diego's weblog

there and back again

Category Archives: personal


The worst things in life inevitably blindside you.

Inevitably. I’d even say “by definition” but I can’t quite bring myself to do it since any kind of close analysis reveals it as one of those things that sounds good but is actually bleh when you think about it for more than two seconds. Yeah, you read that right: bleh. You know what I mean.

The best things don’t. The best moments are invariably the pinnacle of a metaphorical mountain. The best things in life build up, requiring an enormous amount of effort and care, and when they’re done sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re good because of that and that’s something we also fuck up frequently around here, but that’s not what I’m talking about today.

What I’m talking about is the surprise. Yes, you will be surprised, guaranteed.

You know why? Because if you have a shred of survival instinct and you see something terrible coming, you move out of the way. We do this constantly, without even thinking. We are continuously patching stuff up so it doesn’t blow up in our face. We fix the leaks. We prop up the structure so it doesn’t come crashing down on us right this second, because right this second I have to finish a project and then later I got to shop for some groceries, and honey would you please pick up my prescriptions while you’re at the store?

If you see it coming, you move out of the way. Which leaves you with the things you don’t see coming.

Blindsided, always. Sometimes, literally, as in truck-unexpectedly-crashing-into-the-side-of-your-car-blindside-you, sometimes not.

I’d even say that the worst of the worst things are also the ones that look insignificant at first glance. The literal truck in the previous paragraph, for example, is pretty bad, but it’s also something that will have a fairly straightforward resolution — assume a happy ending and let’s say it’s just a few stitches, a visit to the shop, and a lot of haggling with the insurance company. You didn’t see it coming, but you can see it going, so to speak. The path out of the disaster zone is clear. It’s the advantage of major catastrophes that we can see so clearly that we’re severely fucked up that we are forced to do something about it. We simply have no choice.

Those moments though, when something happens or when you are told something truly awful that hit you as if you were hit physically, moments that feel like something breaks inside you. A fracture in your soul. And, in many cases, like a fracture, it can be ignored for a while, disregarded:”it’s bad, but not that bad really, right?”


I’ve come to realize that defining that moment is important because if you’re going to find a way to move forward from any situation, particularly a bad one, is to make some things end.

And the only way for something to end is for it to have begun. Which means you have to identify the beginning.

There was a phone call, early evening I think. I was in the kitchen. That for some reason I remember vividly. Phone rings, check caller ID: wow, there’s someone I haven’t talked to …. or even thought about …. in quite a while…

A minute later the call was over and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go to the hospital. Couldn’t. Many reasons, all of them probably bad, is what I’m sure I’d think now if I remembered any of them. Many reasons, many. I was probably in shock, whatever that is, because I just put the phone down on the kitchen counter and I just went about my business, continuing along the path of mundane activity that I was already set on for that Friday night.

I’ve spent some time trying to decide whether it was that one moment or something earlier that was truly the first rock of the avalanche. There’s some pretty ugly stuff about 14 months prior that nearly broke me, but I managed to pull out, somehow. I spent a little more than a year in a fairly positive trajectory of some sort, flying uncertain, but gaining speed and then when this happened it was like the freeze frame in movies when they zoom into something, cut to total silence and you hear a metallic sound or a break and for a second nothing happens and then… BOOOOOOOOOOM!

So: the phone call is what I’ve settled on.


I didn’t know it then, but it was at that moment that the edifice of my life had begun to collapse in slow motion. Nothing felt right. Like one of those warning signs you read or hear about in movies… earthquakes, typhoons, hurricanes. Warning signs that go beyond the rational or the known. The air around you feels heavy, charged. Something is coming.

That moment.

Tiny rocks, rolling down the hill.

A tocsin. (not a typo).

It would take a little over a year from that point until it would all finally crash on top of my head — and quite spectacularly I might add. I’m someone that doesn’t trust easily but during these last few years I’ve made an effort and every time I’ve reached out the universe has lashed out back at me viciously. The Rach 3 is easier than this.

