tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-150581912024-03-07T18:27:21.190-05:00Punk It Up!Daniel Jalkut's advice for everyday living.Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-79434408590089860772022-05-04T15:59:00.011-04:002022-05-04T16:05:34.014-04:00It Just Takes Time<p>I've been an active runner for a long time. As I explained a few years ago in <a href="https://blog.punkitup.com/2015/05/my-running-habit.html">My Running Habit</a>, I never ran long distances as a kid, but eased into increasingly longer runs as an adult. Now I typically run over 20 miles every week. It keeps me somewhat sane, and even more than somewhat physically fit.</p>
<p>Something I consistently hear from new runners is how they wish they could be enthusiastic about it, but it's <em>just too damned hard</em>. Like, grueling hard. It physically hurts. I remember that feeling. Faced with such negative consequences, what is the incentive to keep pushing ahead, trying to eke out another 100 yards, let alone another mile?</p>
<p>But something many new runners don't appreciate is that it gets <em>a LOT easier</em>. So much so, that when you're well-conditioned, running six miles is as easy as running three, or even one. For some range of <em>relatively</em> low mileage runs, adding a few extra miles only takes a little more time. Thus running becomes an incredible machine that takes time and converts it into well-being, physical fitness, and because it's a consideration for some of us, calorie consumption. As hard as it might be to get started, there's a reason for expressions such as "runner's high" and "second wind." At some point not only does running <em>stop hurting</em>, it becomes <em>actively enjoyable</em>. That's the real prize.</p>
<p>As lucky as I am to be on the other side of the beginner/experienced canyon with running, there are tons of other ambitions I have in life that I either put off completely, or only weakly pursue. Why? Just like running, they're all <em>too damned hard</em>. Any of us who try new things will inevitably face the humbling experience that the effort seems too great and the the result not rewarding enough. So we slam the guitar case shut, put the calculus book back on the shelf, or lose the gumption to join a chess club or take a pottery class.</p>
<p>For all the things you're not good enough at yet that it feels easy, there are undoubtedly other things that you have crossed the chasm with, so to speak. Things that are gruelingly hard for others, but that you find to be no big deal. As you look towards the things that you find harder, try to remember that there was a time when those things were hard for you too. You got better, and you'll get better at something else, too. Maybe running. Or piano, or calculus, or chess, or pottery! It just takes time.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-34056682283749739922019-05-14T20:11:00.001-04:002019-05-14T22:44:14.859-04:00My College Application Essay<p>I was digging through old files, and found the essay I wrote when I was applying for admission to UC Santa Cruz. I was a student at Cabrillo College, a community college in the area. I had been studying for around 3 years after dropping out of high school at the age of 15.</p>
<p>I didn't look to anybody for advice about writing college essays. Nobody proofread it. I cringe at some of the writing, but overall I think it's pretty good. Or, at least it's me.</p>
<p>Presented with only minor typographical corrections and without many regrets:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>An unending flow of questions and concerns punctuated my
breathing as I made my way to school on my first day in the tenth grade. I
found myself traveling not by a conventional youth method (bicycling,
skateboarding, etc) but as a small part in a gigantic rolling ball of confusion.
</p>
<p>
My biggest concerns were based on peer approval, and at the time it would seem
that even succeeding in wearing the right color socks would be enough to make
my day a good one. I started the tenth grade as I had started every other
year of my public education career, but in short time I made many
changes to the physical and mental realities in my life. Through an
ongoing exercise of introspection, I came to know myself more honestly
than I ever had before, and, using this is a catalyst for change, altered
my priorities and left high school for higher education at Cabrillo College.</p>
<p>Before that major turning point, I had spent most of my free time
worrying what other people thought of me. I daydreamed about
befriending the right person, and having my dull, meaningless life magically
transformed into one of meaning, excitement, and most importantly, popularity.
I considered myself cursed; every time I even began to become friends with
someone, he would inevitably abandon me at the request of his more important
friends. Evidently, they saw me as some kind of social leper, with a disease
so potent, that if contracted, could reduce each of their lives to the same
ruined shambles mine lay in. Indeed, my social standing seemed irreparable,
and after countless iterations of this same scenario, I had all but resigned
to being content with a life of melancholy.
