The project was a full website rebuild with new e-commerce functionality, all within a responsive design. It took a great deal of time and effort, but the client was ultimately very happy with the finished product. In the process, I was able to sharpen my front-end development skills and learned a lot about handwriting instruction frameworks. There is still a standard that seems to be ubiquitous mainly because it was marketed effectively by the creator. Appy Therapy is, to my untrained eye, a far superior framework that is fighting an uphill battle against an established brand. I hope and believe that my work on this project will expose more children and instructors to an easier way to learn and teach handwriting.
Each autumn, my friend Carl notes and ranks the pumpkin beer he drinks. He invited me to join him this year and so it was that an otherwise quiet Saturday night was spent ingesting an alarming amount of cinnamon, nutmeg, clove and alcohol.
Eleven different beers comprised the rogues gallery, and each was carefully graded from 0 to 5 on appearance, nose, tastiness, finish, and what we called “Platonic Pumpkin.” To infuse the proceedings a whiff of scientific method, my wife agreed to pour these drinks in another room and prevent names, reputations and label art from biasing our ratings.
Given the high degree of subjectivity and sheer quantity of beer, our marks revealed a surprising amount of consistency with three distinct groups emerging.
Clear worst of the bunch was the Sam Adams Pumpkin Batch, an odious concoction with soapy overtones and a cumulative score of 11 from a possible 50. The Blue Point Pumpkin Ale (18), Shock Top Pumpkin Wheat (18), and surprisingly the Dogfish Head Punkin Ale (19) rounded out the losers.
The divisive Southern Tier Pumpkin (23) was denounced by me but championed by Carl, ending up in limbo. The only non-ale tasted was the Redhook Out of Your Gourd Pumpkin Porter (24), a disappointing effort with trace amounts of pumpkin flavor. Neither the New Belgium Pumpkick (25), Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale (26), or Elysian Night Owl Pumpkin Ale (27) made much of an impression.
Two beers stood out from the rest: Schlafly’s Pumpkin Ale (31) and our winner, Alewerks Pumpkin Ale with 35 out of 50. These finely balanced beers struck the best balance between expression and restraint, offering full pumpkin flavor but remaining drinkable.
I thank Carl for including me in this exercise, but I have vowed never to drink a pumpkin beer again. The cloying aromatics and dreadful puns are simply too much for one sitting, and the time has come to cut the gourd.
Word is that REI updated its logo. Unfortunately, it’s awkward and ugly.
While the company was attempting to reference a vintage version of their logo, this represents a step backward of another kind. A hodgepodge of angles, rounded edges and line thicknesses means that none of it works.
My approach would have been to clean up the “R” and leave it at that. If the inclusion of “co-op” were a requirement (which I’m sure it was), I might have tried something like this instead:
This morning, I got to bask in the warm glow of my long-past high school soccer career.
Back in the late ’90s, I was a goalkeeper for the Singapore American School, and captained the side during in my junior and senior years, which were also the first two years at the school for Coach Zitur. He recently selected his Dream XI, covering the 18 years he’s managed the team. It’s an honor to be the goalkeeper for this side, and reminds me of the fine players and men who were my teammates: Chris Carroll, Tim Lonergan, Yosuke Yamamoto, Jeremy Chang, Ben Regan, Drew Calvert, Kevin Scott, and Collin White.
Not included, but fondly remembered is Jason Peck, a solid fullback and good friend who recently passed away.
One of my favorite books as kid was Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader. Packed with trivia that I would regurgitate ad nauseum to any family member that would listen, one of my favorite pages dealt with predictions of the future that turned out to be amazingly dumb.
Still, I can’t resist the temptation to imagine our future world and make a few predictions of my own. Here are some of which I remain particularly convinced. If they don’t come to pass, I hope that they will at least be amusing.
- My friend, Scott, also believes that “2035, smart cars will be ubiquitous the way smart phones are in 2015. There will be fewer traffic deaths, especially those linked to drunk driving, better traffic flow, and less parking issues. I think we’ll just share smart cars by participating in a something like a ride share – for $500/month a car will pick you up wherever you want and drop you off wherever you say, on demand. You won’t own your car, but we’ll all have so much more time, space, and safety. Smart cars are a smart bet for the future.”
