Here’s a picture of me taken yesterday:

Yeah, buddy, that's his own hair.

Pretty stylish, eh?

Here I am this morning:

It's going to be a wig!

And shortly thereafter:

Soon thereafter

This is what I look like now.

Almost respectable! I don’t think there’s much more to say. Thanks to everyone who participated in the fundraiser. Maybe I’ll do it again in a few years.


An Admirable Man

A pal of mine threw a link my way. In that article was this link to an article about the man who made Foxconn. He’s compared to Henry Ford in this article, but I don’t think that’s apt. Ford seemed much more interested in the social effects of his industry.

I wrote the title of this episode with full irony, but there really is a lot to admire about this guy. Not long ago, we would label Gou a classic success story. It is a luxury we now enjoy that we can better calculate the cost of one man’s success against the lives of others. That’s a good thing.

On the last page of the profile, we learn that Gou is diving deeper into China, to chase cheaper labor. It felt a little creepy to me at first, but there’s no reason for that to feel any different than anything else he’s done. In the end, it’s all a little unsettling.

You Say that like it’s a Good Thing

I think I might have mentioned this before, but it’s just getting worse. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to buy a new car again.

“Look at all the shit we’ve packed in!” the marketers brag. “Techno-gizmos out the ass!”

I work for a techno-gizmo company, and I’m not against techno-gizmos. In fact, I’ve got a gizmo in my pocket that would make Spok weep. It works in my car, so I’m already set, techno-gizmo-wise.

I don’t need:

  • A backup camera
  • Someone to unlock my door from far away
  • Electric windows
  • voice-activated command center
  • phone
  • electric locks
  • ass-cushion airbags
  • dvd player
  • heated seats
  • automatic parallel parking
  • Multi-zone climate control
  • gps
  • etc

To me, all those things add cost, weight, and new points of failure. They do not improve the actual car, or its ability to move me between the proverbial points A and B. They are things I have to pay for that later I will have to pay to fix. (I have a feeling in my gut that a GPS failure will somehow cause my tires to deflate, or the turn signal will go out and I’ll have to pay a thousand bucks for some hoobajoob module.)

Ironically, the only cars I know of without all that crap are high-performance supercars. I can’t afford a car without the accessories. I think that is a reflection of their actual value.


Don Quixote

Back when printing was young, fantasy stories were all the rage. They went by the name Chivalry Tales back then, and followed a well-defined formula involving stout hearts, unrequited love, and great feats of heroism against mythical beasts and evil sorcerers. Good fun.

Sometimes following a formula can be a good thing, allowing a reader and a writer to get down to business with little wasted verbiage. Interesting characters can make the formula worthwhile, and even in suspense novels there’s really not much question who’s going to win in the end. It’s about providing an enjoyable journey. There just aren’t that many plots in the world, when all is said and done; you can argue that every story follows one of a limited set of formulas.

On the other extreme, there’s “literary fiction”, the genre defined by the resolute insistence that it’s not a genre, the more extreme practitioners of which often take avoidance of formula so far that they also avoid having any plot at all. Whee.

But, even if formula isn’t necessarily bad, ‘formulaic’ is. If a story is just another rehash of the same old shit with no new twist or compelling characters, it’s not fun, and just confirms to the literati their snooty contention that all formula is bad. Jerks.

What do you do if you’re surrounded by mediocre fantasy novels? If you’re someone like me, you make an online scoreboard and fiddle with a parody called The Quest for the Important Thing to Defeat the Evil Guy. If you’re Miguel de Cervantes, you write Don Quixote. (Yes, I just said Quest and Quixote are siblings. You got a problem with that?) In Don Quixote, there is a scene in which a few of the more rational characters burn copies of many popular titles of the day, with commentary. A few they preserve. Let there be no doubt that this novel intends to disparage the knock-offs. The dude names names.

As a thought experiment, I repeated the book-burning scene in my head, substituting some of the bigger titles from the modern fantasy library. It was pretty fun. A few titles survive, by virtue of history or quality, while many are mocked and burned.