Had I played a part? Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that? Maybe, but definitely not all the time. I’ve kept trying. So far every time I give it a shot, it’s turned out badly. Whatever mistakes I’ve made, I’ve paid for them, and then some. I’ve been crawling out of the rubble in darkness for a while now.

I’m stepping out now, but I can look back at the ruins that will soon lose sight of me because I know when it began.

1,263 days ago.

It ends today.

Star Wars Life Lessons, Part 1: Choose Your Childhood

In preparation for watching The Force Awakens, I thought I’d revisit some of the useful everyday life lessons we have learned from Star Wars in what regards to how to appropriately choose your early childhood setting to have the best options later on in life.

So you’re a baby! Congrats. Being born is hard, I know, but you really need to focus on choosing which way to go. It’s never too early. Some kids today are fighting for placement on those sweet AP Fall Advanced Calculus Classes in 2025, and you are no different.

You need to choose your childhood correctly. By the time you’re 18 or so, you will be unsure of which way to go, and it will be too late. Trust me. You’re going to be confused and kind of in a bad mood or scared a lot of the time, but pretending not to. Plus you’ll be waaaaay too distracted with one or more of: chess, math, sex, booze, the two or three other teen humans in your clique, music, video/board games, books, movies, role-playing, to make any long-term, carefully measured and balanced life choices.

So we’re agreed you need to do this now. While you have time, ie., while you’re a baby. If you choose right, here’s what’s in store for you. You can:

  • become a super cool hero with  extremely cool buddies and great hair and fly on even cooler spaceships and with holograms and computers and lasers and swordfights and robots and leather jackets and being funny and fixing hyperdrives by hitting consoles and robots and furry friends that can also fix and drive your spaceship and robots.
  • fix, design, or build fully formed cybernetic organisms with true AI that nevertheless can only either produce beeps or speak with a British accent and an unintended wry wit. How cool and smart these droids are will be inversely related to their ability to speak english, and will directly correlate with the velocity and cuteness with which they can emit different beeping sounds.
  • achieve the unique state of being  wise, poised, thoughtful and courageous while simultaneously remaining unbearably naive and being subject to dangerously unpredictable outbursts of blinding rage and/or passion.
  • fix, design or build hover vehicles propelled by jet/antigrav engines that would put the old Lockheed Skunkworks engineers to shame
  • be the best effing pilot anyone’s ever seen regardless of terrain or type of ship (perhaps, even, the best in the galaxy!). That’s not all — though you have might have spent most of your short life driving oxidized chunks of metal in a desert you WILL be able to instantly apply those skills to any kind of zero-g multi-vector thrust vehicles with faster-than-light capabilities running on a parallel supercomputer platforms, just like that. Guaranteed.
  • eventually be trusted with either destroying or saving the galaxy or and entire galactic army or something along those lines. Plus having some serious issues with your parents, but that’s for the sequel, I mean, another post. We’ll just hint at that here.

I think we can all agree these are terrific skills and abilities. You’d be a bit of a wildcard, sure, unpredictable perhaps… a bit of a tyrant? ….  but what could possibly be wrong with that? It’s not as if you’re eventually going to be trusted with either destroying or saving the galaxy or and entire galactic army or or anything, right? Jeez. Relax.

Anyway, this is were the choice of childhood is critical. You need to focus. Concentrate. Don’t be a baby. Think.

To reach these goals, would you:

A) Live in a cathedral of silence and well being that allows the necessary concentration to obtain multiple degrees in engineering, relativistic quantum physics, mathematics, biology, astronomy, computer science and train 6-8 hours a day for both physical perfection and mental acuity in a way that would put most of SEAL Team 6 to shame,  maintain a successful side business to provide you with the millions of space credits you’ll need to buy all those CPUs, memory banks, jet fuel, and rare minerals as well as paying the lawyers and lobbyists you’ll need to convince the space government you are not some kind of bizarre tiny genius-evil-mastermind-terrorist while simultaneously greasing the skids in said space-government to obtain all the supplies you need for your droid and spaceship building experiments.