- I believe this also, and will add that by 2050, cars will run on some sort of rail or wire system with centralized power, rather than each car needing to convey its own energy source.
- By 2040, I believe that insects will make up more than 25% of human protein consumption, supplanting factory farming of cows, chickens, and pigs.
- By 2040, I believe that the United States Government will offer financial incentives for smaller families in order to slow or reverse population growth. By 2060, family sizes may be legally constricted.
- By 2050, humans will be earnestly engaged in extraterrestrial resource harvesting. This includes bringing these resources back to earth for refinement, and also establishing working colonies on other planets.
- By 2030, the concept of private life will be radically different. Facial recognition software and connections between publicly available data will allow anyone to quickly and easily summon large amounts of information on anyone they happen to see. There will also by a significant market for products that help obfuscate a person’s identity and corrupt their publicly available personal data.
The future will be frighteningly fast-paced. While governments will continue to improve protection of their citizens from physical violence, they will be increasingly powerless to prevent financial and psychological criminality.
Did our parents, grandparents and great-grandparents grow up amid such numerous warnings of cataclysm? There were World Wars, the Cuban Missile Crisis, but those were overt threats of which nearly everyone was aware. After generations of increasingly efficient violence between people, the earth is now the object of our violence instead.
Bees are, in some ways, the complete opposite of us. Each functions in service of the whole, as our organs work together to support a body. One of the many revelations in the fantastic documentary, More Than Honey (Amazon), is that a human being is analogous to a whole hive, rather than to an individual bee. There are many more philosophically and scientifically profound moments in this film, which also features incredible photography. Take the time to watch it.
The New Yorker carries a fascinating article by Kathryn Schulz explaining that an earthquake will destroy a huge swath of the United States’ northwest coast. The only question is when.
How should a society respond to a looming crisis of uncertain timing but of catastrophic proportions? How can it begin to right itself when its entire infrastructure and culture developed in a way that leaves it profoundly vulnerable to natural disaster?
As the piece mentions, this has implications far beyond an earthquake along the Cascadia subduction zone. Climate, food, natural resources, pandemics…. Does preparedness demand more than we are prepared to give up?
My smartphone history has been limited to the iPhone 3G and iPhone 4. The 3G was a revelation, with almost magical apps like Shazam and Runkeeper. The 4 was a beautiful piece of hardware, featuring brushed metal and glass instead of plastic.
After a time, though, my phone grew less and less responsive, with longer latency and complete lack of ability to even open Whatsapp (though my incredibly prolific relatives also bear some responsibility here). The glass cracked multiple times, the updates failed to support my outdated version of the phone, and I became dissatisfied with Apples grip on my devices.
I don’t believe I’ve ever subscribed to the Apple lifestyle, and my disgust grew during recent visits to the Apple store, a transparent cube-cum-rowhouse in DC’s tony Georgetown neighborhood. Now that Google is devoting resources to visual design to go along with their best-in-class engineering, I decided the time is right to go with a device running Android. I chose the Samsung Galaxy S5, a “free” upgrade, and have been using it for a couple of days.
It’s been my first immersive experience with Google’s material design, and it is impressive. The learning curve for the new operating system is surprisingly steep, with unfamiliar gestures, navigation, and design patterns sending me on to Google for instructions in relatively simple tasks. But the uniformity in everything from color to symbols to type helps.
My biggest issues are with the hardware. I like the easy access to the battery and SIM card in the Galaxy S5, but the plastic feels flimsy and the rounded edges allow it to slip out of my pocket. I prefer the heft and blockiness of the iPhone 4, as well as the much smaller screen, which affords one-handed use much more easily.
On the whole, I’m happy with the change. I’ll be even happier if this phone becomes an afterthought, something that I use rarely to accomplish discrete tasks before putting it away and turning my attention to the world off-screen.
The poetry of train travel is alive and well on the Coast Starlight.
Boarding in Oxnard, California, our route hugged a coast bursting with yellow and red wildflowers that bent toward the brilliant blue Pacific. Surfers, swimmers, and black rocks ribbed by decades of waves zipped across our windows. How could any screen compare, in depth or capacity to capture one’s imagination? The sky alone teemed with life: stubby-headed hawks wheeling high above arid fields; bright blue birds nestling in their thickets; prehistoric pelicans following the rhumb line south along the endless beach.
