Wouldn't you know it -- the minute I start pining for 2.0 technology there is a failure.

After taking the little bugger out to do his business I put him up on my lap. He visited for a minute and he jumped down. A quick inspection of my recently vacated lap revealed this. I have a quick etiquette question: isn’t it customary to keep one’s skidmarks to themselves?

When one lives in a non-contested state it’s a little hard to get all that excited about politics. After all -- if you are for the state’s winner, your guy is going to win without your proselytizing. And if you are against the state’s winner, your guy is going to lose even with your vote

As such I was tempted not to vote this year. However, that was before my big revelation. My newest plan is to “think globally and act locally.” I mean really really really locally. This year I will be voting with the sole purpose of making someone else’s vote useless. Who is the lucky winner? Her name is Kara. I won’t go into it further. I will just say that her vote is now 100% useless. For all intents and purposes her vote doesn’t count for squadoosh!

I suggest that everyone find their political counterpart on the other side of the belief system and do the same. Print up stickers. Wear them to work. “[insert name here]’s vote is useless. I’m canceling you out.”

What’s worse is that that person still has to go vote because if s/he doesn’t, it’s really like they’ve voted for the opposition.

So congrats Kara; your vote is now useless!

I think that I’ve decided that God messed up when he designed the human ass. No, I’m not talking about Michael Moore; God is well aware of his screw-up there. I’m talking about the human rectum.

Every morning I take my little pup out to do his “business.” When he’s done, he’s done. With very very few exceptions he gets a clean cut every time. There’s no wiping involved. There’s no cleanup. I, on the other hand, am burdened with toilet paper. I feel like I’m using 1.0 rectum technology and the DOG got the updated 2.0 stuff. It’s just not fair.

On the other hand, I have never had to drag my ass on the grass to get a hanger. Ok – once, but I was really drunk. Heck, I might even consider a semi-annual ass drag to get the 2.0 technology.

So I’ve been trying to get my head around the iPod Photo. Here’s what I’ve come to believe: this is a device for the self-centered. The logic is plain and simple.

There are two main purposes for this device:

1) For you to view your own photos
2) For you to show others your photos

Let’s face facts here; either of these is usually a pretty selfish act. Either you are admiring your own work or you are forcing others to view pictures. That’s right – I said forcing. If you really just wanted to share, there are tons of options. With the Photo iPod you are saying, “I want to watch you look at the pictures. I want to make sure that you see them! Look at my kid DAMMIT!”

This brings me to the biggest myth out there: people like looking at personal pictures. It’s a lie and I refuse to spread the myth anymore. Everyone does the same thing. They politely browse through the stacks of pictures stopping only on pictures of themselves, their spouse, or their kids.

So what you’ve got in the iPod Photo is a device to monitor how others actually view your pictures. I just don’t get it.

“I’ve been Scobleized.”

“Yeah… It’s like being Slashdotted but without any of the nasty Linux aftertaste.”

I’ve been told to return to humor because, as one astute reader put it, “Your non-humor isn’t funny.”

After five years in development, Inc Factory’s flagship product, PixelTHERE, is nearing its release and I couldn’t be more excited. Even more exciting is that I’ve received the go-ahead to mention it here. This was no small feat as it involved government clearing and a stack of legal big enough to choke a horse.

Due to restrictions, I’ve not mentioned this product to anyone (friends and family included). While courting both federal and state law enforcement agencies, it was imperative to keep the technology under wraps. While I’m not a huge fan of secrecy, the CIA and the FBI are. Sorry to those who are feeling a bit betrayed by my previous silence.

FAQ:

Q) What is PixelTHERE?
A) PixelTHERE is state-of-the-art video interpolation software. Its purpose is to convert the low-grade video found in surveillance cameras (banks, gas stations, ATMs, etc.) to a state where facial recognition software can accurately identify both people and objects.

Q) Is PixelTHERE accurate?
A) Yes, it’s incredibly accurate. In real-world situations PixelTHERE’s preprocessing has lead to a 99% positive identification rate. More importantly, PT’s false positive rate is .001%. This outdoes industry standards by nearly 17% on the PI rate and 6% on the FI rate.

Q) Have I seen your product before?
A) Yes, we’ve been working with Hollywood writers on product placement for a couple of years now. Most notably, the hit series ‘CSI’ and ‘CSI: Miami’ have incorporated our technology previews into a number of episodes. The feature that is most often shown is OnePixelTHERE.