B) Live more or less isolated somewhere in a desert planet *(1) as a farm-hand (?) in your family’s desert farm(?) living in mud-igloo-like-structures (?)  with possibly no doors or windows or under a tarp, much less air conditioning or heating, access to schools, socialization, or even basic reading materials and where super complex tasks like helping your mother or communicating with moisture vaporators *(2) are left to other droids that you don’t even have yet. (However, you will obtain/build said droid just before you embark on the adventure to do the hero stuff at which point you won’t really need the droid… errr… okay nevermind. Look, the droid is going to say some funny stuff is what I’m getting at.)

C) Be a scrap junkyard jockey in a desert planet *(1)  with access to any number of CPUs, circuit boards, rare metals, fiber optics, micro fusion reactors, tools and jet fuel with which you can repair and build droids and sand speeders. This one is, I’m afraid a bit more of a downer, including indentured servitude, and in spite of said access to advanced and presumably expensive hardware, you will have relatively poor nutrition and higiene, no healthcare and no access to school, much less textbooks, notebooks, keyboards, monitors, reading or writing devices or toys of any kind. Not that you’d need those to build the droids or the ships, or to grow up without turning into some kind of Norman Bates-type character. Right?

D) Have at least ONE of your parents be: Anakin Skywalker, Luke Skywalker, Carrie Fischer, or Midichlorians (not sure what those are, but I think you can get a deal on a 5-lb bag of them at Costco*(3)). YOU WOULD THINK THAT whoever were the parent(s) of Yoda, Sam Jackson, Palpatine, Darth Maul, the green tentacle-on-head lady or any of the other dozens or hundreds of Jedi would be a good source of earth shattering hero Force-enabled dude/dudette material… but no. It’s gotta be Skywalker blood. You know, like Tolkien talked about fair-skinned ancestors…. wait… anyone can be a hero!…. bloodlines? not that we’re getting into eugenics or anything. God no. Why did you have to make it weird? *(4)


Answer: D. Obvious. Right?

But also, surprise! B and/or C are pretty much required. So it’s (B/C)+D. Kind of cheated there. I know. These are difficult choices.

What? You picked A?




*(1) This is important. Desert planet. Not just a desert. You can’t get away with this by spending the summer in Aruba or something. A whole planet that’s just a desert. Oh, and it needs a cantina and a band of weirdos playing in it. Not sure that’s 100% required or not, but check that box, just to be safe.

*(2) in case it wasn’t clear, the stated purpose of the creation/acquisition of C3PO in Episode I/IV, respectively.

*(3) Safeway is out of stock*(3a).

*(3a) This is more of a West Coast joke. Because Safeway. Get over it.

*(4) Seriously, though. At some point we’re going to need heroes than can do stuff because they train and are dedicated, not because the have the right chromosomes.


So last night I get a news alert from CNN: This year Europe received one million refugees.

I read that, and wondered, not for the first time: what am I supposed to do with this information?


Don’t worry, this isn’t another indictment of the 24 hour news cycle, or some empty complaint about the relentlessly depressive nature of a lot of news (in general, not even lately). This isn’t something about whether we have the information we need or we deserve, or whether we can or should be doing anything, anything at all, for the apparently innumerable intractable problems that surround us, so much so that we end up making blockbusters of movie after movie that talks about nothing but the end of the world… because, presumably, one thing that will be for sure after that is that it will be quiet. 


It’s about a shift in attitude, and it’s meant to be positive, not to bring anyone down. It’s meant to be freeing.

This is about a simple question that we need to start asking ourselves more frequently.

Here it is:


We have to start asking ourselves this question about a great many things, in a great many areas of human endeavor.

We have to ask why not in a negative way, not wailing or crying about how bad we have it. This isn’t dark or cynical. We have to ask why in a way that can bring about new solutions and in a way that maybe requires to throw away some old notions or to stop doing things the way we used to.

Because it’s time.


The question I’m talking about, the why in the way I mean it, refers to questioning things we’ve been repeating for a long time without thinking or maybe without really trying to figure out if there’s a better or different way for something.

