In lieu of my usual “Happy Birthday to Me” post, I present you with this, posted serendipitously just yesterday, from Diesel Sweeties by Richard Stevens:
Edit: So, I ended up watching via Engadget most of the time, and when they had hiccups, I went over to Ars Technica. Good job guys.
Hey folks, I am planning on “watching” the Apple announcement (iPhone 5S, 5C, iOS 7, maybe some iPads, ever so maybe a TV-related announcement that might just be new software) today at 10 am Pacific (noon, where I am). Here’s how.
Last time I had the greatest success with Engadget’s live feed. It has lots of features, appears to be homegrown (or at least unique) and worked well during this past WWDC Keynote. If you’re only going to do one feed, do this one:
If you are like me, and you want to swap between several feeds of almost the same coverage with slightly different snark, you might also try the following links:
What else is out there? Well, if you like pretentious hair and live video (of people talking about the reveal, not of the reveal itself) you can’t do better (or worse) than C|Net’s ad-driven pre-show page. Oy. Then, there are the luddites. AllThingsD seems to be doing a straight up refresh-and-read approach, and Jim Dalrymple’s The Loop is proudly proclaiming their refresh for new system to be “old school.” I’m on the fence about Slashgear’s approach (they are new to me in live blogging) and MacWorld’s cookie-cutter vendor-product-live-blogging-platform.
A strange thing has happened to me.
Ever since joining our hippy-go-liberal UU church, I find myself mentioning it in casual conversation. For forty-odd years I haven’t ever talked about church, except when asked, and then only to indicate that no, I don’t really attend any church.
But since joining SMUUCh, I find myself talking about church. I’m not entirely sure why. I don’t bring it up out of the blue. Usually it’s something relevant to the conversation, like about heckling Rep. Yoder at the 4th of July parade, or about the story the minister told at dinner with age-alike church folk. Once or maybe twice I have crowed about something the church does, like about their coming of age program (like Confirmation, except hippy-go-liberal). But usually it’s just about something I heard on Sunday, or something the church did, or something they might do.
And it feels weird to hear myself saying, “At church the other day,” or “My church is going to…” But good, too. I like talking about it. I don’t feel I need to hide that I go, or what it is they espouse. I used to dread conversations about church, I guess because I felt I had to play down my beliefs. My lack of belief? My certainty that humans can achieve spiritual greatness without a Guiding Hand. I didn’t want to get into it. But being a member of a church, a big church with lots of members, it lends legitimacy to my beliefs. It makes me want to talk about how awesome they are.
Which leads me to recognize that I could come across a little smug (my church is better than your church!). But mostly I think I am just proud to be a member of this inclusive little denomination that thinks like I do and makes me want to be better than I am.
It’s crazy, but I think this must be how other people feel about their church, right?
Part of a community they are proud of, and want everyone to know about?
Makes me think I should, at the very least, respect people of other religions, despite my disagreement with their attitudes about race, gender, sexual orientation or whether I am going to Hell.
Everyone deserves respect. Even when my church is better than theirs. :)
I don’t do this often (enough?) but this tweet from Wonderella is so pitch perfect on the topic of the Oxford Dictionary and Miley Cyrus, that I can’t help myself:
The Oxford Dictionary added an entry on "Twerking". They removed "Dignity" to make room, since we weren't using it anyway.— Wonderella (@wonderella) August 28, 2013
It’s been a bit over a week now since Mason died. In that time, our other dog, Zoey, has gone from convalescent nurse to full-fledged companion animal. We got her four years ago to hang with Mason, to make his old age a little better. We did not expect him to live nearly as long as he did, and as a result, Zoey’s life was maybe not as good as it could have been. She was always with Mason, and when he couldn’t go anywhere (the park on a hot day, with the family on vacation, camping) then she couldn’t go, either.
Since Mason died, her life has gotten better. In this last week she’s gone with us in the car on errands, been to the drive-in movies with us, and gone on long rambling walks. I’m pretty sure she misses him, too, but she seems to be doing okay.
