« Archives in November, 2009

Smackdown: The Blind Side vs. Precious

I saw a double feature over the weekend: _The Blind Side_ and _Precious_. Yes, it was a depressing double feature. Yes, I cried. Actually, I cried a lot more for _The Blind Side_; _Precious_ just left me exhausted. And, while the whole wanting-to-go-to-bed-at-3:30pm-on-a-Sunday thing was a bit of a downside for the whole plan, I would definitely recommend seeing the two in a row; they just have some kind of an affinity for each other.
Now, they couldn’t both be much more different, that’s also true. _The Blind Side_ is all in blues and greens; _Precious_ is pinks and yellows and reds and browns. _The Blind Side_ has carefully-lit scenes, mostly with wide shots; _Precious’s_ shots are mostly small and confining, tight on the actors and the action. All the good people in _The Blind Side_ are white and can change the world; while the good people in _Precious_ are multiethnic, they’re all powerless to effect any kind of real change.
That was the main thing about _The Blind Side_ for me: it was the “white man’s burden”:http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114928/ on a 30-foot screen. I might’ve been offended had it not been a true story, and, even being a true story, I might have found it too pablum-filled. But there was the thing: I didn’t. This movie was done with a much less heavy hand than I had ever hoped. The music was absent or quiet; the scenes of past horror only implied sad events, rather than showing them; almost nobody ever preached, and, when they did, it was awkwardly. Heck, Sandra Bullock didn’t overact. Heck, *Tim McGraw* didn’t overact. And somehow, it all came together perfectly so that I cried at all the right points, even though the music didn’t tell me to, the dramatic delivery didn’t tell me to, the pregnant pauses didn’t tell me to, and the close, shallow-depth-of-field, softened shots didn’t tell me to. It just worked.
If _The Blind Side_ was truly about “taking up the white man’s burden”:http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/kipling.html and how, in doing so, all of society could change and grow together, then _Precious_ said any such task was futile. Worth dedicating oneself to, certainly, but futile. Precious herself was betrayed by those she should’ve been closest to; how then would she trust Mariah Carey, in the role of the Jewish social worker, to step in and save her? _Precious_ was ultimately a story of self-reliance and empowerment — not that a good outcome would grow out of gaining the tools to manage one’s own life, but that the best possible outcome would spring therefrom. For someone like Precious, or her Downs syndrom daughter, l’il Mongol, that was not much of a good outcome at all.
Yet for the real person, Michael Oher, the true story was that selfless acts of generosity towards others could save the day. (I have never been so happy to hear that someone signed a $14mm rookie NFL contract as I was for Oher after seeing that movie!) Maybe that’s why _The Blind Side_ is a true story, and _Precious_ is a work of fiction: the few who are like Michael Oher stand out enough that you can make a movie about them, but the Preciouses of the world blend in, come from nothing and come to nothing, and so there’s no one real one to hold on to as the center of your movie.
In the end, _The Blind Side_ says: “do the only ‘Christian’:http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%206&version=KJV thing — help others, and you will succeed.” _Precious_ says “help others, and you will fail, but the trying itself is worth it.” In the end, both messages match reality, on the right sample size. And, in the end, both of these movies fresh in my mind, boy I could use a hug.















