships in 1 or 2 days.
So I pounded out a quick email to Amazon customer service and within an hour received the following response:
Greetings from Amazon.com.
I've checked your order, and I can confirm that we still expect to
ship it by the date listed in Your Account: February 02, 2005.
Please note, the estimated date of shipment was calculated at the
time you placed your order and is based on the proximity of inventory
to the delivery address you provided, as well as how quickly we can
obtain and assemble items for shipment.
We will send you an e-mail at the time of shipment. Please contact
us again if you do not receive a shipment confirmation by February
03, 2005.
You can always check the status of your order, including estimated
dates of shipment and delivery, by clicking the Your Account link at
the top of most pages of our store or by following this link:
Of course this email was generated by a BOT of some kind because there's no reference to the fact that the item indicates availability of 1 or 2 days.
Meanwhile, I've had periodic problems with the Sony Ericsson phone with its keypad freezing and not generating tones for accessing voice mail and the volume control appears to freeze periodically. So while I succumbed to dealing with product and shipping issues I contacted Sony Ericsson Customer Care. The phone (which retails for over $1,000) does have a 1-year manufacturers warranty. But the only repair facility is located in North Carolina and they offer no pre-paid shipping or packaging options. Plus, it takes 21 days to repair the phone after they've received it.
I think I'll just buy a new phone after taking advantage of American Express's 90-day buyers remorse guarantee. Don't forget that cardmembers also get extended warranty coverage on anything purchased with the card. Great programs.
If you've been following any of the technology or social software bloggers you probably have seen quite a fewposts about O'Reilly's Emerging Technology (Etech) conference held this week in San Diego at the Westin Horton Plaza. Part of me wanted to attend this conference while another part spoke to me: "you're too travelled and conferenced out, Allan." So I opted for a quick shuffle in and a quick shuffle out.
Why? Mostly, I wanted to spend some offline time with fellow blogger, professor, librarian and friend Liz Lawley. I also figured I check out the vibe of the conference and get a little taste of the dynamic of the crowd that I suspected would gather in the hotel lobby. Perhaps I'd bump into some of my fellow bloggers like Joi, Doc, Kevin or others.
I walked into the lobby of the Westin and there was no question to me or anyone who walked through the doors that there was "technology going on." The first image I caught was a man in his 30's slouched in a lobby chair, feet on the coffee table in front of him with his Apple PowerBook perched on his thighs. He was eagerly pecking away at his keyboard. I stopped. Blatantly. Stared. And walked on. Didn't notice me.
Next I sauntered into the lobby bar. It was a few minutes before six and several sessions were still in progress, yet all of the tables were occupied by small groups. There were several seats open at the bar. At the opposite end of the bar sat an attractive women in her late twenties. She was flanked by two gentlemen and in front of her open and glaring was her Titanium PowerBook. I spun in my stool and glanced over the room. I saw Dan Gillmor at a table of 4 or 5 people with at least one or two of them with their heads buried into laptop computers. In the corner was a heavyset man sitting in the middle of a sofa, alone with huge headphones on his head and his laptop reflecting and glowing in his eyeglasses. Marc Canter zoomed in, scanned the room and quickly exited. I counted the Apples: totaled 5, 4 PowerBooks and an iBook. I counted the nondescripts: 4. That's 9 computers in a lounge that sat about 20-25 people. All but the man with the headphones were sitting in groups.
Feeling alienated from a glowing LCD screen I grabbed my new Sony Ericsson P900, poked and pecked at the screen with the stylus and eagerly checked my SMS, MMS and e-mail messages. Geeeeeeeeez. Even the bartender seemed afraid to communicate. Was the vibe and power consumption of emerging technology enhancing or disrupting communication in the lobby?
To be fair, had I been in possession of my PowerBook I might have propped it up on the bar and avoided all communication and eye contact with the bartender. MAybe not. Yet conferences are designed not only as a informational and educational forums, but they're also very important networking and face-to-face gatherings. That's why I made the trip to San Diego. I wanted to spend time talking face to face with Liz. We could share ideas, stories, laughs and more. We could establish eye contact, see expressions and enjoy time offline -- without email, iChat, IRC or Google.