Here’s a picture of her (the best picture I think I’ve taken of her) in the back of the minivan at the drive-in.
Mason, our Standard Poodle, died Friday night. We got him from his breeder when he was ten months old, and he was our dog until he died, just one month shy of his fifteenth birthday.
During his long life he survived inflammatory bowel disease, a paralyzed larynx, cancer and a couple bouts with pneumonia. We were pretty sure this last round of pneumonia would do him in, he’d lost an alarming amount of weight, and showed little interest in his food. It took him a long month to show signs of recovery.
Ironically, it was his renewed interest in food that killed him. Friday night he grew increasingly uncomfortable and unsettled. By midnight, it was clear something was wrong, and we suspected bloat, a condition in large breed dogs where excessive gas causes the intestines to twist and tighten, trapping the gas and causing expansion of the belly and ribcage. It requires immediate surgery to correct.
I took him to the emergency veterinarian, and they confirmed the condition. We chose not to put him through the surgery and the long recovery, an ordeal he would not likely have survived, and which would have extended his helplessness, pain, and misery.
They gave him a sedative for the pain, and I got to visit with him for a little while. He couldn’t lift his head, but his eyes were open, and his tail wagged a little. I’d always imagined whispering to him in his last moments that he was good dog, but he’d lost most of his hearing the last few years, so I rubbed his ears instead, which is what Poodles love best. I cried a lot, and worried that I was upsetting him, so I asked the doctor in to end it. I was there when he died, I caressed him, and I cried some more. After it was over the doctor told me I could stay as long as I liked, but Mason wasn’t in there anymore, so I took his collar and went home to my family, to grieve with them. That was 2:00 am Saturday morning.
He spent his whole life with us, and fifteen years is a long time for a big dog to live. He came to us as a crazy, energetic puppy, always running and chasing, hunting bunnies and squirrels. He never caught one, but not for lack of trying. His favorite game was chase, usually started as an attempt to get him to play fetch, transformed by his preference for keep-away. He got so excited when people came to visit, we had to train him to put a toy in his mouth so he wouldn’t nip. I don’t think I noticed when he got old enough that he stopped doing that, and it stopped being a problem. It just did. He never suffered separation anxiety, but when we were home he liked being near us. He’d follow us around the house, settling where we settled, even after he’d grown old enough that stairs were more than an inconvenience to him. In the last months, we would carry him down to be with us while we watched TV, then carry him back up. Bloat may have done the deed, but old age is what killed him.
It seems like he’s been with us for everything that’s been significant in our lives. He was our first child. He was there when our first son demoted him back to dog. And he was still there when our second son demoted him even further, and when our second dog put him in his place. He lived in every house we owned. He went camping and canoeing with us. He visited grandparents and friends, from Minneapolis to Wichita. He was in a family reunion photo four generations deep. He was our family before we had a family. And he was part of our family when we did.
I loved him.
He was a good dog, even if he couldn’t hear me say so.
He can run and play and chase like he used to now, in our hearts and minds.
John Gruber of Daring Fireball points to this article at the WSJ: Apple Has an Identity Crisis: Is It a Hardware Company or a Software Firm? Gruber notes that this dichotomy has been true every one of Apple’s 37 years.
But I beg to differ. There is no dilemma. This has never been true. Back when I used to write about Apple, twenty years ago, and today, it is quite clear: Everything Apple does is about selling hardware. You can set your watch, your rumor mill, and your stock options by this.
If they don’t think it will further hardware sales, they won’t do it.
Delightful name, no?
I would like Apple to build a wall wart1 that connects to my iTunes Match account (nee, my iCloud account) to stream music.
It should be very much like an Airport Express, being wall-wartish, and having an audio out option, but it should be purpose built to connect to my music in my Apple ecosystem. I would set it up via my Apple i(OS)X device, connect to my WiFi, log in to iCloud, save my credentials, and it would be ready to go.