We have spent many decades building stuff and coming up with ways to do stuff and creating organizations that can consistently both build and come up with way to do stuff.

A lot of it is fine, really. This isn’t about throwing it all away.

But a lot of it is just not really useful anymore. It needs to be replaced, or simply removed.


Example: the news. CNN informs me that a million refugees went into Europe this year, via a notification on my phone.


To start somewhere, out of the many many things that happened in the last 12 hours, why did I get a notification for that and not for something else?

Easy: Many people (certainly in the news) have been freaking out about refugees. CNN wants readers. So some programming person somewhere saw this article come up and had to choose the ONE notification they would send out for the next 12 hours, because they know they can’t send a million or we’ll just delete the app, because they know we don’t pay much attention anyway… and he chooses something that is simultaneously “Serious”, “Newsworthy” but that also will almost certainly catch the eye. A MILLION REFUGEES!!! WHAT THE….

Yeah, sensationalism. So this CNN person (or more likely a group… think of it, this one notification sent to millions of people the result of a 30-minute meeting someone had in Atlanta a few hours ago).

But still, why? Well, CNN is (nominally at least) in the news business, so it must do news. And this is how we do news now, isn’t it?


This is what I imagine Jeff Zucker wakes up every day to, that scream inside his head. ISN’T THIS WHAT YOU WANT? MORE TWEETING OR WHATEVER? JUST TELL ME I’LL DO IT. Jeff has a tough job, no two ways about it.

Back to the point: CNN is trying to survive, doing news or the closest approximation they can manage while still being able to cut to commercials about Viagra and golf courses. That’s fine.

CNN was the inventor, really, of the 24-hour news cycle. They were (actually) serious once. Real journalist-like. They just decided that the world had become too connected and too complicated and that the previous diet of news only in the morning, evening, or night, was not enough. That we needed news ALL THE TIME.

Fine. It was just an extension, really, of what had happened earlier. It used to be there was one news program that everyone liked. Everyone had their favorite TV news anchor. The most “trusted.”

Before that, Radio and newspapers held more sway. And even before that, just newspapers, or just a few printed pages every day, really, of things that were happening around towns. Around big towns specifically, because…

There. Right there.

There’s the why.

With the industrial revolution came the need for people to be closely together. Cities grew. As cities grew, they became more concentrated. People didn’t know each other anymore.

The old mechanisms for knowing what the hell was going on had broken down. If there was some pest killing all the chickens in the vicinity, you couldn’t rely on the old lady near the water hole anymore. If there was an impending band of roving asshats that was going to rob people you wouldn’t find out until they were on top of you. In this new, hypercompressed, always-on city, you couldn’t even see two feet in front of you, the smell and the dust and the ash and the pervasive rumors and bullshit so thick you needed someone to parse some of this stuff and tell you, well, simply, what you just had to know.

This is the why.

See, there is a why. There’s always a why. Always a reason. This one in particular started to get left behind pretty early. Once day, astute newspapermen (and yes, they were all men back then, trust me) realized that the more blood you talked about, the more papers you sold. People seemed to like it. Morbid curiosity? A twisted new way of finding entertainment? Perhaps finding that your life wasn’t really that bad because, look, there’s that other guy that just got run over by a truck and now can only eat with a straw, look at that, how horrible, and how’s he progressing, that saint, in his recovery? He’s a hero, that’s what…

Ok, I went too far. I said I wouldn’t get dark, or cynical, moving on.

The point is, the news had a point. There was a why. There was a reason. Over time, the reason mutated, changed. Over time, we added the profit motive (well, that one jumped on board pretty much at the beginning but the notion that there’s more profit margin in abstract thought sold for entertainment than in manufacturing something still hasn’t quite cut through some people).