When I first loaded Quixote onto my readin’ machine and opened the virtual cover, I saw how big the sucker is. Holy crap, 1500 pages! It’s in two parts, separated in publication by several years. Interesting story — Cervantes kept talking about writing a sequel but he was too busy trying to transform theatre (without success). Then someone else published a sequel to his story and that lit a fire under his ass.

How do I know this? Because the very long book is prefaced by a very long introduction by the translator. He discusses other translations, their strengths and (mostly) shortcomings, and that was pretty interesting. He mapped the change in the perception of the story over time. He also argued that the story’s just plain funnier in its original language, as Cervantes has a terse, laconic wit that Spanish expresses particularly well. (While a chicken-and-egg argument might be fun here — does the language shape his humor or the other way around — the point remains, his jokes are tuned to the Spanish ear.)

When looking for an edition to link to here, I chuckled when I noticed that Amazon sold a “Spanish Edition” of the novel.

As fun as that part of the introduction was, things got really interesting when we came to the biography of the author. Cervantes was one remarkable dude, in a way I’ve been completely unable to capture in one or two sentences. He wasn’t put to death even after his third attempt to escape from an Algerian prison. I’ll leave it at that.

So, the story. It’s big, as I mentioned before. We meet an aging man of modest means, who has come to believe all the chivalry stories he has read as literal truth. The stories are, in fact, more true for him than anything else, and all his perceptions are filtered through the conventions of the fantasy story. The famous windmill incident happens early on, and is fairly minor, in the scheme of things, though it doesn’t go well for the good Don Quixote.

In fact, nothing goes well for him. His campaign to right the wrongs of the world is a series of disasters. Some of the mishaps are funny, some are merely sad. Other people suffer as a result of his delusions. Then there’s faithful Sancho Panza, his squire. Sancho, filled with dreams of inheriting an island kingdom following the inevitable triumph of his master (that’s how these things work, after all), follows Don Quixote (sometimes reluctantly) and receives his own share of abuse. As the story progresses and Cervantes gains more confidence in Sancho’s voice, his comments become both subtle and cutting, while maintaing his aura of simple servitude. It’s the sidekick that makes this story an enduring tale.

How many times do you have to be kicked in the face before you give up your quest? Don Quixote’s saving grace is that he will not, he cannot, give up. I suspect that many of the mythical heroes he compares himself to would have long since packed it in and gone home, faced with the downturns Quixote has faced. But on he goes, because hardship merely proves the worthiness of the cause. It’s not supposed to be easy. If he weren’t a nut job, he’d be pretty easy to admire.

Coincidence is a mover in this story. In the end, everyone who matters winds up at the same inn, and hijinks ensue. Blake Edwards made a living off this sort of stuff a few centuries later. Thinking about it, I’d be interested in seeing what someone like Edwards did with the story. (This translator did mention that Don Quixote suffered for centuries perceived as merely a bawdy farce. It seems now I’m proposing returning it to that low regard. But it would be fun.)

There are sonnets in this book. Lots of them. At first I didn’t know what to make of all the friggin sonnets. Then I realized that they’re part of the parody. The old chivalry tales are silly with sonnets. But… these are almost good, to my ear. It’s with the sonnets I felt the gulf of language and time most profoundly. Are they hilarious? Merely awkward? Over the top? Filled with contemporary references? Makes me want a time machine and a babel fish.

I wonder about the translation on a couple of fronts. Translating a work of literature from one language into another is difficult enough, but this translation has to cross centuries as well. In this version, uneducated commoners speak in what today comes off as really upper-crust language, and it’s ponderous and hard work to read. “Thee” and “Thou” abound. Regular folk in this story don’t talk like regular folk do here, now.

I contend that if Cervantes wrote his story today, in English, the word “fuckin'” would be in it. While adding a word like that would be an extreme liberty on the part of a translator, I don’t think it’s going too far to make regular guys back then speak like regular guys today. It would be a conscious decision by the translator to move the story across time as well as borders, but I think the result would more closely mirror the experience readers had back then. There’s an extended poop joke, for crying out loud, and the word ‘shit’ does not appear in this translation. I didn’t bother searching on ‘turd’. I might have used ‘steamer’, were it up to me to translate. The aromatic qualities come into play.

