My wife pinged me with an instant message: "A bomb was set off at the Boston Marathon finish line!" What?
The Boston Marathon is held on the Massachusetts holiday of Patriots' Day, kicking off a state-wide school vacation week. For that fateful Monday, the Red Sox were at Fenway for an early game, and the Boston Bruins were scheduled to play in the evening. For Lexington and Concord, battle re-enactments are staged. The federal tax deadline is pushed back one day. All of Massachusetts takes a bit of a break.
A bomb exploding at the Boston Marathon finish was hardly believable.
When I finally got home to see TV footage, it was stunning. I spent a few years living in the Back Bay, and whenever I took the T home, I would get out at the stop near the marathon finish (Bolyston Street, Copley Square). It's a gorgeous block: the Boston Public Library on one side, the magnificent Trinity Church on the other, with the Hancock Tower in the immediate background. Walking home with a roommate from Copley, he remarked in admiration: "Can you believe we live here?"
Now that famous street was shut down, a crime scene to be examined.
Since the events of 9/11, all of America has become familiar with terror. For Boston, however, like most of the country, terrorism was confined to the newspapers and the all-news television stations. It was at a remove. The Marathon Bombing was not distant: it took place in our back yard. All of Boston fretted.
When one of the victims was revealed to be a local woman who lived in Arlington, and grew up in Medford, I felt an immediate sadness. I live in Arlington, and I've certainly been through Medford. In our small town (40,000), the loss felt personal. The president visited Boston, and offered this comfort: "Every one of us stands with you." And as I responded to various texts, Tweets, and e-mails from far-flung friends, I felt that.
By late Thursday, however, I had a thought that the suspects would be long gone. They were shown on television, and I was prepared for a nationwide manhunt to start. But around 4AM, my wife woke me up, saying that she had heard distant explosions. The suspects apparently were in a firefight with authorities, throwing pipe bombs from their car. Suspect #1 was killed, and Suspect #2 raced by foot into a Watertown neighborhood.
As night turned to day, the governor locked down Watertown and its surrounding cities. He called it "shelter in place." He stopped all mass transit, and told businesses to take a day off. I live just outside the "stay inside" map, but I was distracted at work. The state highway that I commute on was as clear as a weekend morning.
Relief came Friday evening, with Suspect #2's capture. There is a certain humor in the fact that he hid in a parked boat in Watertown, but the prevailing feeling was relief and joy. And pride. Boston cooperated with a shut down, flooded Watertown with enforcement, and after careful work, captured their man. We stood up to terror, the Boston Strong way.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Sunday, March 31, 2013
The Daily Dream
Every morning, when I first log into the computer, I take a moment to write down what I remember from last night's dream. Some days, I can only write down the vaguest sentence about my dream. Other days I can write whole paragraphs of what happened, so vivid were the details. And still some days (most days), I report that I cannot remember a thing.
I can pinpoint when I began this habit: April 2011, with a Kickstarter ad for "Oneironautics: A Field Guide to Lucid Dreaming". This book attempts to teach you how to "wake up" inside your dream. One of the techniques for such "lucid dreaming" is to write down your dreams, building up a diary of your subconscious mind that you can study when you're awake.
I remember feeling this same excitement after watching the Richard Linklater movie "Waking Life", although at the time (early 2000s) I didn't realize there was a vocabulary for this idea. Of course, the recent movie "Inception" continued to stoke my interest.
As I reread a few of my own dream entries, I see the usual psychological debris of my past (college, high school) mixed with the racy and the rowdy. I sometimes think these dreams would make great movies, if only some screenwriter would make them half-way coherent. Until then, my dreams will just have to serve as my morning writing prompt.
For more on lucid dreaming, check out Dream Labs.
I can pinpoint when I began this habit: April 2011, with a Kickstarter ad for "Oneironautics: A Field Guide to Lucid Dreaming". This book attempts to teach you how to "wake up" inside your dream. One of the techniques for such "lucid dreaming" is to write down your dreams, building up a diary of your subconscious mind that you can study when you're awake.