Q) How does PixelTHERE differ from its competition?
A) As seen on CSI. PixelTHERE utilizes OnePixelTHERE technology. Unlike the competition PixelTHERE requires only one pixel to interpolate any object. For instance, by processing the following image with PT

you get:

Q) What is the future for PT?
A) Our developers are hard at work on ZeroPixelTHERE technology. With ZPT, images of the back of someone’s head will result in a shot of their face. This is often accomplished by processing a reflection from someone’s eyes/jewelry/etc.

Q) What has been the biggest surprise that’s come from PixelTHERE?
A) First, Elvis *is* still alive and has been spotted 47 times in the last 6 months. Second, the Loch Ness monster is actually Triumph: The Insult Comic.

OK – I swear that I’ll return to non-cell-phone-related posts soon. However, in the meantime I had to post this warning to all potential male SMT owners.

This phone could turn you into a woman.

Oh sure – all the features are quite male. It’s got the Bluetooth. It’s got the GPRS. It lets you sync your mail. It’s a powerful little beast. The problem is that it’s just so darn pretty that I didn’t want to take the plastic protector off of the screen.

For two and a half days I lived as a woman. I walked around with a ratty piece of plastic covering my phone. What’s worse is that I knew that I was doing it. I knew that the plastic was starting to look a little tattered. I knew that only women did this, but I didn’t care. The phone was so filled with testosterone that it forced me to find the estrogen inside of me.

Fear not; it’s off, and I’m making a full recovery. It was close though. I think that I’ll go spit now.

Oh the joys of legacy restrictions – I forgot to mention in yesterday’s post (re: the SMT) one of the little nuggets of frustration that I encountered with my SMT. Apparently, there is no room for convergence in the world of the FAA. To them a cell phone is a cell phone is a cell phone. It doesn’t matter that the cell phone has the ability to shut off all radio access. It doesn’t matter that the cell phone is a PDA in that mode. What matters is that it’s, well, a cell phone.

Such started the mini-battle on the plane. Calm at first, I explained to the woman that I was in “flight-mode.” “You see,” I explained, “when it’s in this mode, the radios are disabled.”

“I’m sorry no cell phones are allowed to be turned on during flight.”

“In this mode it’s not a cell phone; it’s a PDA.”

“I wish that you smart guys would explain it to people higher than me. I’ve been told that it doesn’t matter and that until the rule is changed I should instruct all passengers to turn off their phones.”

“But it’s not a phone in this mode. Besides … there isn’t actually any data that shows that any of this matters a whit.”

At this point Steve, from across the aisle, semi-chimes in, “Some flights are even allowing Wi-Fi access.”

“That’s different,” I explained to him, “Apparently if you line the plane with revenue derived from the Wi-Fi, the plane is completely protected. It’s basic physics.”

The flight attendant then left, but 25 seconds later there was an announcement.

“Ladies and gentleman this is a reminder that all devices that are at one point or another capable of sending or receiving a signal must be turned off.”

I contemplated pushing the issue further. I resisted the urge to explain to her that she just told all people whose laptops have wireless cards, Bluetooth, etc. in them to turn their computers off. I resisted the urge to walk up and down the aisles with a Wi-Fi detector. Instead I found my Zen place. It’s a good thing too. I had a fun conversation on that flight.

I couldn’t help but thinking: “It’s no surprise that the government can’t determine when a human life begins; they can’t even figure out when a cell phone becomes a PDA.”

OK – So it’s been about a week since I switched over from my MPx220 to my Audiovox SMT5600, and I love it. Oh sure, the phone has some quirks, but overall it’s a nice little piece of hardware.

This won’t be a review. Why? Because I don’t like to write reviews. Instead I’ll just list a couple of the pros, a couple of the cons, a couple of the things that I like, and a couple of the things that could take you a little bit to find. Basically I’m just going to ramble a bit.

Pros:

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I have a tendency to talk to strangers. Oh sure -- it’s a little paradoxical seeing that I really don’t like people (a fact that often surprises people). That oddity aside, I did it again. Over the weekend I flew to the Bay Area to attend a charity event*. You know what that means – some lucky person gets a conversation with me.