At dinner Liz shared with me an experience she had in an e-tech breakout BOF session. She walked into a room where a group of people were ideally sharing ideas, getting to know each other and engaging in discussions. Yet she walked into a room full of people with their heads buried into their laptops on IRC, email or IM. As Liz explained it to me, it struck her as odd.
So while technology emerges and those passionate about topics discussed at this conference or others I wonder if interpersonal communication is devolving to the tools of technology regardless of physical presence? Will eye contact, body language and tactile or sensual experiences such as handshakes, hugs and tongue in cheek jabs on shoulders disappear? Or can we learn to balance our lives without compromising technology or our ability to communicate and experience the real (dare I say) off line world?
No matter what I write, or what channel I chat on, or how good of a digital photo I can take, nothing can explain the flavors and texture of the crisp layer and creamy delicious custard and tangy raspberry of the creme brulee we shared after dinner. Only in the real world can you taste that.
----------
Truthfully, I am very interested in a number of things discussed at Etech this year including Disney's use of blogs and RSS. Check out many of the bloggers reporting on or from the conference here.
Photos: After dinner I returned briefly to the lobby of the Westin. Attendees still huddled over computer screens while "engaged?" in conversations. These photos were shot at about 10:15pm about 4 hours after my initial observations as discussed above.
"I've heard of such a thing, but not since the 1950's, the McCarthy era," said David D. Cole, a Georgetown law professor. "It sends a very troubling message about government officials' attitudes toward basic liberties.
Speaking on the action by The United States attorney's office in issuing subpoenas to attendees, sponsors and organizers of an antiwar protest held at Drake University in Iowa this past fall.
"[...] news of the subpoenas [...] might discourage people from showing up to protests, attending meetings at universities or even checking out library books."
Today marked the first time I returned to my local Yoga joint to breathe, stretch, lengthen and twist my body every which way. I've been afraid to restart my yoga practice since I returned from Mexico in November after dumping my motorcycle, eating gravel and twisting my poor ankle in ways that it should not.
The doc told me it could take 6 months or more for the bad sprain to heal. He also warned me that it could bother me for many years. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning its stiff and after long walks or hikes I get the subtle reminder of my poor ankle's untimely fate in late October.
But today all went well. There's nothing like a Saturday morning yoga class. Actually any morning or anytime. While today's class was classified as a "level 1", with the advanced twists and a few trying balances, I felt it was closer to 1-2. But I didn't care. More importantly, my ankle seemed ok with it. Walking out of there I felt taller, more relaxed and refreshed. Ahhh. I feel good. And I'll be going back soon -- and several days a week.
If you haven't explored this simple yet trying exercise, check it out. And as my instructor told us in her slow and soothing voice over the sound new age bells, strings and wind pipes, "Relax. As you move into this position, slow down."
The kinks in my joints and tight muscles in my legs start to release.
"Why are we always going so fast?
Eyes closed.
"Where are we going? Leave those things outside. "
Back in California. What an amazing day today. At 3pm the full moon hung high in the deep blue sky. The Los Angeles skyline crystal clear. The rains from last night left the most amazing clear skies. Wow.
To be sure, it's good to back. To be truthful, I'd love to be traveling. To my clients, I love to work with them. With the internet, Macintosh and the shrinking planet, I should be able to do anything anywhere.
So I'm enjoying a 1996 Whitehall Lane Leonardini Merlot. It's incredibly soft, elegant with a slight overtone of blueberry, anise and black cherry. I'm seduced.
I love so many of the comments I've been getting from Dano, Bob, Janet and others. Keep the comments coming. Click the links on the posts! So much fun. You know it's funny. I get so many people sending me email through the contact me link on this blog rather than leaving a comment. I say leave the comment. Engage the dialog. No matter what, I do love the comments. So thank you!
As I sat in Charles de Gaulle airport in France i thought about those travelers who were stuck here when flights to New York and Los Angeles were cancelled during the recent holiday season. Yet I was confident I'd make my flight to Atlanta and then onto Orange County.