The dining car rules dictate that strangers sit together, a rare opportunity to share space and companionship in our increasingly segregated and personal (if not private) lives. My first meal was lunch, which I took with two brothers. One, a veteran, watched the coast go by outside the window and called it “peaceful.” In the observation car, many passengers come simply to look, putting their devices away and gazing instead at the dry riverbeds and dirt roads etched into the landscape.
By San Luis Obispo, the train had turned inland, skirting vast rows of produce and winding around or tunneling through grassy hills studded with cattle. There were also people and their buildings: at a crossing, a whole family stepped out of their car to watch the train roll past; behind a small house, a man leaned on his rake to witness us rumbling by his garden; in the distance, a sprawling beige prison complex shimmered in the heat.
To reach Portland from Oxnard by rail takes more than 27 hours. This deliberate pace seems to attract large numbers of retirees, and they largely seem to appreciate the advantages of train travel: friendly staff, splendid panoramas, early afternoon wine tastings. They relish the communal dining experience as much as the food, which is cooked on the train and is delectable.
North of Paso Robles’ grape vines: a forest of oil derricks. By the time we reached Salinas (“Salad Bowl of the World”), the towns had become dry and desperate. Makeshift but permanent-looking shelters dotted the gravel beside the tracks, one with a tricycle parked outside the cloth threshold.
I went to sleep near Sacramento, and awoke for the last time before 6am, somewhere close to the Oregon border. Strawberry fields and vineyards had given way to lumber mills and frost. We passed pens of stamping horses with breath billowing from their nostrils. Fetching a banana from my luggage, I made my way to the observation car and watched the pine-stitched hills south of Klamath Falls emerge against the mottling sky. Streams and floodplains reflected power lines, low red clouds, and thousands of birds so that it seemed two days were being born at once. Our train swept forward, stirring the stiff morning mist hanging thick over the ground.
By the time the sun had properly risen, we were racing among snow-capped peaks and broad lakes, surveyed from craggy branches by eagles along the shore. This landscape eventually faded into vast, undulating swathes of timber, cathedrals of trees admitting only an occasional sunbeam or frozen creek. North toward Bend, the terrain became hilly and rich with ferns, mosses, and brooks.
South of Eugene, we met and ran alongside the broad, turquoise waters of the mighty Columbia River. On the banks of the river and the railroad bed, every shade of green seemed to burst forth in dappled sunlight. A blank sky stretched to the horizon. Pastures and orchards grew next to low houses and yards studded with machinery. After Eugene, the route was populated. Agricultural concerns continued alongside other industry. By the time we trundled through the residential neighborhoods of Salem, children were scattering after the end of their school day. The landscape remained lush, but became carved up with fences, sheds and chicken coops. Mt. Hood floated up in the distance, and we arrived in Portland.
Even after more than a day on the train, I gathered my things with reluctance. Profound experiences can often only be recognized as such in retrospect. On the Coast Starlight, the alchemy of nature’s grace and travel by rail was apparent at every stage of the journey.
This hearty, not-too-sweet cookie evolved to meet the needs of my growing family. Reducing the butter, replacing eggs with flax seed, and adding nuts are anathema to the older generations. However, times, tastes, and metabolisms change, making this a proper cookie for the 21st century.
1 stick salted butter
2 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 tbsp ground flax seeds
6 tbsp water
2 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
3 cups flour (approx)
2 cups chopped nuts (pecans, walnuts, hazelnuts)
12 oz semisweet chocolate chip
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
In a small bowl, mix the flax seed and water with a fork, letting stand for 10 minutes. Soften the butter, using the wrapping paper to grease your cookie sheet. Mix the flax seed mixture, butter, vanilla, sugar and brown sugar together in a medium bowl.
Mix the salt, baking soda and about a cup of flour together, then gradually add it to the wet ingredients. Keep adding flour a little bit (about 1/4 cup) at a time until the mixture is stiff so that the peaks in the dough don’t fall, but still moist and not crumbly.
Add the chocolate chips and nuts, mixing thoroughly. Spoon out 12 lumps about the size of ping pong balls onto your cookie sheet. Put into the oven for 7 minutes for chewy, slightly underdone cookies, or 8 minutes for crispier cookies.