Over time… over time, though, we just started doing it… well, because. Why do we watch the news? To be informed, to be good citizens, etcetera. True. True. To do our jobs… maybe, for some of us. But a lot of it, a lot of what we consume as “news” is really just filler. Useless. Even significant and perhaps tragic events are not really important to a lot of us, sad as that may sound. I’m not even going to go into the issue of how we selectively decide to freak out about the same thing depending on where it happens. I am talking about the objective value of the news, for example…

A small building collapses in somewhere in St Louis, MO. A few people killed and a few injured. No foul play… no crazy terrorists. Just an accident. Bad plumbing. Ok. Well, surely everyone in the vicinity should know about it, and gathering information and summarizing it for them is an eminently useful and worthwhile thing to do. They may have to find out if there’s family or friends hurt. City officials might have to revisit their building codes, or something. Perhaps, even, the whole State or the whole country might have to have a discussion about structural integrity and such. But the actual, specific continued coverage about the collapse, the victims, the bystanders, is irrelevant to anyone outside a 50-mile radius of that building. And yet, the “news” would spend two days with wall-to-wall coverage, and the rescue, and so forth. Charities would be set up. You know how it’d go.

But it shouldn’t be this way. There’s local news, and there’s global news, in that there’s things that affect us locally (“crossing two miles down my house is flooded”), nationally (“a few drops of rain in Chicago freeze air traffic”, heh), or world-wide (“Aliens land on White House lawn, demand rent-controlled apartment in NYC”).


This wasn’t a conspiracy — this is something that evolved naturally. We were doing one thing, and we kept doing it and now we’re still doing it even if it is not really useful and even if it, sometimes, it starts to hurt us. Because I’m all for entertainment, but there’s really no need for me to be informed about every tragedy in the world just because CNN has to fill its front page. There’s a lot of people in the world. Bad stuff happens all the time. So I don’t want to hear about a train crash in Thailand, horrible as that might be. I choose not to look at that, not to be uninformed, not because I don’t care, but because it serves no purpose. Whatever “good” can come from this information (safety concerns? worrying about trains I take? donate money? what?) surely is diluted by the obvious immediate “bad” that comes from having to process this stuff non-stop.

So it’s not about the news, or about CNN, although they do probably need some help to pull out from that sense of fully saturated colors tinted in desperation that I get from their every broadcast “pleeeassse watch us! we’ll have monkeys playing poker! Squirrels in space!!! ANYTHING!!!.”

I’m just saying that we have accumulated lots and lots of habits and systems and gadgets that are no longer necessary. They may need replacement, or rethinking. They may need just to be removed.

The opportunities are everywhere. We just have to look for purpose in what we do, in what we have.

Inertia is a powerful force, but it’s not all-powerful. Questioning, finding purpose in the things we do, is clarifying, and while it sometimes leads to uncomfortable problems that don’t have easy solutions, it invariably ends up being a useful exercise.

Just give it a try.

the multichannel conundrum

(x-post to Medium)

I’ve been writing online for quite a while now. My earliest posts date back to late 2001/early 2002. I tried a bunch of different platforms and eventually settled on MovableType running on my own server, and a few years back I moved to hosted WordPress, where my primary weblog remains. As I’ve been revving up my writing in recent weeks I started wondering about other options.

why write where

Now, some people may think of posting in as many places as you can in purely utilitarian terms, as a way to “increase distribution” or whatever. I, however, think about it in terms of the mental space the tool creates, and how it affects my output. Which affects me. This effect is not restricted to online writing, where social feedback loops can be created instantly. I think the tool has a direct, real effect on what you write. All things being equal, writing on a typewriter will lead to something different than if you used, say, Notepad on Windows 95. I’m sure there are studies about this that confirm my completely unfounded assertion. However, I am not going to go on a yak-shaving expedition in an attempt to find out. Let us assume there are, and if not, then let’s agree there should be… and if not we can disagree*.

*Should someone object and try to say that we can “agree to disagree” then I will point out that, no, “agreeing to disagree” is just plain disagreeing but pretending you don’t, probably to avoid an actual conversation. “Agreeing to disagree” is to “disagreeing” what “agnostic” is to “atheist.”