The best thing that you can hope for (if you’re looking to avoid a conversation with me) is that you’re an idiot. Sadly for Steve, the gentleman sitting across the aisle from me, he was a bright guy. Really he was doomed from the get-go. He was sporting a TabletPC and he was using it like a pro. I was testing out my new SMT5600. Like two geek-ships passing in the night we eyed the other’s gadget (he was one of the unlucky people who bit on the i600). In any case, I digress.

Steve was a really nice guy and our conversation was wide ranging. However, one thing that piqued my interest was his attitude towards Plaxo, a contact sharing service. He refuses to partake in it. He read the privacy policy and paraphrased it as such “We’ll protect your privacy unless we’re sold and then all bets are off.” That’s fair enough and I would certainly take that as fair reason to avoid many services. However, to me, Plaxo is a bit different. You see the same people who refuse to enter data into the Plaxo service will 99% of the time happily forward me their vCard. They know that I’m a Plaxo user. They know that my contact book syncs with Plaxo’s servers. They know that that data will find its way into the exact same place. They’re smart people. They also know that if two or three people have the same info, their info will be considered valid. So why do they protest?

I asked Steve this. His response was much like today’s voter (his analogy). He knows that it’s more or less a fruitless effort to resist. He knows that his data will be there. Yet he doesn’t want to endorse it. He did have other valid reasons (including the worth of an active user vs. passive data), but later in the conversation he also admitted that those arguments weren’t as powerful as with other direct marketing examples.

Privacy is an interesting thing when it comes to “personal” information. People will fight tooth and nail to protect the information that “they” enter into the systems, but is this information really theirs? Is your address yours? You own the house, but do you own your address? Even I, the parroter of Scott McNealy’s “you have no privacy; get over it,” cling to an odd sense of privacy. Here in Washington the prices of homes are public record, but I wouldn’t disclose what I paid for mine.

I’m curious what others think. Do you boycott Plaxo? Do you pretend that that fancy cell phone of yours doesn’t leave a nice trace of your day? Do you pay by cash only? Do you avoid club cards at the grocery stores? What are your thoughts?

Edit: fixed stupid typo

Everyone has been tempted. Perhaps some have even given in to the dark side. Oh, your intentions might have been pure when the process began. However, somewhere in those eight short steps between the cash register and the soda fountain you lost your mind. “I thought that I wanted water, but now Sprite sounds oddly refreshing... It would be such a bother to go back and pay. Oh well… They’ll never know.” And thus a criminal is born.

OK -- I admit it: I’ve done it too. I’ve arrived at the fountain only to realize that the water flowed from the same source as did the Raspberry Iced Tea (I’m allergic to raspberries). Oh sure, I could have returned to the register and bought a soda, but ‘it’s their fault’ I shouldn’t be forced to do that.

As such, I’m willing to overlook a slight gaff here and there. We’re all human. With that said, I watch a woman blatantly flaunt the good will of the world. She went too far.

There are rules dammit! Obviously the first is DON’T STEAL. However, it’s clear that she was willing to break that one. As such, we need to move to the subset of rules located in “Chapter 3. If you must steal…”

OK – so you’ve decided to take a dive into the wonderful world of crime. That’s great, but let’s not forget that even criminals follow a code. Below are the four basic rules for stealing soda with the “water” cup:

- No one between the ages of 40 and 65 should be stealing. You’re old enough to know better and young enough to not be living on SSI.

As I sat there I was amazed to see this middle-aged woman clad in her cheap Costco tennis bracelet and oversized sunglasses breaking each and every one of the rules. “Do you need anything else while I’m up?” She asked her husband before she strolled over to the fountain machine and refilled her Diet Coke. Oh the nerve…..

I’m willing to give my digital life to Microsoft. The problem is that they won’t take it. What’s the problem? Three letters – MSN.

Did MSN not get the memo? Did they not hear that things were supposed to be “better together?” Oh sure, some might argue that “better together” is just a happy face on the word Monopoly. I, on the other hand, prefer to think that there was a call to arms. I like to think that Microsoft said, “Hey – let’s make the lives of our customers run as smoothly as possibly.” I like to think that someone at Microsoft realized that, in the technology world, glue is probably the most important code.

It’s where Program Managers and Vice Presidents alike earn their money. I can say this: someone at MSN isn’t earning his/her money. At MSN they’ve replaced glue with kindergarten paste.