The airport, at least this terminal, is very modern. Replete with high end shops like Hermes, Hugo Boss and others, I find that while the shopping here would be tops to those who prefer such activities. For me, I'd prefer a fast wireless connection to connect with the world outside this airport and the shopping mecca of Paris. You see, southern France and the Nice airport have much more to offer than Paris.
The journey has been outstanding, needless to say. I look forward to making a trip back in the summer. Perhaps I could hook up with my friend Bob Burgess who makes an annual pilgrimage here for food, wine and sunshine. In the meantime, I've got to get back to reality... that is if you call southern California reality. Nonetheless, I'm excited about new projects, connecting with old friends and staying put for awhile. Maybe i could pick up on my discussions on blogging in business -- corporate blogging.
In 1903 Renoir moved to the south of France with the hopes of alleviating his rheumatoid arthritis. Sixteen years later he died. I carried a single bottle of wine to France. A 1997 Joseph Phelps Vineyards Insignia. This was symbolic for a number of reasons. Most importantly when Wirestone, the company I founded with Bryan my travel partner on this trip, completed its first round of venture financing we gave each of our vice presidents, investors and key clients a bottle of 1997 Phelps Insignia. Nearly 4 years later, Bryan and I cracked a bottle in Cagnes-sur-Mer on the grounds of one of the greatest French Impressionists, Pierre-Auguste Renoir.
Some might think this act would be one of heresy. Bryan I thought it was just the right thing to do at the right time. The setting was perfect. The irony abt. And the wine -- excellent. To be sure, later that evening we opened a bottle of Grand Cru Burgundy from Gevrey-Chambertin. But for Renoir, nothing but the best of California.
Traipsing across his estate I was enamored with the gnarly olive trees. Expressing themselves with twisted trunks and limbs, i could only think of Renoir stuck in his wheel chair with arthritis so bad his hands and knuckles grossly deformed and extremely painful. But the beauty of his painting in those final years, and his sculptures and those who came to learn and be inspired and even to inspire the master. I was amazed. Looking over his gardens at the Medieval village of Cagnes, down to the coast to Cannes. And I imagined how the beauty that Renoir captured and while not fair for me to say, but the development, the Auto Route and the nasty 60's-esque architecture that today litters the view that inspired Renoir and so many. But I brought myself back. Walking the grounds and thinking how small those olive trees were in his paintings. And how big and gnarly they were today. Nothing stays the same. But the more it changes...
A must stop for anyone in south of France. Visit Renoir's home and see France at the turn of the century.
Photos: (1) Nudes from Renoir's Cagnes-sur-Mer home and studio; (2) Classic Renoir painting, "Luncheon of the Boating Party"; (3) View from window of Renoirs home of medieval Cagnes; (4) 100+ year old olive tree on Renoir's property in Cagnes-sur-Mer; (5) Renoirs studio nearly as he left it after his death on December 3, 1919; (6) A close up of another gnarly trunk of an old Renoir olive tree.
There's so much to say and write about this trip to France, I'm afraid I'm running and writing out of time. So if I seem to be rushing through the next several posts, please understand I'm trying to share with you the flavor of the trip. I'd be happy to pick up the conversation in comments or offline anytime.
The south of France differs from the 'northern territory' in a number of ways. Some might describe the people more friendly, while others will claim that the real France is the one that touches the Mediterranean where color, lifestyle and attitude are warmer and brighter. They'll say that's why Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Degas were so inspired by this country. Modern artists from Picasso, Miro, Chagall and more still found the country inspiring 50-100 years later.
For me travelling to any "other world" than where I live inspires. Perhaps it's not so much the place, but the act of traveling that inspires me and fills my soul with imagination and yearning -- yearning to learn, explore and feel. Many of these artists fled the social brouhaha of Paris and other European cities to travel where the pressure of 'performing' on time other than their own was lessened. Here the pressure was their own. But in the south of France it wasn't pressure, I believe. It was inspiration. Sure not all artists found inspiration in the South of France. Gauguin fled the country for Tahiti and only truly finding inspiration in the Marquesas. Great writers like
Melville and Robert Louis Stevenson also fled and traveled to Oceania for inspiration.