I remember feeling this same excitement after watching the Richard Linklater movie "Waking Life", although at the time (early 2000s) I didn't realize there was a vocabulary for this idea. Of course, the recent movie "Inception" continued to stoke my interest.
As I reread a few of my own dream entries, I see the usual psychological debris of my past (college, high school) mixed with the racy and the rowdy. I sometimes think these dreams would make great movies, if only some screenwriter would make them half-way coherent. Until then, my dreams will just have to serve as my morning writing prompt.
For more on lucid dreaming, check out Dream Labs.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
My Favorite Oscar Winners
The Oscars are tonight. My only stake in the proceedings is whether or not Argo wins Best Picture, as it is the only nominee that I have watched (though I have read "Life of Pi").
Everyone no doubt has a personal list of favorite movies, but chances are that list would look different if you restricted it to just the Oscar winners for Best Picture. Below are my top favorite Oscar Best Pictures, and needless to say, these are "must watch" movies.
The French Connection (1971) - When you listen to the director's commentary track for this movie, you'll hear William Friedkin say he'd never shoot a car chase like this again. This harrowing chase scene, in which Gene Hackman's character chases an elevated NYC train, is the very definition of intense. But so is the rest of the movie! The "good guy" (Hackman's Popeye Doyle) is angry, dark, and profoundly imperfect, and that adds immeasurably to this thrilling movie.
Chariots of Fire (1981) - A friend of mine urged me to check this movie out back in the 1980s, and I was glad that he did. Chariots is a great movie. The movie has grown up with me too: when I watched it as a pre-high-schooler, I marveled at the athletic sequences, but as an adult, I am now caught up in the drama between the two Olympic runners, and their quest for faith, integrity and victory.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991) - Silence is a psychological procedural, an examination of process, as practiced by the young Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster). Foster's acting is strong and vivid. The moment when she stares into the camera, pondering "first principles" is wondrous. Anthony Hopkins' exquisite Hannibal Lecter is one cinema's premiere bad guys.
Titanic (1997) - Someone derided me once when I announced that this was one of my favorites, and my argument that it is one of the most successful movies of all time fell on deaf ears. It's too bad, because that person is missing out on the best romantic adventure movie of all time. Everything in the movie builds up to the spectacle and emotion of that final scene, and when you hear Rose blowing that whistle in the dark, I dare you not to be moved.
No Country for Old Men (2007) - It's a measure of supreme talent that the people who made "No Country", the famed Coen brothers, also made "The Big Lebowski" (another must watch). "No Country" is a meditation on greed, mortality and evil like no other. Tommy Lee Jones' character is bone weary, in stark contrast to the cold ruthlessness of the bounty hunter played by Javier Bardem.
Everyone no doubt has a personal list of favorite movies, but chances are that list would look different if you restricted it to just the Oscar winners for Best Picture. Below are my top favorite Oscar Best Pictures, and needless to say, these are "must watch" movies.
The French Connection (1971) - When you listen to the director's commentary track for this movie, you'll hear William Friedkin say he'd never shoot a car chase like this again. This harrowing chase scene, in which Gene Hackman's character chases an elevated NYC train, is the very definition of intense. But so is the rest of the movie! The "good guy" (Hackman's Popeye Doyle) is angry, dark, and profoundly imperfect, and that adds immeasurably to this thrilling movie.
Chariots of Fire (1981) - A friend of mine urged me to check this movie out back in the 1980s, and I was glad that he did. Chariots is a great movie. The movie has grown up with me too: when I watched it as a pre-high-schooler, I marveled at the athletic sequences, but as an adult, I am now caught up in the drama between the two Olympic runners, and their quest for faith, integrity and victory.
The Silence of the Lambs (1991) - Silence is a psychological procedural, an examination of process, as practiced by the young Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster). Foster's acting is strong and vivid. The moment when she stares into the camera, pondering "first principles" is wondrous. Anthony Hopkins' exquisite Hannibal Lecter is one cinema's premiere bad guys.