How to Get Your WiFi Network to Cover Your Whole House

I live in a “cool house”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/003702.html. It’s not large, except apparently by the standards of WiFi networking. For an urban elitist liberal like me, being separated from my Gmail or “Photobomb”:http://thisisphotobomb.com/[1] for as much as a few hours would be… disastrous. Plus, I work out of the garage, so I have to get e-mail[2] there. Thus, my quest: cover the property with WiFi.
There’s a little backstory here, too. My last place was a tiny little house, barely 400 square feet, but I set up WiFi as soon as I moved in back in 2003. And it was all great for about a year and a half, until my neighbors discovered that I had unsecured WiFi and all started using it. Then, everything was glacial. So I got a new router, one with actual password security on it, and locked everyone out. And then the Internet was all mine, and fast, again.
Which was great for about a week, which was how long it took 8 or 9 of my neighbors to set up their own WiFi networks. Now, I lived in one of those high-density urban neighborhoods, with about 170 people within a 100-foot radius of my house, so those 8 or 9 networks were all right on top of mine, and the interference from everyone’s WiFi routers slowed everything right down again. Kind of like when you hear your neighbor on the baby monitor, but, in this case, when your neighbor talks that kicks you off of “Autocomplete Me”:http://autocompleteme.com/.
So I did the only thing I could do: I decided to have the most powerful network in the ‘hood.[3] I bought a repeater and attached a separately-powered high-gain antenna and I just burned through all of my neighbors’ Gnutella downloads and “IM sessions”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/001475.html. I won’t lie, it made me feel a little big.
And then I moved here, which was great, because, what with all of the neighborhood being houses, there wasn’t much interference, and the repeater and high-gain antenna did just fine. Until they didn’t. Starting in about June, and starting at about 10am, reception just dropped off a cliff. I measured the speed a bunch of times and it was seriously about as fast as a “56k modem”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/56k_modem, if you remember back in 1997. Come 4 or 5 pm, bam, back it would get to normal broadband.
Now, there’s speed that’s too slow to watch “MMA Depot”:http://mmadepot.blogspot.com/, and there’s speed that’s too slow to check e-mail, and we were in that latter bucket. So I did the only thing I could think of: I boosted the power of the network.
That got throughput to peak at “ISDN”:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isdn speeds, if you remember back in 1999. So then I decided it was time to pretend I knew something about radio and make up a solution to the problem.
I was pretty sure that this was a problem with interference, not a problem with my cable Internet — when things were slow, I couldn’t even ping other computers in my house, much less reach the Internet; if it had been Time Warner’s fault, then I would’ve easily pinged other computers in my house. So, when you have interference, you switch frequencies, right?
So I switched from the older 802.11g WiFi protocol to the newer 802.11n protocol. What’s the difference? I don’t know, they seem to use the same frequency, but n is supposed to be faster so I assume they use that frequency differently. Still, no luck.
OK, so I switched my 802.11n frequency completely from the lower 2.4GHz of 802.11g and n to the 5GHz of 802.11n and a, since n (unlike g) allows that. Great, right? Things were _fast_. Except that higher frequencies penetrate physical objects much worse than do lower frequencies. And, even with a repeater, the WiFi signal barely made it to the living room, much less my garage.
Bereft of ideas, I prostrated myself upon the altar of Steve Jobs, who makes products that seem to Just Work, and went out and bought every single “Airport Express”:http://amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B0015YJOK2/ref=nosim/wadearmstrong-20 they had at the Fox Hills Mall Best Buy[4] and set them all up as repeaters of my 802.11n network at 2.4GHz and… it just worked.
On the one hand, I feel a little dirty, like a good geek would’ve rigged up a directional aerial out of tinfoil and paper towel rolls. On the other hand, it just works. I may not like how the man tucks his turtlenecks into his dad jeans, but that Steve Jobs makes surprisingly good products. And that means that I can read “Uni Watch”:http://www.uniwatchblog.com/ in the office and find out about amazing sites like “this one”:http://www.nasljerseys.com/Jerseys/Jerseys_NASL_Teamlist.htm. And that makes it all worth it.
fn1. Or “Awkward Family Photos”:http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/, or “Ugliest Tattoos”:http://ugliesttattoos.com/.
fn2. Or “Pandora.FM””:http://pandorafm.real-ity.com/login.php
fn3. This was, indeed, the “‘hood”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/003498.html
fn4. That is, two.















Beholden to The International Printing Conspiracy

I have this dream, a very, very hopeless dream. My dream is that someday I will be able to print greeting cards on my very own color printer, featuring the photos that I took my own self. OK, so I have small dreams. The point is, I’d pay to live this particular dream. And that worked for parasailing, so I don’t know why greeting cards would be more difficult.