I’m done with part one, a bit less than halfway through the monster. The opening notes indicate that the translator at least thought part two was where Sancho really got going and that it is the better half of the opus. I’m… not eager to continue at this time. I will read the rest someday, I have no doubt. But not yet.

Note: if you use the above link to buy this book (or a Kindle, or a new car), I get a kickback. You should also know that if you have an electronic reading device, you can download this sucker for free. I chose to link to an edition with illustrations; I don’t know if it’s the same translator.

Another Indication I Have it Pretty Good

When my sweetie asks, “would steak be all right tonight?”



I am a machine
opinions and facts, without
the heart I once had


Welcome to a More Beautiful Web

That’s Microsoft’s new slogan to promote Internet Explorer 9. This could also be written as, “welcome to the Web everyone else has been seeing all along.”

I don’t have to support Internet Explorer when I build Web sites. That’s pretty nice. I don’t even have to support Firefox (mostly). When I’m interviewing prospective employees, their eyes light up at the prospect of writing to standards and not being limited to what IE 7 supports.

So on behalf of my peers out there who don’t have the luxury I do, allow me to get behind Microsoft on this campaign. Please, if you have to use Internet Explorer, upgrade.

And if you still use IE 6 (I’m looking at you, Asia), maybe it’s time to let go.

The Mighty Have Fallen, tv Edition

Tonight I saw an ad on one of the silent tv’s that surround me, which prompted me to search ‘John C. McGinley broke’. I suppose it’s a credit to the robots that bring us information that I got plenty of references to the actor’s performance in Point Break. But that didn’t answer the question, “Why does a guy who had a lead role on tv for years have to do an insurance commercial as an anonymous father figure?”

Interesting note: when I plugged the quoted phrase above into the Google Monster, the top hit was Cher.

My sweetie is a fan of McGinley, and I certainly respect his “I’m an asshole deal with it or go away” persona on Scrubs. To see him in a throwaway role in a thirty-second spot makes me a little queasy. They didn’t cast him for his history or his fame, he’s just a dad in a commercial, a role he might have been excited about before he was in feature films and had a long run on a successful tv show. Now, watching that spot, I have to wonder what happened.

It’s possible, I suppose, that the writers and producers of the ad said, “Yeah! We got Jonh C. McFuckinGinley!” and went on to write a script that utterly failed to harness his charisma or even nod to his previous roles. He might have walked out of the shoot saying to himself “Holy shit that was a disaster,” sensing that everything he had built was about to be torpedoed.

Hoping that the above might explain what happened, I resolve to be more tolerant of actors reputed to be ‘difficult’. (This dispensation does not extend to actors who can’t be bothered to be on set on time.) I wonder if, had McGinley been a little more difficult, if he had insisted on letting his acting chops show, whether he could have forced them to make a better ad.

Alas, I don’t think that’s the case. I think McGinley did this commercial so he could make his next mortgage (or cocaine or whatever the bugaboo is in Hollywood these days) payment. It’s such a career downturn nothing else makes sense. The dude is a seriously good actor, but maybe he did his Scrubs role so well that people aren’t going to let go. Advice to John C.: Bad Guy in a (well-written) psychothriller. Take that ire, compress it, understate it, and slide out evil. Mellow, likable evil, the kind that makes the audience wonder if you’re actually the bad guy.

You could kill that role, Mr. McGinley. And a character like that can buy you several years on tv. After that you won’t have to prostitute yourself in a dumbass commercial ever again.


First-Name Basis

The marketers of pop icons understand this: When the world knows you by only your first name, you win. Pop stars resort to contrived names to achieve this goal; I’ve never met any other Madonnas or Beyonces (I know there’s an accent in there somewhere). But then there’s Steve. Where I work, you say ‘Steve’ and there’s only one person you could be talking about, and he doesn’t even work there anymore. We also have Jonny, Tim, and Peter.

Peter may only have first-nam mojo within the finance group, but where I sit, when I hear “Peter wants this by Friday” there’s no question of who Peter is and there’s no question of when the project will be finished.

Tim. Peter. Steve. Jonny. Simple, non-manufactured names that have reached their stature by earning the respect of tens of thousands of people. There’s not a Jerry here. Yet. First I have to get that thing done for Jodee by next Friday.