Wherever inspiration comes from for you, be sure to grab it, for me I find that travel ignites any embers that softly sleep until the right breeze ignites them again. And this is what ignites and flames my passion.
So Diana and her husband who run the internet Cafe in downtown St. Rafael were happy to let me plug in my Apple PowerBook into their switch. Finally, I could use a real keyboard -- real to me, that is. Good ole English QWERTY. Bryan and I spent an hour catching up on email, blogging and simply socializing with the few folks who dropped in for a daily dose of internet -- including Carl from Sweden who now lives in France. He likes Sweden for the advanced technology, but France for the food. No matter where Bryan and I told him we'd been or were from, Carl had been there. Not much Carl hadn't done, or told us he'd done.
Diana told us the other two internet cafés in town had closed down. She said they didn't know how to run their business. The other places were filled with noisy gamers and the crowds they drew. Business people stayed away from those places. Diana had their café for only a few months. Prime location in the building that sported the St. Rafael train station. She was slim, in her early 50's and wore silver rimmed glasses that slid down the bridge of her nose as she looked over the top at me. She was collating a community newsletter. Had to complete 5,000 copies by 8pm that evening. The entire time Bryan and I business ourselves on the internet while Carl from Sweden told us where he'd been, Diana and her husband collated the local newsletter.
"Why don't you let the printer do that," I asked.
"Too many blank pages or they'll put the inserts in upside down," she assured me confidently.
"Sounds like you need a new printer," I said.
Nope. There was no convincing her. She was happy in her collating tedium. I'm not sure her husband did.
We were ready to make our journey to Monaco and the grand casino of Monte Carlo. After a quick stop at a café in St. Rafael for lunch and glass of wine we were on the road. We got on the road later than originally planned, but Monaco was only a few hours away. OUr goal was to meet a former co-worker friend Bryan knew. He'd lived in Monaco for the last 20 years. Good to be local.
When we found parking, which was far easier than in Toulon a few days earlier, we gathered our belongings out of the back seat. When Bryan opened the trunk of the Peugeot at my request my heart sank. Deep.
[base "]Where's my backpack", I wheezed out feeling a bit humbled.
"I don't know."
"Shit. Fuck. Shit." Every bit of profanity left inside me eeked out.
"I think I left it at the cafe."
This was a disaster. I've been traveling with what people always insist is too big to travel with -- my 17" Apple PowerBook -- and despite every fearful traveler's warning when hearing of my European or Asian travels, I'd never dropped it, found it stolen or accidentally left it anywhere. It looks like my luck had run out.
I paced in the third underground level of the Monaco parking garage. The backpack was my Brenthaven computer backpack containing not only my PowerBook, but my iPod, extra batter, Sennheiser noise cancelling headphones, iSight Camera, spare battery and compact flash card for my Canon digital camera which thankfully sat comfortably in the pocket of my leather jacket. I was completely freaked out.
We've all heard stories, true or not, about travelers getting ripped off. The stories can fill you with fear, paranoia and anger that your feelings could interfere with enjoying travels that are supposed to inspire and ignite you. I never travel with this fear. But as I sat in a smoke and diesel tinged garage in Monaco with my laptop and all my goodies and toys gone. Not because someone ripped me off. But because of my own stupidity.
I had no idea what the café was called. My brain racked my memory banks. I remembered seeing the St. Rafael Office de Tourisme across from the cafe, and I thought about calling them. Reaching into my pocked I pulled out a wrinkled wad of paper. It was a flyer from the internet cafe. I pulled out my cool new Sony Ericsson P900 phone which I had outfitted with a SIM card from a French telecom carrier and called Diana at the internet cafe. She spoke just enough English to understand my predicament. I prefaced my conversation with what might be the most bizarre request she'd entertain in years, but I explained where the café was and that my backpack and I had separated there. This was several hours before. Diana was still collating. And I was worried.