</p>
<p>
In my loneliness, I looked to my hobby of computers as an escape, as
I had done throughout my childhood. Even at the onset of my computer
days, when playing video games was the extent to which I used them, the
computer was always responsive to to my loving [key]strokes. As the years
passed, and the methods with which I communicated to the computer became
less exciting, I would supplement my arsenal of computer skills with
something new to hold my interest. By the tenth grade, I had learned to
write my own computer programs, was somewhat familiar with the
hardware (machinery) side of the hobby, and had even started making use of
the computer facilities at UCSC. The multi-user social computer environment
at UCSC was especially fascinating for me, because I could practice social
skills with which I had remained deficient in the real world.
</p>
<p>
In the first month of the tenth grade, I had become friends with someone
who had just returned from a year of studying in Finland. He had been an
acquaintance before he left, but we'd never had anything much in common. While
staying in Finland, he had become involved in the punk-rock music scene, and
when he returned to the United States, he introduced me to some of the music
he had started listening to. He gave me a tape on which he'd compiled
several songs by four classic punk-rock bands: NoMeansNo, DOA, The Misfits,
and the Dead Kennedys. I listened to the tape once and was not impressed;
the songs were loud, obnoxious, and seemed void of any musical value.
</p>
<p>
I listened again though, and yet again, and each time I listened I heard
something new from the music that appealed to my ears and mind. The noise
had actually started to sound like music and as my mind caught up with the
tempo, I was able to make out some of the words. The messages that came
through the words were like aural candy for my ears! Finally I had found a
breed of music that was expressing what I had always felt in my heart. As
if they had used my life as a model, the lyrics confirmed to me the hardships
of growing up and living in an often emotionally callous society. Inspired
by this small collection of songs, I began to feverishly search for more of
the same. To say that punk-rock music played a vital part in the transformation
of my insecure, self loathing mind into a thinking, optimistic one would be
an understatement. Using the spirit of punk-rock music as a road atlas to
my own mind, I began the life-long journey toward fulfillment and happiness,
stopping only for sightseeing along the way.
</p>
<p>
With a new self respect and dedication to self improvement, I made
the decision that acceptance by my high school peers was insignificant, and
accepting myself was what mattered in the long run. Pessimistic about the
chances of making good friends in high school, I looked to expand on the
small group of older friends I'd made through the University's computer
system. In this endeavor I was quite successful and started spending most
of my spare time with friends at least four years my senior. Noticing that
my friends were mostly college aged, and being very advanced in my studies,
I decided it would be in my best interest to leave Santa Cruz High School and
enroll at Cabrillo Community College.
</p>
<p>
At the present time, two and a half years later, I think that my
decision to move on to college was perhaps the wisest decision I've ever made.
At Cabrillo College, I've been able to study subjects unavailable in high
school and have made many new friends while becoming more and more involved
with the computer community at UCSC. For the last few years I've been involved
with an organization at UCSC called COAC (Council for Open Access Computing,
which works to make computer facilities on campus available to the general
student populace), of which I was recently elected to the executive committee.
While my computer interests have continued to grow, I've also found new
interest in many fields, including art, politics, and philosophy. When I
consider where I might be today had I not been inspired to pursue happiness
in the ways I've narrated in this essay, I grimace at the frustration I would
likely be experiencing. I am relieved but not surprised that the choices I
made turned out for the best, and would certainly offer them as options for
others in situations similar to the one I was in.
