The standing desk craze has begun to spread through my workplace. There are even rumblings of treadmill desks (a step too far for me, thanks). This gave me an idea - I give you, the swimming desk:
My friend and occasionally-quadrennial conference co-organizer, Peter Rukavia, is writing about his experience with a developer-preview Firefox OS phone.
His perspective is particularly interesting as it doesn’t come from inside the Firefox/Mozilla world. He’s just your average run-of-the-mill kind of alpha-geek that would pre-order a semi-functional developer preview device from Spain to try out an unproven operating system. Keep us posted, Peter.
If you’re wondering why Mozilla is working on building a mobile operating system, when the market is already maturing to two(ish) leaders, see former Mozillian, Asa Raskin’s article on why Mozilla is at its best when being a “fast second follower”.
A recent instance of the recurring Reddit thread, “What is the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?” is full of so many beautiful songs, you could get lost in it for hours.
When you hear something special in a piece of music, you want to others to hear it and to know that you shared that experience (“Hey, you’re alive? Me too!”). I once heard Sarah McLachlan refer to this shared experience as ‘resonating souls’. It sounds cheesy, but it’s the best way I’ve heard it put into words.
Two songs that came to mind for me were:
“True Love Waits” by Radiohead - This live recording of the first live performance ever is particularly good. There are higher fidelity recordings, but this one is the most powerful I’ve found. Wait for the keyboard counter-melody to appear just after the 2-minute mark.
“Lament for the Death of his Second Wife” by Niel Gow - This is a terrible quality clip I recorded from Tim Chaisson’s performance at Zap Your Pram in 2008. There is no “original” recording of this piece, as Gow died decades before audio recording even existed, but YouTube is full of hundreds of renditions.
Warning to those who watched the show Six Feet Under: you may end up hearing that song from the finale and having flashbacks. I even heard echoes of it (or rather, what it echoes from) in Philip Glass’ metamorphosis 2.
This map of bomb drops on London during The Blitz in 1940/1941 is worth seeing. I’m still amazed that St. Paul’s Cathedral survived.
“The vast majority of anybody who’s ever heard my music doesn’t want to hear it again.”
The entire interview is worth hearing. Come for the earnest discussion of music and spiritual crisis, stay for the humiliating pants-pooping-on-a-date story at the end.
My father is good at many things, but sitting still is not one of them. His current adventure has him helping out at a school/orphanage in Meru, Kenya. He has been posting updates from Kenya on his eponymous blog.
It has been fascinating to read his updates, despite the lack of a working Z key on his laptop (though it does have other working punctuation keys, Dad). That laptop has had an interesting life of its own - it’s a ThinkPad T60p that I bought from Kevin Rose in 2006. It was my primary laptop for four years, until it ended up as a hand-me-down in the family. Now it is in an orphanage in Kenya helping my father keep in touch with family and friends back in Canada. The laptop will probably stay there with the kids after he returns home next month.
The local CBC Radio morning show aired an interview my father from Kenya this morning:
There’s an episode of the classic television series Northern Exposure (bear with me) where Dr. Joel Fleishman is anxiously trying to fill up his empty Alaskan summer days. A friend tells him that he’s in “the throes of existential angst”. This observation has stuck with me.
I’ve come to believe that I occasionally suffer from a condition that I call “cosmic vertigo”. While it would be a terrible name for a band (or a great name for a terrible band), this phrase describes a feeling I get when I catch a (usually metaphorical) glimpse beyond my daily horizon.
My first such experience was on a beach on the North shore of Prince Edward Island in my mid-teens. I was at a campground and woke unusually early. I walked down to the beach where I watched the sun rise (an altogether different experience than seeing it set).
As the sun came closer to cresting the perceptibly-curved ocean horizon, the stars were still visible on the dark side of the sky. I had the (probably illusory) feeling that I could clearly perceive the spherical nature of the Earth, and it’s position and motion around the Sun. I felt like I was standing on a giant 6th-grade Styrofoam-ball model of the solar system.
The experience was profound, but neither positive or negative. I’ve heard others describe feeling small or insignificant during such an episode. This was not so in my case. I felt solitary, but not lonely.
This is a simple, perhaps juvenile, template of experiences I would come to have in a more negative light later in life. I’ve always found myself drawn to the power of perceiving vast scale. Imagining how many years of light-speed travel we are away from the nearest star deeply intrigues me.
This attraction to grand scale is peculiar in that it transforms quickly into a morbid dread when I am actually able to grasp something of a truly grand scale. Watching the classic film, Powers of Ten, is fascinating as we move away from the earth, out to the entire solar system, then to the galaxy. Then, as we pull further from the Earth and see that our entire galaxy is a grain of sand on a giant beach. It is at a point like this that I occasionally get the feeling of cosmic vertigo. This visualization of the the Hubble Deep Field image has had a similar effect.
Like an acrophobic taking a step higher and higher up a ladder, the steps of the Powers of Ten film cross a threshold from insignificant (standing a few steps off the ground), to terrifying (standing atop a tall ladder). Where that threshold lies can seem arbitrary, and even silly, to an observer, but don’t tell that to someone scared of heights.
I’ve wondered if cosmic vertigo may have something to do with reaching the bounds of human intuition (or at least my own). I can hold in my head the concept of the distance to the Moon (roughly a five month journey at 100Km/h). Even the the nearest star, over 4 light-years away, is something I can fool myself into understanding. Much beyond that, though, one enters the realms where metaphors are inadequate and you are faced with the limits of your own perception.
Even something as simple as the mathematical constant pi (π), can trigger the dreadful pang of cosmic vertical. Imagine a number that continues on to infinity. Too abstract, perhaps, but consider the numbers of pi scrolling pie, faster and faster. They go on forever. For. Ever.
The BBC dedicated an entire documentary to four geniuses whose insights drove them mad to the point of suicide. Fortunately, I’m not smart enough to terrify myself to that extent. Maybe, though, we can all catch a fleeting glimpse of what they saw so clearly that terrified them so much.
This cosmic vertigo may be a symptom of some deep psychological, philosophical, or spiritual issue. Or,it may be the perfectly reasonable terror of an ant who realizes he’s been riding a bicycle.