A lot of what I write, of what I’ve always written, is long form. And a lot of what I write, of what I’ve always written, is connected. Not superficially, not just thematically, but actually connected, a long-running thread of obsessions and topics that expand (and, less frequently, collapse) non-linearly. Sometimes I’ve written hypertextually, simultaneously creating meaningful minor blocks of meaning and greater ideas that emerge out of the non-directed navigation of references between those minor blocks. By the by, I know “hypertextually” is not really a word, but I think it conveys what I mean.

While that structure is amusing to my brain (and possibly other brains!), it can have a fate worse than becoming incomprehensible: becoming invisible. If you see something that you don’t understand you have a choice to spend time and try to understand it, but if you don’t see something, regardless of complexity, well…

content survivability

So trying to keep that structure somewhat visible means lots of cross-referencing, which means what I write has to have exceptional survivability. This is less easy than it sounds. Services start and close down. Linking mechanisms change. Technically, theoretically, there’s nothing really preventing hyperlinked content to remain available for referencing in perpetuity, in practice perpetuity can and often is a very very short time. An easy example is Twitter and the tweet-boxes that they insist people must use to reference tweets. Some people take screenshots, most use the tweet boxes. Eventually Twitter will change, morph, be acquired, shut down, or maybe not, but I guarantee you that at some point in the next 10–20 years those boxes will simply stop working. At that time, regardless of how standards-compliant the HTML the pages that contain those tweets, they will be crippled, possibly severely. How many times have you read a news story recently that talks about how so-and-so tweeted such-and-such and it’s outrageous? Archive.org and its wonderful Wayback Machine don’t solve this issue.

Now, in general, this is not necessarily a bad thing. I’m sure that not everything has to be preserved forever. With distance history loses resolution, and that’s alright for lots of things. Even during crises a lot of what we do in life is mundane, inconsequential and it rightfully gets lost in time. Now that a lot of what we do is either in cyberspace or is reflected by/in it, it’s natural that inconsequential things end up there. We don’t care what Julius Caesar had for lunch one day in October as a teenager. Likewise, the fact that an Instagram photo of a future president’s lunch is lost in time will do nothing to alter history. However, if the choice for lunch leads to losing a bus that later crashed, then the entire incident will generally be recorded. Psychohistory comes to mind.

But I digress. The point is that I like the idea, personally, of knowing that I can maintain cross references valid for what I write, and that means having both a level of control over it as well as reducing the number of outlets in which it appears. Hence my weblog being fairly static in structure (I converted the MT weblog to static pages back during the transition).

This also limits the tools that can be used, to some degree, and according to my theory of how the tool shapes the message, it would naturally lead to stagnation, at minimum, stylistically, of what is said.

Which results in this so-called conundrum.

Trying new things is important though. That’s why I’m here. I may cross-post to my weblog for now, just for “backup,” but I am going to give Medium a try, and see what happens. This entire post resulted entirely from this experiment, and that’s a pretty good start.😛

letter to a rooster

Somewhere North of my residence.

Dear Sir/Madam

As a modern man, I am reasonable accepting of other lifeforms and their possibly bizarre rituals or traditions. For example, I both accept and embrace expats of New York or Chicago, who seem to never tire of extolling the virtues of their city of origin while not actually living in it. I am also fond of librarians and their index cards, whether printed or digital, and can even tolerate so-called “Foodies” as long as they maintain an appropriate distance (usually around 50 feet, depending on voice volume).

Now, with my bonafides established, I would like to lodge my complaint.

Whatever possessed your race (presumably millennia ago) to invent the screeching call you insist on perpetrating everyday at the break of dawn, surely we can all agree that, given your current sub- or semi-urban circumstances, the time for such barbarism is now past.

In this modern world of ours we have a large number of items that are designed to wake people up as well as put them to sleep, in the form of smartphones, State of the Union addresses (both live and recorded), alarm clocks, movies starring Steven Seagal, or the occasional blunt instrument. I have no doubt that Fowl in general and Roosters in particular would be equally well served by any of the products that can be procured for little expense at your local Wal-Mart or Barn, Pottery or otherwise. Furthermore, were you to resist this notion one could almost call your obsessive clinging to this forgotten Alarm-Clock-less past pitiful, and you, Sir/Madam, a Luddite. And I do not believe that Sir/Madam wishes this notion to propagate among your contemporaries.