</blockquote>
<p>The essay worked. Or they let me in anyway. I graduated from UC Santa Cruz in 1995 at the age of 20.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-60315841918851135832018-07-27T17:39:00.001-04:002018-07-28T15:09:46.043-04:00Start Digging<p>If you're anything like me, you probably have <em>some</em> amount of trouble keeping up with your tasks. I usually fluctuate between being "moderately on top of things" and "OMG I am so not on top of things" and "I'm completely overwhelmed and can't do anything."</p>
<p>For many years I have used <a href="https://inside.omnifocus.com/blog">OmniFocus</a> to manage my tasks, which has been a great help. Just getting everything I have to do in one place is the first step in tackling each item one at a time. Still, when the list of "To Do" items gets too large, it can get really hard to dig myself out from under the weight of all the obligations. It's hard to pick even one item to take a crack at.</p>
<p>When I'm in this overwhelmed state, it helps to think of myself as being buried in sand. An individual grain of sand is trivial to move, but the weight of a million grains of sand can make it feel hopeless to even try.</p>
<p>Imagine you're buried all the way up to your neck. Both arms are almost completely submerged, and only your hands extend above the surface. Take it a step farther: maybe only your little finger breaks the surface. The work of moving sand with that one finger is overwhelming, the results seem not worth the effort, yet the only way to make any progress at all is to keep at it.</p>
<p>Progress will be slow at first, but as you free up space to move, a second finger starts to pitch in. Pretty soon a hand, and then a whole arm, which proceeds to free the other arm.</p>
<p>Making progress frees up energy to make more progress. Eventually, you're scooping up sand, two handfuls at a time, and your torso is free. Time to start working on those legs...</p>
<p>Where this metaphor breaks down for me is I don't know if I've ever really gotten my legs free, but I keep trying. Merely gaining back the use of my hands and arms is an incredible feeling, and so much better than being buried up to my head.</p>
<p>Start digging.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-16915620162062601452018-02-09T23:59:00.001-05:002018-02-10T00:27:33.753-05:00Hour of Code<p>I'm a parent of elementary school kids, aged 6 and 9. I volunteer in many aspects of my kids' school, but among the most rewarding of these experiences have been the times I've volunteered for our school's Hour of Code event.</p>
<p>Lack of diversity in the tech industry is a systemic problem and nobody has yet figured out how to solve it. But events like Hour of Code seem to be doing a good job fighting for a solution.</p>
<p>The most amazing thing, for me, about volunteering for Hour of Code, is seeing the looks on kids' faces when they realize "they can code." They're invited to the party, and they know it. That's golden.</p>
<p>Having volunteered for several years, I've seen that look on the faces of kids of every gender, race, and cultural background. They all get it. They all feel empowered. They're all excited by the prospect of learning this skill, and contributing their abilities to the many problems that coding can help to solve.</p>
<p>My kids' school runs its "Hour of Code" event off-schedule, to avoid traffic conflicts with other schools who use the resources from the <a href="https://hourofcode.com/">official home page</a>.</p>
<p>I'll be volunteering next week, and I'm looking forward to seeing that look on the faces of kids in our school. If you have the luxury of offering some of your own time, I hope you'll also consider starting, or joining, an "Hour of Code" initiative at your own kids' school!</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-28163758583693284752017-10-15T23:42:00.001-04:002017-10-15T23:42:53.727-04:00Not Me<p>Many women are chiming in for #MeToo, to raise awareness about the common experience of being sexually assaulted or harassed. It drives home to me how easy it is for myself and other men to remain oblivious about the problem.</p>
<p>Obviously, boys and men are also victims of assault and harassment, but the sheer number of women who are speaking out drives home the disparity.</p>
<p>This is not OK.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-10716312904429510742017-09-24T00:06:00.001-04:002017-09-24T13:24:26.516-04:00Apple Picking<p>My family and I went apple picking today.</p>