Titanic (1997) - Someone derided me once when I announced that this was one of my favorites, and my argument that it is one of the most successful movies of all time fell on deaf ears. It's too bad, because that person is missing out on the best romantic adventure movie of all time. Everything in the movie builds up to the spectacle and emotion of that final scene, and when you hear Rose blowing that whistle in the dark, I dare you not to be moved.
No Country for Old Men (2007) - It's a measure of supreme talent that the people who made "No Country", the famed Coen brothers, also made "The Big Lebowski" (another must watch). "No Country" is a meditation on greed, mortality and evil like no other. Tommy Lee Jones' character is bone weary, in stark contrast to the cold ruthlessness of the bounty hunter played by Javier Bardem.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
The Low-Information Diet
I have embraced the idea of "a low-information diet", ever since I read about it in Timothy Ferriss' book "The 4-Hour Work Week". Truth be told, however, I've been struggling with my 'information intake' for years.
Ever since I was a kid, I have always been impressed with people who were well-informed. When I was an altar boy, I remember being flustered that I couldn't converse with the priests before mass. Other servers had no problems talking about politics or sports, but I sat there silent, not knowing how to get into the 'flow' of the conversation.
In high school, a friend and I were stopped by a television reporter in front of the train station. He posed us a question, and I was amazed at the ease with which my friend gave his thoughtful response. I remember not saying anything, and to this day I don't even remember what we could have been interviewed about.
As I grew older, I learned how to be more 'conversant', but I've never become 'well informed'. I learned how to form my own opinions, but mostly on light news (sports, entertainment). For many years, one of my standing resolutions was to "read the newspaper more", but every year that resolve was always the first to fade away. Flipping the pages and reading even just the headlines eventually began to feel like a chore.
In Ferriss' book, his chapter about "selective ignorance" is introduced with a quote by Herbert Simon, a political scientist and economist: "What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence, a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention..." It's a striking quote, and it put me very much at ease.
Ferriss recommends an exercise where readers just ask others "what happened in the world that was important today." Eventually, he says, you'll learn that the answer doesn't affect you in the least. Instead, what is important is what's right in front of you: your family, the work you choose to do, your joys, your interests. Consuming the news takes time, our most precious commodity.
I don't get flustered anymore when someone sounds well-informed to me. If I get the chance, I ask them to tell me about what they know, instead of dwelling on my lack of knowledge on current events. A low-information diet is not for everyone, but I've found it quite liberating.
Ever since I was a kid, I have always been impressed with people who were well-informed. When I was an altar boy, I remember being flustered that I couldn't converse with the priests before mass. Other servers had no problems talking about politics or sports, but I sat there silent, not knowing how to get into the 'flow' of the conversation.
In high school, a friend and I were stopped by a television reporter in front of the train station. He posed us a question, and I was amazed at the ease with which my friend gave his thoughtful response. I remember not saying anything, and to this day I don't even remember what we could have been interviewed about.
As I grew older, I learned how to be more 'conversant', but I've never become 'well informed'. I learned how to form my own opinions, but mostly on light news (sports, entertainment). For many years, one of my standing resolutions was to "read the newspaper more", but every year that resolve was always the first to fade away. Flipping the pages and reading even just the headlines eventually began to feel like a chore.
In Ferriss' book, his chapter about "selective ignorance" is introduced with a quote by Herbert Simon, a political scientist and economist: "What information consumes is rather obvious: it consumes the attention of its recipients. Hence, a wealth of information creates a poverty of attention..." It's a striking quote, and it put me very much at ease.
Ferriss recommends an exercise where readers just ask others "what happened in the world that was important today." Eventually, he says, you'll learn that the answer doesn't affect you in the least. Instead, what is important is what's right in front of you: your family, the work you choose to do, your joys, your interests. Consuming the news takes time, our most precious commodity.