I’ll give you an example:

Let’s say that I want to get directions to my local Supercuts. This should be as easy as:

1) Go to http://yp.msn.com
2) Type “Supercuts,” select the Location Profile “Home” and press return.

This would bring up the results of the Supercuts closest to my home. At which point I could do I variety of things such as: download a vcard into outlook, send the GPS location to my Smartphone, send directions to my Smartphone, or, of course, get directions.

3) Press the “Get Directions” button.

I can hear the obvious question being asked – what “Location Profile.” Well… there’s part of the problem. MSN/Passport.net needs to embrace locations. Why can’t I create 3 different locations: Home, Work, and Gym? From then on, whenever I’m logged into MSN, I can either a) enter an address or b) select a profile.

The lack of any sense of location is the number one reason that I haven’t switched from Yahoo to MSN.

Try the experiment at home. Get directions to your closest Supercuts and import that information into your PIM. Try getting the directions into your PDA or Smartphone. It’s a mess.

Am I alone? How do other people get driving directions these days? Is it odd that my life centers around three or four key places?

It doesn’t need to be this hard.

It didn’t take long for Adam and me to realize the error of our ways. It took even less time for us to make the phone call.

“Yes – I’d like to cancel my reservation.” I politely explained to the gentleman on the other end of the line. “Thank you.” I then pressed the ‘end’ button on the car phone and quickly pulled the car, which was still running, out of the parking lot.

Perhaps, I should back up a bit.

The summer after my senior year of high school, my friend Adam, and I thought that we’d take a trip to Reno. We, being young and foolish, were laboring under quite a few misconceptions. First and foremost was the misconception that ‘Las Vegas and Reno were, in fact, pretty much the same thing.’

“Oh sure – Vegas is bigger,” I thought, “… but Reno will do.” Wow – was I wrong. For those who’ve not experienced Reno, Reno is where people who can’t afford the hefty $19.95 price of Vegas’s Circus-Circus go to rot away into red vinyl seats. Old ladies wear gloves that could have been, at one point, white but are now a dull gray, and the cocktail waitresses look as though they’re one bad day away from ending it all. It’s a depressing place without the energy of Vegas. While “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” I’m pretty sure that “What goes to Reno stays in Reno.” It’s the last stop on the ‘depressing life’ train.

But again I digress….

We had booked our accommodations. This was, gasp, before the Internet and resources were limited so we turned to the ‘Travel’ section of the San Francisco Chronicle. I had remembered seeing plenty of ads for Reno getaways and I wasn’t disappointed. The page was filled with deals. There was, of course, Caesar’s Palace, but it was relatively expensive. Besides, we didn’t want to pay for the name. Furthermore, having just seen “Honeymoon in Vegas” we were in no mood for just a plain room. We wanted something themed. After all, that’s what Reno and Vegas are, right? It’s a whole city filled with over-the-top. In the column next to the Caesar’s ad was the jackpot, a themed-suite hotel. It was a little more than your average place, but we decided to get the royal treatment. “You only live once,” I remembered thinking.

The drive there was rather uneventful. We made good time. It was summer and Reno isn’t all that far from the Bay Area when the passes aren’t covered in snow. As we pulled into town I was giddy. I couldn’t wait to check into the hotel and discover the inner Pharaoh inside of me (the suite was Egyptian). We eyed the big hotels and wondered which was ours. It took a few trips around the block before we lowered our eyes down from the massive hotels unto the sprawl that surrounded them. It took one more trip to spot the large, red neon sign that proudly exclaimed “MOTEL FOR LOVERS.”

It was a little like that scene in the movies where the protagonist realizes that he should have seen the clues. FLASH – San Francisco – FLASH prominent mention of large hot tub FLASH.

I looked at Adam. Adam looked at me. We both looked at the phone, and the call was made. It’s not that there is anything wrong with it, but as 18 year-old guys we were unwilling to take the chance that someone might not understand the mix-up.

We ended up staying at the Embassy Suites down the street. It wasn’t themed but at that point we were quite happy about that. We enjoyed the complimentary happy hour and wandered around Reno for the night. The next morning we packed up and left. It was 10 years before I returned to Reno on a road trip and it’s still a depressing, miserable place.

I swear I had a point when I started this. Oh well.