One option is to just buy a bunch of nicely-printed cards. The photo host I use, “Smugmug,”:http://juniorbird.smugmug.com, offers some real nice ones, but I have to buy a bunch, and most of the time I just need one, for a birthday card or whatever, and then I want to try to pick just the perfect picture for that card. So I make my own. Now, I have Photoshop and Illustrator and InDesign and, worst of all, I actually know how to use all of them. I even have the occasional clever thought,[1] so I might could come up with a card design. But it takes much longer to put a nice card together than I would really like to spend on it, so I usually end up bored of the process and come up with something kind of half-assy.
What I’d really like is a simple program with a couple of dozen designs that I can just drop my photos into, then print something out on my color printer. Easy, right? Except I’ve tried a good half dozen greeting card-printing programs and have found the following problems to exist pretty much all at once in every single one:
* Doesn’t actually print anything but full-page
* Card designs worse than your average free MySpace page theme circa 2006
* Can’t rotate, crop, or otherwise fit your pictures
* Can’t add text
* Card designs only allow you to use one photo, or seven photos, or some fixed number, but there’s always only one fixed number in the whole program and you’re just stuck with it, pity if you didn’t want five photos on your card
* All help and manual text in “Engrish”:http://engrishfunny.com/
I can’t imagine this would be a difficult program to make, compared to some that are out there, and the upsell possibility of additional card designs is massive. Won’t somebody please take my money?
Until then, I’m stuck paying a vendor a chunk of money for a bunch of cards when I really only need one. There’s only one reason why this should be: somebody’s paying the indie developers off. Must be them all are getting a cut of the big online print-on-demand greeting card industry. They’re around every corner, those printers.
fn1. _Let’s not get overly optimistic here_ — Ed.















Government Web Sites Considered Dangerous

Like any good geek, I’d rather do things online then, you know, have to call or go to an office and interact with an actual human being. Thanks to Amazon Prime, I barely have to buy any technology or home products in a store anymore. In this household, we’ve tried to do some of our governmental-interaction things online as well. And it’s been a complete, unmitigated disaster. I can say with confidence that I will never, ever, do any government-related activity online again.
The first mishap involved an “online vehicle registration renewal”:http://dmv.ca.gov/online/vrir/vr_top2.htm. Having all of our ducks in a row, we paid the bill with a check online. Transaction confirmation in hand, we figured: done! Little did we know. Weeks later, well past the due date for renewal, came a letter from the state; the registration had expired. Extra fees, far in excess of the original renewal cost, were owed. A phone call — very long phone call, given that it was to the DMV — revealed that the check info we’d typed in was wrong and the transaction had failed, with no notice to us whatsoever. Expensive! And not their fault for not having told us that the earlier attempt to register had failed.
Then there was the honeymoon. We went online to “put our mail on hold”:https://holdmail.usps.com/duns/HoldMail.jsp while we were out of town for 23 days. One might think that using the hold mail link available on the front page of “usps.com”:http://www.usps.com/ would work, but, in fact, there is no functioning system behind that hold mail link! Our mail piled up the whole time, with our nice neighbor finally taking it upon herself to hold it all for us. If we lived in a neighborhood with more intrepid burglars, we would’ve had a big “steal all our stuff” sign outside our home. That hold link on the Web site? It might work, but it’s all chancy. (In fact, when asking the post office staff about this issue, one particularly ornery staffer roundly criticized us for using the online system at all.) And who’s responsible for the mail not being on hold? Not anyone at the USPS, that’s for sure.
So, that’s it for me. Next time, I’ll call a person or — gasp — go to an office, wait in line, and actually have something work. Pity I’d save money, tax-wise, if I used the online tools, but no amount of savings is worth things not working. Government web: suck it.















