A new word, a product idea, a hygiene request
mel·o·gram·mat·ic adj.
The deliberate, ostentatious use of non-standard grammar online to make it seem like you’re hip and casual but also smart enough to know better.
Idea: create Band-Aid type bandages that are pre-printed with arm or leg hairs on them, allowing a more seamless blending with the furrier individual.
Do beard trimmers with the little vacuum attachment actually work?
Happy birthday, Ascent Stage!
Plink! One year ago today I added a single drop to the ocean of blogs. 255 posts and 397 sidebar links later I ‘m still enjoying it. If reading this blog is 1/100th as pleasurable as writing it then maybe the audience will come back for year two.
In honor of this milestone I’m performing a few upgrades which I’ll roll out this week.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
Expelling freedom
Yesterday Governor Pataki killed the International Freedom Center, a project I have been working on for over a year. This facility, part of the original master plan for Ground Zero and once championed by Pataki, was intended as a complement to the 9/11 Memorial and Museum also to be built on the original parcel of land that the towers occupied.
The idea was simple and highly-regarded: to respond to great tragedy with great hope, to show the world that freedom is the opposite of the forces that led to the destruction of the World Trade Center. The IFC had wide bipartisan support. It was led by a personal friend of the President’s and advised by academics on both sides of the political spectrum as well as relatives of victims. The governor, the mayor, the LMDC, and everyone else directly involved in the rebuilding of Ground Zero was pleased with this approach.
Until a grieving a family member with a political agenda provided an argument that set the conversative blogosphere and news networks aflame. She claimed that presenting multiple perspectives on freedom — what it means to different people, how it is struggled for, how the ideal of freedom guides and misguides our nation and the world — that this multitude of voices would end up “blaming” America for 9/11. Her rhetorical trick (which the right lapped up and spewed out again and again) was to conflate a multiplicity of perspectives on freedom with a multiplicity of perspectives on what happened on that horrible day. These are fundamentally different things. Yet, the distinction was lost on the grass-roots bloggers who galvanized victim’s relatives and first responder organizations in NYC to their cause, pouring salt in the open wounds of these family members by telling them that the IFC would dishonor their deceased loved ones.
Soon the IFC was labelled as anti-American. And the press loved that. The screech of the media feedback loop made this falsehood louder and louder. The Bush Administration early on left it to NYC to decide on the IFC fate. Pataki waffled and made the IFC (and Drawing Center — a one-time tenant of the same space) promise never to do anything that would “denigrate America”. The IFC agreed to this. Yet, Pataki still killed the Center, apparently having made up his mind anyway.
If this has taught us anything it is that emotions are still extremely raw — too raw for reasoned, non-politicized discussion — when it comes to the terrorist acts of 9/11. (Even the Flight 93 Memorial in Pennsylvania finds itself embroiled in a controversy of dubious merit.) Though the wounds will never heal for many people, the passing of time will permit a critical distance from which to judge the various proposals for how to treat the space. But there is no time. Leaving Ground Zero unbuilt temporarily seems like a weak position to politicians. So Pataki has put an end to the IFC and suggested that the memorial museum, currently underground, will occupy the building once designed for it. Meanwhile, across the street, an additional 300,000 square feet of retail space has been approved.
The International Freedom Center would have been a noble response to the vile acts of people imprisoned by perverse conviction. Now, if the “Take Back The Memorial” groups have their way visitors to Ground Zero will be treated to the twin horrors of an oversized memorial devoted to graphically retelling the story of Sept. 11 and a monstrous retail mall begging for their tourist dollars.
Are crushed fire trucks festooned with American flags really an appropriate way to memorialize what happened that day? Wasn’t more assaulted that day than people and property?
Lingualism
Real time translation in a conference setting always amazes me. The translators in their claustrophobic boxes have to keep up with nervous, mumbly presenters whose language is often specialized or vague. I try to make it a point to thank whoever has the misfortune of translating me. But it is such a great service. Sometimes I think about how life-changing it would be to have this device all the time. I have, in fact, walked out of a conference hall with the headset on and momentarily forgotten that it is not a Universal Translator that will work anywhere. Darn.
The movie The Red Violin is the first I have seen that moves smoothly and rapidly between many different languages, five in this case. Just when you’ve disabled the subtitles in an English section you’re thrown back into German or Chinese and you have to turn them on again. Thankfully toggling DVD subtitling, especially on a laptop, is painless. (Though it would be nice to be able to say “if any language other than X is being spoken I need subtitles.”)
Which brings me to website design. Multilingual sites — which should be every site but for obvious practical reasons cannot be — must work just as the translator headset or as DVD subtitles work. There should be complete symmetry in all languages and minimal design variation so that a lateral flitting from one to the other is seamless in every regard, except that the language changes — just like switching channels or subtitles. Wikipedia famously achieves this. Eternal Egypt is based on this premise too. In effect what you create this way is a single site with multiple languages, rather than multiple language sites for the same content.
Gather ’round the Campfire
Boards of Canada essentially screwed their career with their first album, Music Has The Right To Children, by creating a musical singularity, something that by definition could not be followed by anything that could elicit the listener response that it did. Universally praised, MHTRTC sounded like nothing that preceded it and little that has come since. It was a once-per-decade work that made you simply stare jaw-agape at whatever you were playing it on — stereo, computer, portable, whatever. It isn’t often that music astonishes, but this album did — and does. We wished them luck with future releases.
Peel Sessions, an EP, some remixes, a new track here and there for a compilation, a reissue of a limited release pre-first album (which was damn good) and then their second album-length effort, Geogaddi. This was a great album, better by far than most band’s first. But it was the just-attractive sister of a supermodel. Laudable, but.