<p>I grew up in California, and apple picking was not a part of my culture. California is a very agricultural state, but there aren't many apple orchards. In retrospect, I don't know why I didn't do more strawberry picking, or for that matter <em>artichoke</em> picking as a kid, but "pick your own" was never a big part of my childhood.</p>
<p>When I moved to Massachusetts in 2005, I quickly learned that apple farms are a huge part of the local culture. After all, Johnny Appleseed was born in Massachusetts. Apples are kind of a big deal.</p>
<p>My family and I try to go apple picking at least once a season, but we flake out and miss some years. Every time we make the effort to drive out to a local orchard, and pay the fee for picking a bag-full, I think it was worth the cost and effort.</p>
<p>Today we went back to <a href="http://carverhillorchard.com">Carver Hill</a> in Stow, MA. We had a soft spot in our hearts for this place, because our oldest son Henry, who is now 9, lost a tooth there when he was 6. Our younger son, who is 5, has a loose tooth. We wondered if he might lose it today while biting into a field-foraged apple, but he did not.</p>
<p>I love apple picking. I am always impressed by the fecundity of Apple trees, and by the taste of a fresh-picked apple. I feel while I'm roaming an apple orchard, that if I could only ever eat fresh-picked apples for the rest of my life, that I would always be in pretty good shape.</p>
<p>Today at Carver Hill, I tried many apples, fresh from the tree. My kids roamed the width and length of the orchard, excited to try to identify the breed of every tree they passed. I picked apples, some great, some good, some probably horrible. I put them all in my bag, satisfied that I was enjoying a bit of special New England culture.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-79820907850952737862016-11-10T12:18:00.001-05:002016-11-10T12:25:22.737-05:00Becoming A Democrat<p>I've been active politically for my entire adult life. I have voted in every Presidential election, usually for the Democratic candidate, and always for a candidate who reflected my hopes and aspirations for the country. Clinton in 1996. Nader in 2000 (in California, for what it's worth). Kerry in 2004. Obama twice, and finally, in 2016, for Hillary Clinton.</p>
<p>Yet despite, or in part because of my strongly left-leaning political opinions, I have never been a member of the Democratic Party.</p>
<p>That changed today. I filed my change of voter registration with the Commonwealth of Massachusetts a few minutes ago. For the first time in my life, I'm a Democrat.</p>
<p>I was, like so many Americans, utterly devastated not only by the election of Donald Trump, but by every disgusting, repugnant strike against moral and civil decency he exhibited along the way this past 16 months. Trump's election strikes fear into the core of my being, causing me to question basic assumptions about the safety of myself, my family, and fellow citizens.</p>
<p>In the aftermath of his election I struggled to find optimism or meaning in anything. My mind raced to the inevitable worst possible conclusions. Among the consequences I've imagined, and in fact dwelled on longer than is healthy, are that we will engage in nuclear war, that we will become a police state, that myself and my family will be persecuted for refusing to support him. I indulged these worries, all the while feeling guilty that my concerns were ultimately selfish, and could not compare to the risks his presidency poses for example to women, religious and ethnic minorities, or members of the LGBTQ community.</p>
<p>In short: I was petrified and hopeless, resigned to allow the fate of our country to be worked out by people in power. "Hopefully the Democrats can do something about this," I thought.</p>
<p>Today I am embracing optimism for the first time since I sat down to watch election returns on Tuesday evening. Will Trump's presidency have unthinkable consequences? Is his election a challenge to the very moral fabric of our country? Is it the single worst political event that has ever happened to us? To be honest, I'm not as educated on American history as I wish I were, but I think it very well may be. Still, there is no merit to standing still or rolling over while he drags the nation through the sewage wasteland of his self-gratifying victory lap. I am determined to fight the Trump Presidency, and to remain enthusiastic about that, I need to relocate my lost optimism.</p>