This magic wart would then let me listen to my music, via iTunes Match, without a computer or a copy of iTunes running. I wouldn’t have to plug my iPhone in anywhere, or use minutes/battery to stream music. I wouldn’t have to “Start iTunes, Honey, so we can listen to music.” I could still use Remote (or iTunes on OSX?) to skip, pick a playlist, etc.
How sweet would that be?
Bonus, it would be ready for iRadio, or whatever Apple calls their eventual streaming music service.
Yes, I know this is very specific to the Apple ecosystem. And it would be fab if Apple would let you connect it to Pandora/Rdio/Spotify/whatnot, but Apple would never do that. On the other side, Apple would never allow a third party wall wart to connect to iTunes Match, so. I am, in my circumstances, stuck with Apple. I can live with that.
But I can’t live without this thing. Build it, Apple!
wall wart (n): electronic nubbin with plug prongs on the back that you plug into the wall where it sits like a parasitic lump, doing “something.” ↩
There is so much to say about today’s NRA statement in relation to the Sandy Hook shooting. But let us start with this. The NRA blames the shooting on a culture of violence. They call out video games (specific ones, I guess you know who your friends are now!), media, the government. It’s actually a pretty comprehensive (if slight) overview of the complex problems of childhood and games and television and mental health and the economy. I’d say bravo for recognizing that the issue is shades of grey upon shades of grey. Except…
Ironically, their answer is to present the fix to society’s ills as a video game:
“The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun.” Wayne LaPierre, NRA Lobbyist
Bad guys. And good guys. Shoot the bad guys to save the children.
Well, I have some black and white rhetoric for you, too, Mr. LaPierre.
What is safer than a good guy in a school with a loaded firearm? No firearms. Not for good guys. Not for bad guys. Leave the firearms to the professionals who need them.
So, my wife and I had a little conversation today about hunters and their guns in light of my previous post. We eat meat, and that meat has to be killed; hunters kill animals, and some of them eat that meat… she wondered if there was a problem with my argument in that context. I had to think about it for a moment before I wrapped my head around it.
But I’m good now.
I don’t have a moral problem with killing animals for meat. Never have, really. I have lots of problems with the way we raise and kill food animals, and try to buy my meat from local producers with small scale slaughtering operations. I don’t eat a lot of meat, for health reasons. But I’m fine with animals as meat, killed by humans.
In that sense, I don’t have a problem with individual hunters going out and killing animals for meat. And while I may have a personal distaste for hunters going out and killing animals for fun, that isn’t what my argument is about.
I have a problem with people owning guns.
As I have said before, professional gun owners need their guns to do their jobs. Fine. But recreational gun owners do not need their guns. Recreational hunters do not need their guns. Recreational hunters do not need to kill animals, and they certainly don’t need to do it with guns.
They may want to. But that isn’t a good enough reason to own a gun.
- You want to be one with nature? Go camping.
- You want to feel the “thrill of the hunt?” Grab a camera on your way out to the blind.
- You want to feel like a man? Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Build a house. Read at the library.
- You really need to kill? Do it with a bow, if you must. I’ll concede that piece of ground.
Your hunting rifle does not make you safer. It puts everyone around you in danger. What is safer than a responsible, trained hunter with a properly secured gun? Not having a gun.
And then there’s this:
“…the urge to kill lies within us all, especially as children. Without proper channelling of these instincts, children often grow into physically abusive and/or murderous adults. Can any of us honestly say that, as kids, we didn’t shoot birds with our slingshots and bb guns, or set homemade traps for other critters? I say that if you can say that, then you either never had an opportunity as a child, or you’re an exception to the rule of human nature.”
From Why do Hunters Hunt? by Russ Chastain
I’m sorry, you have an instinctual “urge to kill” that you need to channel properly? And you had it as a child? I don’t have an alternative for you, except to hope to God that you are the exception, not the rule.
Some of the reading I did for this: