Like Gov. Jesse Ventura who was too busy to bleed in Predator, I am way to busy to blog.
And I am somewhat burnt out on blogging for now and what is exciting in my world is definitely under NDA and unspeakable.
Looking forward to some downtime next week and some posts on maritime history, marlinespike seamanship, and the deplorable state of turkey abuse in America today (turducken, deep fried birds).
Wired News – AP News
This is big news for the old “paid content” model. As this AP story points out, with the WSJ.com going free, that leaves Consumer Reports as the biggest circulation paid site in the world.
“Other media outlets also tried to charge fees for access to their Web sites in the early years of the Internet, but most abandoned the strategy, particularly after online advertising spending began to grow.”
I received an invite through one referral or another to check out Dopplr. How to describe? A trip sharing mechanism where I can post — to a select network of fellow Dopplr travelers — my itineraries in the off-chance someone wants to meet-up, toss back a cold one, offer up a couch.
My network is tiny — indicative of a beta program — and consists solely of Stowe Boyd and a Lenovo colleague. There is an “invite a friend” function that looks at Facebook contacts and Gmail for other members, so I just spammed the Venn diagram between my Facebook associates and other Dopplr beta users to see if some social value can begin to be generated.
Some other more gregarious types may crave a meeting or meal while on the road, and I am no exception, having used the weekly “whereabouts” post to alert friends and business contacts of my location and plans, sometimes with fortuitous results. But there seems to be a more useful application that I’m not grokking. From the FAQ:
“What is Dopplr?
Dopplr is an online service for frequent travellers. It lets you share your future travel plans with a group of trusted fellow travellers that you have chosen. It also reminds you of friends and colleagues who live in the cities youâ€™re planning to visit. You can use the service with your personal computer and mobile phone.”
I’m basically looking for a structured microformat to replace the weekly “whereabouts” post and enable a gadget on this blog, as well as on my other online touchpoints — Facebook profile, LinkedIn, even, dare I admit, Lotus Notes calendar. Alas, the last one will happen when hell freezes over, but nevertheless, with an open API and a smart invitation-only beta, Dopplr might catch on.
Nov 12 – Monday: NYC, Google
Nov 13-15 Tuesday/Thursday: North Carolina, HQ
Nov 16-25 Cotuit, Thanksgiving Week
After lugging home ten pounds of catalogues (it must be the holidays, the catalogues are coming on stronger) from the post office on Monday, I declared enough is enough and went to the Direct Marketing Association’s website and paid a buck to get me and my wife’s name off of whatever mailing lists are sacrificing a few trees in our name every year.
Like the DoNotCall registry did to telemarketers, I hope this gives me some relief from the bins of crap that I pull out of the little box at the post office every week and which then go right into the recycling bin.
It felt good. Try it yourself.Â
The Global Sympathetic Audience – New York Times
Sorry, I shouldn’t jest at the expense of people who are considering Kevorkianizing themselves, but the saddest thought of all is leaving behind a note on … Twitter. Right there, among the twitter stream of “getting a sandwich”/”eating the sandwich”/”belching up the sandwich”/”where’s the bathroom so I can get rid of the sandwich?” comes, “Goodbye Cruel World.”
Not exactly carved in granite, but for some, it will have to do.
“Mr. Starr, who was driving around near his hometown, wrote in Twitterâ€™s characteristic staccato, stream-of-consciousness style about picking up some chicken wings and getting a new haircut. Then his postings took a darker turn.
At 6:02, he sent out a note about a nearby bridge: â€œMaybe I should jump from it?â€
At 8:17, bemoaning his lack of close friends, he speculated about being the first â€œTwitter suicide.â€
At 9:39, there was a final note: â€œAlright this is it. Parked my car. I wish everyone who ever was nice to me well. See you in the next life.â€”
Mr. Starr did not jump off the bridge, but was found asleep in his car by police.
For the Great How-Far-Can-You-Drive-North-Expedition — I found the vehicle in Chatham over the weekend while looking for hurricane mayhem. I present the Unimog:
(how far can you drive north? appears this is the highway to nowhere, The Trans-Taiga HighwayÂ
I received the results of my MBTI (Myers-Briggs Type Indicator) yesterday. Forbes had me take the test in 1995, but I forgot what I was, and realized I should have remembered when my McKinsey weenie-colleagues cited their four-letter indicator like freshmen nerds boasting about their SAT scores.
I am now a confirmed ENFP — according to the results:
“ENFPs are enthusiastic, insightful, innovative, versatile, and tireless in pursuit
of new possibilities. They enjoy working on teams to bring about change related to making things better for people. Although the descriptors below generally describe ENFPs, some may not fit you exactly due to individual differences within each type.
Sounds like the output of a self-administered personality survey or a profile on Match.com. According to a quick Google search, ENFP is nicknamed the “Champion” type of the 16 MBTI profiles. Wikipedia has an entry, which says:
“ENFPs are initiators of change who are keenly perceptive of possibilities, and who energize and stimulate through their contagious enthusiasm. They prefer the start-up phase of a project or relationship, and are tireless in the pursuit of new-found interests. ENFPs are able to anticipate the needs of others and to offer them needed help and appreciation. They bring zest, joy, liveliness, and fun to all aspects of their lives. They are at their best in situations that are fluid and changing, and that allow them to express their creativity and use their charisma. They tend to idealize people, and can be disappointed when reality fails to fulfill their expectations. They are easily frustrated if a project requires a great deal of follow up or attention to detail.”
There, I feel different already.
Whatever happened at 2 AM Sunday in terms of clock adjustments — daylight standard time or daylight savings time — fall forward, spring back, was moot around here. No power. No clocks. It smacks of government intervention and interference with the natural order of things.
To wit: I get up at o’dark-thirty in any event and will continue to get up at dark o’clock, my Protestant Work Ethic Guilt compelling me to pluck the terrier off of my face and shuffle barefoot down the quahog shell driveway to find the blue-bagged New York Times.
Who can sleep late? Why do my teenagers have the capacity to sleep non-stop, for days at a time, when I can barely get in an honest six hours. Who cares? Early is good.
The Canadian novelist Robertson Davies wrote:
“I don’t really care how time is reckoned so long as there is some agreement about it, but I object to being told that I am saving daylight when my reason tells me that I am doing nothing of the kind. I even object to the implication that I am wasting something valuable if I stay in bed after the sun has risen. As an admirer of moonlight I resent the bossy insistence of those who want to reduce my time for enjoying it. At the back of the Daylight Saving scheme I detect the bony, blue-fingered hand of Puritanism, eager to push people into bed earlier, and get them up earlier, to make them healthy, wealthy and wise in spite of themselves.” (The Diary of Samuel Marchbanks, 1947, XIX, Sunday.)”