<p>The upcoming event that inspires most hope is the 2018 mid-term election. Mid-term elections are generally considered to be beneficial for the party opposed to the President, and Democrats will find opposition against Trump to be rampant in this country at that time. I believe Trump will motivate liberal voters to put Democrats back in control of at least the Senate, possibly the House as well, and by much greater margins than they would have given another Republican President. Trump is the worst possible choice for President, but the best possible marketing tool for Democrats drumming up support for those races.</p>
<p>Another bit of forced optimism is that Hillary's defeat, while heartbreaking, will force an internal restructuring of the Democratic party. The lower-than-expected turnout among Democrats, combined with the apparent phenomenon of many Obama voters opting this time to vote for Trump instead, reveals that the Democratic party has lost sight of its natural base. There are far too many "if only" scenarios when looking back at this race, and I won't begin to claim to understand how things might have worked out if Clinton had not been the Democratic candidate. I will claim, however, that the political priorities of Elizabeth Warren and Bernie Sanders resonate with a huge swath of Democratic, or would-be Democratic voters, whose enthusiasm was missing in the 2016 general election, and whose enthusiasm <em>must be </em> rekindled and activated for 2018 and beyond.</p>
<p>That's why I'm becoming a Democrat. Because the country that I love, and whose deepest values I hold sacred, is threatened both culturally and politically by an alliance of movements that strike at my moral core. The Democratic Party is the single organization most prepared to take on this threat and dispatch it. Until today, I had no authority to take pride in, or to be ashamed of the values of the Democratic Party. I celebrated their gains, and bemoaned their losses, but it wasn't really my place to speak of how the party <em>should</em> be structured. Now it is, and I'm going to work where I can to ensure that it does reflect my values. And that it … I mean <em>we</em>, do everything possible to ultimately defeat Trump, and everything he stands for. For this country, for my kids, for my family, and for yours. Donald Trump, you've messed with the wrong country.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-978522830919646272016-06-19T00:57:00.001-04:002016-06-19T10:21:15.343-04:00Lucky Cat<p>I spent the past week in San Francisco, not attending Apple's <a href="https://developer.apple.com/wwdc">WWDC</a>, but rather basking in the periphery of it. I attended <a href="https://twitter.com/jessiechar">Jessie Char's</a> <a href="http://bringyourlayers.com">Layers</a> conference, and spent the rest of my week being projected like a pinball, sometimes slowly, sometimes at enormous speed, between the various social attractions that dot the South of Market landscape this time of year.</p>
<p>On Thursday, I finally had the opportunity to catch my breath. I remembered my beautiful boys, and my beautiful wife. I like to bring something home to them that will give them a taste of the trip I've just taken. I kept up my exercise regimen during the week, and on one of my runs, I had spotted an alluring storefront in Chinatown: "World of Magnets." In my sweat-induced stupor, I assumed it would be an unusual source for all things magnetic. I pictured <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Herbert">Mister Wizard</a>-inspired scientific experiments, magnetic dust, and other novelties. Just the thing to feed the curious minds of my 7 and 4 year-old children.</p>
<p>I walked to Chinatown, after enjoying most of a margherita pizza from <a href="http://www.delpopolosf.com">Del Poppolo's</a> food truck, which was situated at <a href="http://www.mintplazasf.org">Mint Plaza</a> for Thursday's lunchtime. I proceeded from my hotel, in Union Square, up Stockton Street. Even though I had lived in San Francisco for 10 years previously, I had never had occasion to walk through the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stockton_Street_Tunnel">Stock Street Tunnel</a>. So, I did.</p>
<p>I emerged from the tunnel into Chinatown, and took a right on Sacramento Street. Before me stood a philosophical statement that might appeal to people both inside and outside of Brooklyn:</p>