The Only Problem With Not Having a Land Line is Knowing What Number to Give at the Grocery

Now that I live in a blended household, I find myself using our phone number at checkout counters to save the few percent that some loyalty program gives. In the old days, this would’ve been an easy job: type our happy home’s phone number into that swipe-your-credit-card-and-sign pad and we’re done. But, like the modern kids we are, we’re cell phone-only and our happy is phone number-free.
I haven’t had a land line in six years, actually, and I’m not sure what I’d do with one now, even though I work from home. I’m not lonely enough[1] to take calls from telemarketers. I don’t worry about needing to call 911 and have my address come up.[2] Really, it only ever comes up in checkout lines. What’s the number associated with my CVS card? My Ralphs Club? I need to be saving money, you know, this is important stuff.
Sometimes it seems like we should have a single number to give out to everyone, at which they can contact either of us. Pity Google Voice only has 424 area code numbers numbers left, I don’t need to have a home phone in some wacky brand-new area code that everyone thinks is a telemarketer calling from far away. Because my best strategy for having someone talk to me on the phone isn’t being taken for a telemarketer.[3]
The upside of typing in Mrs. DJ L’il Bit’s number into all these swipe-your-credit-card-and-sign pads is that it’s the only time I ever type her number in anywhere. After all, who remembers phone numbers anymore? She’s programmed into my cell phone, like every other person I’ve met since 2000. It’s good to get the practice recalling her number, in case I ever need to call her from… jail or something, I guess.
That only leaves me to figure out how to remember what our Vons Club number is, so I can save a few bucks on jam and that awesome broccoli slaw. It ain’t lunch without broccoli slaw.
fn1. anymore
fn2. anymore
fn3. anymore















My Martini Glasses Are My Love

I may be predisposed to a bit of “hoarding”:http://www.aetv.com/hoarders/. Not that I collect empty yogurt containers or save used tissues; I just often find myself inclined to keep, you know, bowls that people gave me twelve years ago, or maybe I forget to throw away the stub of the movie ticket for “Exit Wounds”:http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0242445/.[1] One time, Mrs. DJ L’il Bit said this thing that helps me out, whenever I’m struggling to decide to throw something away or not: “that decorative peeler is not your mother’s love.”
It’s not that I’m hopeless when it comes to keeping the place nice; I know how annoying it can be to have a house full of clutter, I “lived next to one for years”:http://juniorbird.com/archive/003498.html. And I like to color-code everything. And I always put everything back in the place I found it. Exactly in the same place. Every time. So, you know, it’s pretty orderly around here. But that saying of Mrs. DJ L’il Bit still comes in handy — it’s easy, simple, and oh so correct. “That shot glass is not your memories of your trip to Southeast Asia.” “That t-shirt is not your college experience.” Etcetera.
But then there are the martini glasses. From Ikea. They _are_ my love. Literally. And I’m about to sell them in a garage sale. They’ve been replaced.
Mrs. DJ. L’il Bit and I had been dating for just about two and a half months when we both needed to run to Ikea. There’s nothing like browsing through Ikea, asking yourself if you need a round cutting board, or a corkboard made for kids, or another duvet cover, or a frosted plastic lamp in this year’s shape, or a fern. (Since I like to keep stuff, the answer is: no, I don’t need it.)
Anyway, one thing about Mrs. DJ L’il Bit: she likes her hard liquor. Not that I can complain, since I’ve been known to enjoy a scotch,[2] and I’m very picky about my gin. Put the two of us together, and we drink a lot of martinis. Starting from our very first dates, we’d really have a couple each every evening we hung out together, at least at her place; at mine, well, see, I didn’t have martini glasses.
So there I was, at Ikea, standing in front of a big display of martini glasses, trying to decide if I needed to buy them. It wasn’t the expense so much; it was that I have plenty of stuff, and if the martini glasses were going to come into the house, well, then something might have to leave. Thus I’d better really want those martini glasses. Would I keep the current girlfriend, DJ L’il Bit, for long enough to justify getting the new glasses? Or would we move on, and I find myself drinking more wine, or even soda, with the next girl?
That’s when the future Mrs. DJ L’il Bit appeared by my side, having finished looking at the kitchen goodies that she needed — probably silicone spatulas and plates with elephants on them. The future Mrs. DJ L’il Bit, she said to me: “so, deciding if you’ll keep me long enough to buy those glasses?”
She always did get right to the point.
And I did buy the martini glasses. Not because she called me on it; because I’d already decided that, yes, I would probably keep her long enough to justify having them in my home. Because, you know, I was completely falling for her.
You see, then, that the martini glasses — they *were* my love. I bought them because I was ready to make a bet on us. So it’s funny that, since I bet right, now they’re headed for the garage sale, replaced by fancy new martini glasses off of our registry. Which I rather suppose are our love too.
fn1. Which I really did see in the theaters.
fn2. One ice cube, please.















How to Assign a Drive Letter to an Airport Disk on Windows XP

I’ve been using a Time Capsule to back up my Mac for some time now, and have been very satisfied. I was wishing that I could run some kind of over-the-air backup for my wife’s laptop, which runs Windows XP, too. So I attached a USB hard drive to the Time Capsule, and tried to mount that on the Windows XP laptop. First I did it the wrong way, and there was much sadness. Then I did it the right way, and life was easy. I couldn’t find a description of how to do it right in a quick Google search, so here’s my story. It’s probably true for an Airport Extreme Base Station too, since that and the Time Capsule are similar.
h3. The Wrong Way
Apple advertises that you can “share disks attached to its wireless routers using the AirPort Disk Utility”:http://www.apple.com/airportextreme/features/harddrivesharing.html, if the clients are either Windows machines or older Macs. So I downloaded the AirPort Disk Utility, ran it, and easily mounted the disks.
Then I restarted, and the drive letters assigned to the disks changed. Obviously, that would be a problem if I tried to run backup software, which would try to copy files to a given drive that might or might not be there.
h3. The Right Way
So away went the AirPort Disk Utility, and instead I:
# Went to the *Start Menu*, and opened *My Computer*
# From the *Tools* menu, selected *Map Network Drive*
# Picked the *Drive Letter* I wanted
# For the *Folder*, typed in *[IP Address of Time Capsule][Drivename]* — so, if your Time Capsule was at 192.168.1.1, and your backup drive was named George, you’d type 192.168.1.1George
# Hit *Finish*. And there was the drive!
So, if you want to consistently connect your computer running Windows XP to a USB drive attached to a Time Capsule (and probably and Airport Extreme Base Station), you need to do it through Windows XP, and not through the AirPort Disk Utility. Simple!















Pavlov’s Resort

The hardest part of coming home isn’t the end of the adventure, or the not being alone together, or driving on the right side of the road; it’s the lack of drums. At “Lalati”:http://lalati-fiji.com, drums tell you about everything. Happy hour? The drums will call you. Dinner? Drums! Time to go on the group snorkeling trip? You guessed it, drums. I keep on forgetting to have lunch because there’s no drums to tell me it’s lunch time, and I spend all afternoon looking forward to the 5pm happy hour drums, yet they don’t come.

In the abstract, the whole being-called-by-a-drum thing sounds a little… controlled. Who wants to be dictated to on their vacation? But, trust me, nothing says vacation to the modern executive/freelancer-type more than the concept that you don’t have to be responsible for anything. That’s what the drums are about: you’re on an island with tons of people who have no job other than to take good care of you.
Especially after a long vacation, with tons of “drive there” and “show up here on time to start that activity” and “pick what’s for dinner” and “how much money do you want to change,” giving up a little responsibility is a good thing. Heck, I’m a gourmet cook and some days I just can’t handle the responsibility of fixing any kind of dinner at all — and not because I don’t have time. And I miss the good care that Dick would take of me!

Overall, it’s a little embarrassing to admit this. Usually I’m the guy who goes to all of the authentic restaurants and stays outside of the big tourist areas and tries to learn a little bit of the local language. Not with Fiji. With Fiji I wanted to be pampered, and so they drummed me what to do at what time of the day.
So this morning I woke up and sat on the couch in my robe for quite a while, because there was no drum to remind me that I should do something. Lunch has come late every day since we got back to the States because there’s been no drum to remind me it’s time to eat. I’m a well-trained pup.