I don't get flustered anymore when someone sounds well-informed to me. If I get the chance, I ask them to tell me about what they know, instead of dwelling on my lack of knowledge on current events. A low-information diet is not for everyone, but I've found it quite liberating.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Books and Movies from 2012
I read 26 books this year. My 2012 reading list is once again at LibraryThing. The most remarkable title in the entire list is Ulysses, which took me a good three years to finish. I blogged about my Ulysses reading experience on Posterous.
I watched 25 movies this year (seven inside a theater). My 2012 movie list is at IMDb. I really liked the remarkable Indie Game: The Movie, but out of all the mainstream releases this year, I liked Looper.
I watched 25 movies this year (seven inside a theater). My 2012 movie list is at IMDb. I really liked the remarkable Indie Game: The Movie, but out of all the mainstream releases this year, I liked Looper.
Monday, October 29, 2012
A Year of Mining
I spent most of this year enthralled by a little game called Minecraft.
I downloaded this game just after New Years Day 2012, and ever since then I have been constantly engaged and delighted by it.
When you first play Minecraft, you find yourself in a natural area (blue sky, green grass, trees, water). Your character can break blocks of wood, and dig up blocks of dirt. You soon realize that blocks can be collected. You soon realize that these blocks can be built into other things, which in turn can be used to build yet more things. Finally, you find that night time is fast approaching, and you must seek some shelter. If you are up and about at night, a monster may come to attack you. Or not.
In Minecraft, you can turn off the monsters from appearing. You can, in fact, enter a "creative" mode where you can call up any particular block that you want, and with this capability you can build practically anything. (The blocks in Minecraft are like Lego blocks, and unsurprisingly Minecraft and Lego are building off that similarity.)
There's only one "rule" in Minecraft: you can only sleep at night. Other than that, you can do practically anything that you want. You can run a large farm, you can grow chickens, you can build a boat and travel the ocean, or you can climb the highest mountain, or explore the deepest mine. You can make maps, write in books, make a large railway or dig for gold.
I enjoy exploring Minecraft's seemingly endless world. Unlike most video games that have pre-defined maps or territories, Minecraft generates its world as you enter them. When your character reaches an area you haven't visited yet, the game produces a new territory for you to explore. It can be a desert, a wintry forest, or a vast plains area. It can be rainy, or snowy.
It's a game that caters to your imagination. I love walking around in Minecraft, getting lost, and building small areas so that I can sleep at night. I pretend I'm "the last person on Earth", except I often play with my daughter on our local server. I love exploring abandoned mine shafts, and climbing mountains. I pretend I'm an intrepid explorer. There's no time limit, so I don't have to rush anything.
Most video games are goal-oriented, but in Minecraft, the only goals are those that you set for yourself. Because of this, everyone's attachment to the game becomes deeply personal. Not everyone plays it the same way, and as a result the game becomes a reflection of you instead of a reflection of its creator. Think of Minecraft like a musical instrument: everyone knows the notes, but everyone plays them differently.
To say that it's my favorite video game is an understatement: it's one of the best things in my life.
When you first play Minecraft, you find yourself in a natural area (blue sky, green grass, trees, water). Your character can break blocks of wood, and dig up blocks of dirt. You soon realize that blocks can be collected. You soon realize that these blocks can be built into other things, which in turn can be used to build yet more things. Finally, you find that night time is fast approaching, and you must seek some shelter. If you are up and about at night, a monster may come to attack you. Or not.
In Minecraft, you can turn off the monsters from appearing. You can, in fact, enter a "creative" mode where you can call up any particular block that you want, and with this capability you can build practically anything. (The blocks in Minecraft are like Lego blocks, and unsurprisingly Minecraft and Lego are building off that similarity.)
There's only one "rule" in Minecraft: you can only sleep at night. Other than that, you can do practically anything that you want. You can run a large farm, you can grow chickens, you can build a boat and travel the ocean, or you can climb the highest mountain, or explore the deepest mine. You can make maps, write in books, make a large railway or dig for gold.