<blockquote class="instagram-media" data-instgrm-version="7" style=" background:#FFF; border:0; border-radius:3px; box-shadow:0 0 1px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.5),0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0,0,0,0.15); margin: 1px; max-width:658px; padding:0; width:99.375%; width:-webkit-calc(100% - 2px); width:calc(100% - 2px);"><div style="padding:8px;"> <div style=" background:#F8F8F8; line-height:0; margin-top:40px; padding:50.0% 0; text-align:center; width:100%;"> <div style=" background:url(data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAACwAAAAsCAMAAAApWqozAAAABGdBTUEAALGPC/xhBQAAAAFzUkdCAK7OHOkAAAAMUExURczMzPf399fX1+bm5mzY9AMAAADiSURBVDjLvZXbEsMgCES5/P8/t9FuRVCRmU73JWlzosgSIIZURCjo/ad+EQJJB4Hv8BFt+IDpQoCx1wjOSBFhh2XssxEIYn3ulI/6MNReE07UIWJEv8UEOWDS88LY97kqyTliJKKtuYBbruAyVh5wOHiXmpi5we58Ek028czwyuQdLKPG1Bkb4NnM+VeAnfHqn1k4+GPT6uGQcvu2h2OVuIf/gWUFyy8OWEpdyZSa3aVCqpVoVvzZZ2VTnn2wU8qzVjDDetO90GSy9mVLqtgYSy231MxrY6I2gGqjrTY0L8fxCxfCBbhWrsYYAAAAAElFTkSuQmCC); display:block; height:44px; margin:0 auto -44px; position:relative; top:-22px; width:44px;"></div></div><p style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px; margin-bottom:0; margin-top:8px; overflow:hidden; padding:8px 0 7px; text-align:center; text-overflow:ellipsis; white-space:nowrap;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BGuouvvKdnD/" style=" color:#c9c8cd; font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; font-style:normal; font-weight:normal; line-height:17px; text-decoration:none;" target="_blank">A photo posted by Daniel Jalkut (@danielpunkass)</a> on <time style=" font-family:Arial,sans-serif; font-size:14px; line-height:17px;" datetime="2016-06-16T20:25:35+00:00">Jun 16, 2016 at 1:25pm PDT</time></p></div></blockquote>
<script async defer src="//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.js"></script>
<p>I continued my journey through Chinatown appreciating the nuanced aspects of the neighborhood I had never noticed before in my time living in San Francisco. Here was a street where everything was named "Wong". A common Chinese name, sure, but <em>everything</em> near Waverly Place seems Wong-related, including "Willie 'Woo Woo' Wong" playground, "Wong's TV and Radio Services," "Bill Wong Insurance and Associates," and the "Wong Family Benevolent Association." I suspect many of these <em>particular</em> Wongs are related.</p>
<p>I finally arrived at <em>House of Magnets</em>, prepared to select from an enormity of scientific, magnetic delights. I quickly realized that House of Magnets was little different from any other souvenir shop in Chinatown: filled with a variety of novelty Chinese imports and, wait for it, souvenir magnets. Magnets! Nothing like I had expected.</p>
<p>I left, dejected, unsure what to get for my poor kids who were waiting at home, anticipating a glorious gift upon my return. As I walked, I saw shop after shop offering cheap souvenirs. Inevitably, these included the cheap, plastic, waving cats that are increasingly solar powered:</p>
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4iuS8muorKEslk9U2MhWRzQ_7HF-esE3RnVqZiCtjse7e7PazYxN2OMULk3C4nDqkAaxPpgvUcQViRJXm5UYgwVG0_1GcD2weOoXUTgL_aE9-C5bx7bx1s0MG21qL5riGWp3/?imgmax=1600" alt="Image of a lucky waving cat from Chinatown" title="LuckyCat.jpg" border="0" width="526" height="372" />
<p>They are advertised as "lucky cats," and I thought they were cute. "These are cheap, but my kids will love them," I thought. I bought them.</p>
<p>I brought them home and gave them to the boys, and my assumption was confirmed. They scrambled to remove them from their package. They observed from the marketing insert that numerous other colors and configurations are available. "We want to collect all of them!" Clearly, these lucky cats are a hit.</p>
<p>It turns out, these lucky cats from Chinatown are actually from Japan. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maneki-neko">Maneki-neko</a> are suggested to represent a cat not waving, but rather washing its face. It's cute, that's what matters.</p>
<p>After I gave the gifts to my kids, I couldn't help my scientific side admitting that "good luck" might not be real. I told my kids that the cats are cute, but nobody knows if luck exists or not. I felt at once like a great dad and like the world's most deflating dad.</p>
<p>Luckily my wife, Chrissa, was in earshot. She added that "sometimes believing in good luck is enough to make it real." Good save.</p>
<p>I believe Chrissa is correct. I'm lucky I married her.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-69530272870091859602016-02-20T10:39:00.001-05:002016-02-20T10:40:03.301-05:00Song Imploder<p>If you're not familiar with the podcast <a href="http://songexploder.net">Song Exploder</a>, I encourage you to check it out. In it, musicians dissect their own music, digging into the nuances of instrumentation, inspiration, etc.</p>