She agreed to go to the café and told me to call 30 minutes later to find out what she learned. I needed a beer. Instead Bryan and I checked into our hotel and I ate two aspirin and took a nap.
When I called Diana nearly an hour later I was prepared for the worst.
"You can enjoy your evening and have fun, Allan. Your backpack is safe with us here."
My heart headed for the cosmos. I wanted to jump into my phone and grab here at the other end and hug and kiss her. A frigging' miracle.
You've got to understand that Bryan and I ate outside at this café and I left my backpack leaning against the table legs. Two hours later I learn its gone and I'm two hours away. This café is in the busiest square in St. Rafael. And I convince a sweet lady to take a chance for me. Only meeting me once.
A miracle? Maybe not. Luck? Maybe not. Chance. Well, we were in Monaco.
The next day I showed up at the café with a bottle of Laurent-Perrier champagne.
"I wish you'd leave your backpack here every day," Diana said as she eyed the label of the champagne.
Damn. Diana doesn't drink. But as her husband grasped the bottle with a grin that would make any clown jealous he said, "But I do!"
We spent another hour on the computers and her network connection. She refused to take our payment for the time. We hugged, kissed and departed.
I know I'll be back in France again. And I know I'll make a point to stop in a visit this amazing couple. Wow.
So this sixth grader brought a Sports Illustrator magazine to school. The annual 
The rain is pouring madly outside. The green umbrella wavers in the wind, it's rope flapping wildly. Terracotta stones seem slippery, dangerous. the wifi access is free. The ice tea refills: free. The window seat: free.
They are deep in discussion while eating a broken cookie on the table in front of them. Freshman philosophy class students from University of California Irvine, I'm guessing. Two twenty something smartly dressed career women sitting behind me rambling about the company log and gossiping about the girl in HR. I thought for a minute they said company blog. Wishful eavesdropping I guess. But that's not far off.
Next I sauntered into the lobby bar. It was a few minutes before six and several sessions were still in progress, yet all of the tables were occupied by small groups. There were several seats open at the bar. At the opposite end of the bar sat an attractive women in her late twenties. She was flanked by two gentlemen and in front of her open and glaring was her Titanium PowerBook. I spun in my stool and glanced over the room. I saw 
At dinner Liz shared with me an experience she had in an e-tech breakout BOF session. She walked into a room where a group of people were ideally sharing ideas, getting to know each other and engaging in discussions. Yet she walked into a room full of people with their heads buried into their laptops on IRC, email or IM. As Liz explained it to me, it struck her as odd. 
Today marked the first time I returned to my local Yoga joint to breathe, stretch, lengthen and twist my body every which way. I've been afraid to restart my yoga practice since I returned from Mexico in November after 
As I sat in Charles de Gaulle airport in France i thought about those travelers who were stuck here when flights to New York and Los Angeles were cancelled during the recent holiday season. Yet I was confident I'd make my flight to Atlanta and then onto Orange County. 
In 1903 Renoir moved to the south of France with the hopes of alleviating his rheumatoid arthritis. Sixteen years later he died. I carried a single bottle of wine to France. A 1997 Joseph Phelps Vineyards Insignia. This was symbolic for a number of reasons. Most importantly 
when Wirestone, the company I founded with Bryan my travel partner on this trip, completed its first round of venture financing we gave each of our vice presidents, investors and key clients a bottle of 1997 Phelps Insignia. Nearly 4 years later, Bryan and I cracked a bottle in Cagnes-sur-Mer on the grounds of one of the greatest French Impressionists, Pierre-Auguste Renoir.
final years, and his sculptures and those who came to learn and be inspired and even to inspire the master. I was amazed. Looking over his gardens at the Medieval village of Cagnes, down to the coast to Cannes. And I imagined how the beauty that Renoir captured and while not fair for me to say, but the development, the Auto Route and the nasty 60's-esque architecture that today litters the view that inspired Renoir and so many. But I brought myself back. Walking the grounds and thinking how small those olive trees were in his paintings. And how big and gnarly they were today. Nothing stays the same. But the more it changes...