I enjoy exploring Minecraft's seemingly endless world. Unlike most video games that have pre-defined maps or territories, Minecraft generates its world as you enter them. When your character reaches an area you haven't visited yet, the game produces a new territory for you to explore. It can be a desert, a wintry forest, or a vast plains area. It can be rainy, or snowy.
It's a game that caters to your imagination. I love walking around in Minecraft, getting lost, and building small areas so that I can sleep at night. I pretend I'm "the last person on Earth", except I often play with my daughter on our local server. I love exploring abandoned mine shafts, and climbing mountains. I pretend I'm an intrepid explorer. There's no time limit, so I don't have to rush anything.
Most video games are goal-oriented, but in Minecraft, the only goals are those that you set for yourself. Because of this, everyone's attachment to the game becomes deeply personal. Not everyone plays it the same way, and as a result the game becomes a reflection of you instead of a reflection of its creator. Think of Minecraft like a musical instrument: everyone knows the notes, but everyone plays them differently.
To say that it's my favorite video game is an understatement: it's one of the best things in my life.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Rules I Follow for Social Media
No complaining. The book How to Win Friends and Influence People
contains the number one principle for dealing with people: "Never criticize, condemn, or complain." This is an incredibly hard principle to follow in real life, but online, I try to stay by it. If I find myself starting to compose some kind of whiny rant, I step away. Everyone has complaints, so I'll spare you my daily aches and whines.
No family posts. I try not to write posts (or Tweets or Facebook statuses) about my wife and daughter. Yes, I blogged about Mia's first year, yes, I regularly posted pictures of her until kindergarten, and yes, Jenn and Mia occasionally appear in my Tweets, but you won't see posts that start with "My daughter today did this", or "My wife said that." They can post their own stories. They have their own voices.
No privacy settings. I don't expect any. My Facebook profile is open. My Twitter is open. The fine-grain "privacy" settings offered by Facebook is admirable, but I don't want to be in the business of managing my access, locking down my pictures, or separating friends and strangers and acquaintances. If I want to write 'privately', I use a diary.
No living online. The purpose of social media is to share your life, not to live your life. To that extent, I live my life out here, where there's air and water. I don't worry or apologize that my status is not accurate, or that "I haven't posted in a while." The online Rick exists so that people looking can find the real-life Rick.
No audience but me. I write for myself. I tweet to amuse myself (more specifically, my 'future self'). When I put something out there, I try to come back to the question "Would I want to read this in the future?" Today, the answer is yes.
contains the number one principle for dealing with people: "Never criticize, condemn, or complain." This is an incredibly hard principle to follow in real life, but online, I try to stay by it. If I find myself starting to compose some kind of whiny rant, I step away. Everyone has complaints, so I'll spare you my daily aches and whines.No family posts. I try not to write posts (or Tweets or Facebook statuses) about my wife and daughter. Yes, I blogged about Mia's first year, yes, I regularly posted pictures of her until kindergarten, and yes, Jenn and Mia occasionally appear in my Tweets, but you won't see posts that start with "My daughter today did this", or "My wife said that." They can post their own stories. They have their own voices.
No privacy settings. I don't expect any. My Facebook profile is open. My Twitter is open. The fine-grain "privacy" settings offered by Facebook is admirable, but I don't want to be in the business of managing my access, locking down my pictures, or separating friends and strangers and acquaintances. If I want to write 'privately', I use a diary.
No living online. The purpose of social media is to share your life, not to live your life. To that extent, I live my life out here, where there's air and water. I don't worry or apologize that my status is not accurate, or that "I haven't posted in a while." The online Rick exists so that people looking can find the real-life Rick.
No audience but me. I write for myself. I tweet to amuse myself (more specifically, my 'future self'). When I put something out there, I try to come back to the question "Would I want to read this in the future?" Today, the answer is yes.
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