So in comes album three, The Campfire Headphase. Still cursed by their first, BoC comes damn close to being reborn virgins on this one. It is a great album. Buy it when it comes out — in lieu of the P2P tracks you already have (like me). There’s more structure, more 4/4, but none of this seems to compromise their style.
BoC have discovered the guitar. This is not as problematic as you would think. Their classic detuned loveliness infects the strings too and is well-integrated. Three clustered tracks are the core of this album. Satellite Anthem Icarus is choice ambient material (not unlike recent Mr. Projectile). Peacock Tail is the standout track, happy and eerie like a stoned clown. And the deep echo on the bass after the rhythm literally falls to pieces is just powerful. Dayvan Cowboy is the soundtrack-worthy selection. It evokes late-Orbital sweepingness and drama that you’d never find in earlier work, but it achieves what it shoots for.
Enough already. This is good stuff. Get it if you can.
Teatro di Marcello

A few years ago the city of Rome opened the renovated Capitoline Museums on its most famous hill. The “Grande Campidoglio” project featured a number of improvements, including the stunning underground Tabularium gallery that lies under the piazza and connects the palazzi via an ancient street. The Tabularium also provides the most stunning views of the Forum obtainable, in my opinion, since you basically can peer out from an opening in the sheer face of the Capitoline Hill over the sunken ruins. In addition, the roof of the Musei dei Conservatori is open as a restaurant and has some great views looking the other way — in this case towards the Janiculum Hill with the Theater of Marcellus, still my favorite example of ancient/medieval layering in the whole city, in the foreground.
Laughs in Rome
Today in Rome I was chatting with the bellhop at the hotel, waiting for a cab. Actually that sounds a lot like we were having a conversation. Edit: I was fracturing his native language as we talked at each other in Italian. Anyway, he asked where I was from. I said Chicago. Oh Chicago, he exclaimed! Then he grabbed himself and said in an absolutely perfect impersonation of half my family “Eh, how you doin’?” Phonetically: ha yo doan? Three syllables, stress on the middle one. I laughed a lot louder than I probably should have, but it was such an odd thing. Here was an Italian impersonating what I have always regarded as an Italian-inflected mangling of English like you hear in many urban areas. I didn’t have the vocabulary to note the irony to him.
My second laugh was today at a coffee shop watching an American try to order a cafe mocha like she clearly does at Starbucks back home. The barista was utterly befuddled. And here she thought she was so cultured. They both left that transaction disappointed I think.
Osiris, meet Jesus. Jesus, Osiris.
Yesterday I was a guest speaker at my son’s school. Each week a new student becomes The Chosen One, he/she whose ego shall be inflated by week’s end. This was my son’s special week, so I volunteered to come talk to the class about my job, specifically about my work in Egypt. I figured that’d be more interesting to four-year-olds than, say, XML or Gantt charts.
Now, I’ve given presentations to CEO’s and government officials, to audiences skeptical and outright hostile, but I gotta say prepping for the preschoolers ranks right up there in terms of pre-show jitters. I mean, blowing a pitch to a client is one thing. Embarrassing your child the very first time you get a chance in front of his peers, that scars for life.
I now realize that talking about Ancient Egypt to a group of kids who don’t understand the concept of death is extremely difficult. How to explain the mummy? (“The wrappings keep the Egyptians cool when they take forever-naps.”) I did get a bit of a kick out of introducing the class to some of the Egyptian pantheon of gods, especially as this is a Catholic school. I had visions of the tots explaining to their parents that they learned about Osiris, Lord of the Dead, at school. Multiculturalism, kids. Teach the controversy.
At one point I introduced a finger puppet of a pharaoh. I explained that he was the leader of Egypt, that he wore a headdress that made him feel powerful like a lion, and that he ruled everything he could see with absolute power. At this point one of my son’s friends exclaimed “Just like President Bush!” No, I’m not kidding. I only wondered if he meant the puppet part or the absolute power part.
“More than you know, kid, more than you.”
I don’t really mind blizzards
There is a running joke in my family that my brother-in-law is the only person ever to have to evacuate the same hurricane twice. He fled Hurricane Georges in 1998 from Tampa to the safety of relatives in New Orleans. And then had to flee again back to Florida when the storm took aim for the Crescent City.
I’m not sure we’ll joke about this anymore.

Rearranging my wife’s family from Louisiana and Texas to account for Katrina and now Rita is becoming a logistical game of chess with Mother Nature. Five grandparents and six sets of aunts, uncles, and cousins fled Katrina. The cruel irony is that they are all mostly lined up in towns stretching from coastal Texas, to Houston, to Austin — the precise path of Rita. Flooding likely won’t hobble Houston and Austin (though at this rate even inland Austin will be dealing with a category two hurricane), but when power goes out those scorching cities will be very dangerous places to stay. So, the family exodus begins again. Destination Dallas.
Last report is that my sister-in-law and nephew had moved 32 miles out of Houston in 4 hours.
Jobs4Recovery
It is good to drop everything you are working on once in a while, you know? After Katrina hit I was asked to develop a quick employment portal for job-seekers in the states most affected by the disaster. The result, a partnership between IBM and the US Chamber of Commerce, is a search front-end that links into data from Indeed.com and JobCentral.com, plots results via Google Maps, and delivers state-specific secondary resources. This is what happens when you have a smart, talented team to work with.
Need a job? http://www.jobs4recovery.com
Or post one.
Let’s get to work people! There’s much to do.