I am a gentleman; I do not wish to escalate matters. However, at this point I must inform you that, should you continue in this course of action, I will be forced to take measures to end this daily attack on the senses. These include, but may not be limited to: SEAL HALO drops on your present location, various types of artillery, grenades, arrows (both wooden and metallic), colored confetti, and low-yield nuclear-tipped ICBMs. Should you persist beyond that point I am also prepared to deploy offensive mechanisms banned by the Geneva Conventions, for example, non-stop rebroadcasts of Jersey Shore at high volume in your general direction.
I beg that you will listen to reason and relent, before the madness consumes us all.



PS: by “SEAL” I don’t mean the cute animals that hang out in pools at the Zoo or the Marina clapping at the tourist folk, and by “HALO” I don’t mean the critically-acclaimed game from Bungie. Although a shower of marine creatures and DVDs would probably range from inconvenient to downright annoying, it’s far tamer than what I am actually referring to.

PPS: Somehow it has gotten in to my head that when not “roosting” (or whatever your call the screeching) you actually speak with the voice of Sir Sean Connery. Should this be accurate, please let me know. I am not about to declare war on 007. I am not a moron.
PPPS: Jimmy McMillan 2016.

here’s when you get a sense that the universe is telling you something

In the same Amazon package you get:

    The latest Thomas Pynchon novel.
    The World War Z blu ray.

Telling you what exactly…. well, that is less clear.

what a startup feels like (sometimes)

That is all.

diego’s life lessons, part III

Excerpted from the upcoming book: “Diego’s life lessons: 99 tips for survival, fun, and profit in today’s baffling bric-a-brac world.” (see Part I and Part II).

#9 make the right career choices

Everyone will have seven careers in their lifetime, someone said once, and we all repeated it even if we have no idea why.

The key to career planning, though, is to keep in mind that while the world of today ranges from complicated to downright baffling, the world of tomorrow will be pretty predictable, since as we all know it will just be a barren hellscape populated by Zombies.

So the question is: post-Zombie Apocalypse, what will you need to be? Survival in the new Zombie-infested world will require the skills of any good D&D party: a Healer, a Warrior, a Thief, and a Wizard — which in a world without magic means someone to tinker with things, build weapons, design shelters with complicated spring traps, and knowledge of how to brew a good cup of coffee.

Clearly you don’t want to be a Healer (read: medic/doctor), since that means no one will be able to fix you — you should have friends or relatives with careers in medicine, however, for obvious reasons. Being a Thief will be of limited use, but more importantly it’s not really the kind of thing you can practice for without turning to a life of crime as defined by our pre-Zombie civilization (post-Zombies, most of the things we consider crimes today will become fairly acceptable somehow, so you may be able to pull this off with the right timing).

That leaves you with either Warrior or Wizard, which translates roughly to: Gun Nut or Hacker. And by “Hacker” we mean the early-1980s definition of hacker, rather than the bastardized 2000s version, and one that is not restricted to computers.

So. Your choices for a new career path are as follows:

  • If you’re a Nerd, become a Hacker.
  • If you’re neither a Nerd or a Hacker, just become a Gun Nut, it’s the easiest and fastest way to post-apocalyptic survival. This way, while you wait for Zombies to strike you won’t need to worry (for example) about a lookup being O(N) or not, or why the CPU on some random server is pegged at 99% without any incoming requests.
  • If you’re already a Gun Nut, you’re good to go. Just keep buying ammo.
  • If you’re already a Hacker… please don’t turn into an evil genius and destroy the world. Try taking up some activity that will consume your time for no reason, like playing The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim or learning to program for Blackberry.