Clearly upset by my re-devotion to the web site, Malachi revolted. Two vomits, two trips to the doctor’s office, two x-rays, and too much money later we now sit here waiting for test results. In the meantime, the doctor has turned my beautiful pup into the hunchback of Redmond. In an effort to re-hydrate the little guy, they gave him a pocket of fluid subcutaneously.

We’re now praying our little dude doesn’t have Parvo.

I’ve been told that I probably shouldn’t write about my neighbors. I was, of course, told this by… well… my neighbors. They’re nice people who were, in fact, trying to protect me from myself (something that my wife has tried to do without luck for many years). I believe that the comment he made after reading my site was something to the tune of “Wow -- You really turn into the crash.” She, on the other hand, is herself a blogger. As such, she understands the siren-like calling that comes when your life throws oddity your way.

Anyhoo, I’ve also been told that I shouldn’t swim right after eating but that has never stopped me.

In any case, since the following isn’t “technically” about the neighbors and I really needed to share, I thought I’d pass it along.

Living in Redmond, you get used to odd interactions with people. Let’s face it – just because people can program doesn’t mean that they have a whit of social skill. So common is the odd human interaction that you start to think it normal

With that said, I had a doozie the other day.

Being the friendly neighbors that my wife and I are, we ventured over to greet the newest addition to our little neighborhood. Freshly-baked cookies in hand we moseyed up to an open garage filled with boxes and a sole man. It being Sunday evening and there being no sign of a moving truck; we came to the conclusion that we were now in the presence of the newest homeowner.

“Welcome,” I said as I handed him the M&M cookies.

He somewhat reluctantly took the cookies and looked at me. In the verbal game of tag, he was now “it.” Perhaps he didn’t understand the rules. I talk. You talk. I talk. You talk. He instead went with the less popular choice of silence and a stare.

“Well.... We’re the neighbors in this house (pointing to our house), and we just wanted to welcome you.”

He was starting to pick up on the game. This time he spoke.

“OK.”

I have to admit that, at this point, I was a little flustered. I wasn’t expecting my turn to come so fast and to be accompanied by so little material with which to work. I once again said “Well. Welcome.”

At this point he explained that he was just a friend and that the owners were inside. For a brief second I was encouraged by the progress, but then he stared again. No offer to relay our well wished came. No offer to retrieve the homeowners came. All that came was silence.

It was time to retreat. I politely said something like “Well… you’ll make sure that they get those?”

He nodded and we walked home in silence.

I know that you never give gifts for the thank-you. However, I can’t tell you how odd it is to hand someone homemade cookies and instead of the customary “Thank you” you receive a silent stare.

ODD!

Ever since I can remember I have been fascinated with “Love My Carpet.” That wonder powder of the seventies and eighties has always had a special place in my heart

Perhaps it was the persistent peddling of this vacuuming wonder-product by Bob Barker and his game show brethren. Really, how could you expect to make it to the “Showcase Showdown” if you didn’t know the price of LMC? Perhaps it was my obsessive compulsive nature that made this product such a winner in my book. Whatever the root cause was, it led to me being the only 7-year old who sneaked LMC into the shopping cart.

There was something so satisfying about the process. I fully admit that this could be a “guy thing,” but, for me, LMC was a way to convert the normally unfulfilling chore of vacuuming into a big progress bar. Oh sure – over the years I managed to refine my vacuuming palette; I have learned to take pleasure in the vacuum lines themselves. But LMC was like vacuum lines on crack. It was so clear. I knew exactly what had been done. The difference was like day and night and I never walked away thinking, “Why did I vacuum? I can barely tell the difference.”

And don’t even get me started on the fact that it was somehow “magic” powder with the ability to draw out dirt that a vacuum somehow wouldn’t get.

That’s why it was so sad that in my quest to find a LMC picture I found little to no evidence that LMC ever existed. Like that black sheep uncle that no one talks about, nearly all references have been purged-- vacuumed away into the great Hoover in the sky.

Farewell Love My Carpet. We will miss you.

I suppose that it's been long enough. I'm back. I'm going to try to ease back into this. I suppose that it doesn't really matter as at this point I'm probably talking to a microphone that has long ago been turned off.

This will be a short entry. Mostly just a link to my reason (excuse?) for the vacation.

Here's my pup (flash required)

In any case, stay tuned. Come back. Tell friends. Have a beer. Say a cheer. Let the insanity re-start. :)