NOTE (I): If you’re in the medical profession, just stay put. We will protect you so you can fix our sprained ankles and such.
NOTE (II): there is also the rare combination of Hacker/Nerd+Gun Nut, but you should be aware that this is a highly volatile combination of skills which can have unpredictable results on your psyche.

#45: purchase a small island in the Pacific Ocean

As far as having a permanent vacation spot, this one really is a no-brainer. Why bother with hotels when you can own a piece of slowly sinking real estate? Plus, according to highly reliable sources, you don’t need to be a billionaire.

True, you will have significant coconut-maintenance fees and you’ll probably need a small fleet of Roombas to keep the place tidy, but coconuts are delicious and the Roombas can help in following lesson #18.

NOTE I: don’t be fooled by the “Pacific” part of “Pacific Ocean.” There’s nothing “pacific” about it. There’s storms, cyclones, tsunamis, giant garbage monsters, sharks, jellyfish, and any number of other dangers. Therefore, an important followup to purchase the island is to buy an airline for it. You know, to be able to get away quickly, just in case.

NOTE II: this is actually an alternative to the career choices described above, since it is well known that Zombies can’t swim.

NOTE III: the island should not be named Krakatoa — see lesson #1. Aside from this detail, owning a Pacific Island does not directly conflict with lesson #1, since the cupboard can be actually located in a hut somewhere in the island (multiple cupboard hiding spots are also advisable).

#86 Stock up on Kryptonite

Ok, so let me tell you about this guy… He wears a cape and tights. He frequently disrobes in public places. He makes a living writing for a newspaper with an owner that makes Rupert Murdoch look like Edward R. Murrow. He has deep psychological scars since he is the last survivor of a cataclysmic event that destroyed his civilization. He leads a secret double life, generally disappearing whenever something terrible happens. He is an illegal alien. Also, he is an ALIEN.

Does this look like someone trustworthy to you? Hm?

That’s right. This is not a stable person.

Add to the list that he can fly, even in space, stop bullets, has X-ray vision, can (possibly) travel back in time and is essentially indestructible. How is this guy not a threat to all of humanity?

Lex Luthor was deeply misunderstood — he could see all this, but his messaging was way off. Plus there were all those schemes to Take Over The World, which should really be left to experts like genetically engineered mice.

The only solution to this menace is to keep your own personal stash of Kryptonite. Keep most of it in a cupboard (see lesson #1) and a small amount on your person at all times.

After all, you never know when this madman will show up.


When my home phone… you know, the bulky, heavy one, plugged in to a wireline (perhaps for sentimental reasons, at this point), rings… I don’t answer.


It is muted. Permanently.

There’s a generation … a group of people, a dividing line, somewhere… for whom the idea of a dialtone, of verified communication, sounds insane. Most of them are kids at this point, sure, but some aren’t. To me, it is noticeable. To others, it is alien.

A dialtone.

Think about it, how many people alive today don’t know what a dialtone is? Have never heard one?

How many people do not answer their phone because they assume it’s spam?

Spam. Email… bits, translated into voice (also bits). Video. TV, or, truthfully, the constructs that TV (and to some degree radio) created.


Something to consider…

indiana… smith

via an old post from Mystery Man on Film, The “Raiders” Story Conference: the transcripts of meetings in 1978 during which George Lucas, Steven Spielberg and Lawrence Kasdan ironed out what would become Raiders of The Lost Ark. It is really something to see the movie unfold in the discussion, the recurring themes and references (e.g. James Bond), the highly structured way in which Lucas (in particular) approached the story-crafting process, and moments like this, when Lucas first names the character:

Kasdan: Do you have a name for this person?

Lucas: I do for our leader.

Spielberg: I hate this, but go ahead.

Lucas: Indiana Smith. It has to be unique. It’s a character. Very Americana square. He was born in Indiana.

Kasdan: What does she call him, Indy?

Lucas: That’s what I was thinking. Or Jones. Then people can call him Jones.

If you’re interested at all in art, movies, or the creative process in general, the transcript and Mystery Man’s analysis are a must-read. (Almost a Movie has more formats).

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