<p>Last night I heard a fully formed episode, in my dreams, of another podcast called "Song Imploder." In contrast to Song Exploder, the challenge in this amazing, imaginary podcast is for a musician to piece together a working approximation of their hit song using found sounds.</p>
<p>As is often the case with dreams, the details of the episode are fuzzy. However, I remember some specifics like sampled bloops taken from the classic Pac Man video game, repeated rhythmically to recreate a synth bass line. A crowd scene in a hotel lobby was recorded and overdubbed to approximate the raucous symphony of multiple guitars climaxing.</p>
<p>I don't know how realistic such a challenge is outside of dream-land, but I'd sure enjoy listening to "Song Imploder" if anybody wants to take a stab at it!</p>
Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-62975370942471874752016-02-09T16:28:00.001-05:002016-02-09T20:36:54.822-05:00Well? Tempered<p>Catching up with the <a href="http://www.merlinmann.com/roderick/">Roderick on the Line</a> podcast, <a href="http://www.merlinmann.com/roderick/ep-187-the-nicest-oubliette.html">episode 187</a> includes a discussion of the <em>temperament</em> of musical instruments. In particular of the piano, but also a nod by John Roderick to some <a href="http://www.marshallforum.com/showthread.php?t=34450">B-string-flattening guitar folklore</a> espoused by Eddie Van Halen.</p>
<p>In my travels, it has become clear that <em>most ordinary people</em> do not understand what it means for an instrument to be tempered. Anybody with even a pop-culture level of exposure to classical music has probably heard of Bach's "Well Tempered Clavier." But what does it mean to be well-tempered? Is the keyboard in a good mood?</p>
<p>I'm not a music expert, but I did earn a B.A. in Music from San Francisco State University, and I remember enjoying a lesson specifically on the subject of tempering instruments. Here I will try to explain as succinctly as I can what it is and why it's done.</p>
<p>In a nutshell: tempering an instrument involves deliberately detuning some of the notes, so that the whole instrument will sound in tune regardless of the key you are playing in.</p>
<p>To understand why you would need to <em>detune</em> an instrument in order to make it sound <em>more in tune</em>, appreciate that all our western music names and notations are elaborations on some pretty low-level physical phenomena:</p>
<ol>
<li>Sounds are perceived from vibrations in the air.</li>
<li>A sound with a consistent frequency is perceived as having a corresponding "pitch."</li>
<li>Sounds with frequencies that are relatable by simple ratios are more consonant sounding when heard together than those relatable by complex ratios.</il>
</ol>
<p>For example, a sound vibrating at 440 Hz is considered in western music to be a standard "A" note. Another sound vibrating at <em>880 Hz</em> is perceived as very consonant with the first, so much that it <em>is also called A.</em> This simple 2:1 ratio defines what we think of as an "octave" in musical scale. So notes at 220 Hz or 1760 Hz are also considered A, and you will produce (roughly) these frequencies if you locate an A on a piano and play octaves up and down the keyboard.</p>
<p>The rest of the intervals on the piano, related to the same A, will have less consonant frequency ratios, ranging from the still pleasant perfect 5th of A to E, which represents a clean 3:2 frequency ratio, to the jarring minor 2nd from A to Bb, the black key right above A, which is related by a ratio of 1.0595:1. The simpler the ratio of frequencies between two notes, the more their oscillations overlap, causing a sense of harmony and belonging together. The more complex? The more they clash and are perceived as dissonant.</p>
<p>So if you imagine how a piano tuner might set to work <em>perfecting</em> the sound of the piano for songs in A Major, they could start by tuning one A string precisely to 440 Hz, the octave above to 880 Hz, and the perfect 5th E between them to 660 Hz. Then, applying the same process to each of the other keys on the piano, tuning them to the precise ratios for each interval in the chromatic scale, the piano would be perfectly tuned. This approach to tuning is called <em>just intonation</em>, and it very just indeed for A Major (in this case), but not so fair to music written for any other key.</p>
<p>To understand the problem, consider that although every key on the piano is now tuned perfectly to one of the ratios relating it to the pitch called A, it is not necessarily tuned perfectly in relation to some other pitch. For example, the interval from A to C, a minor third, has an interval ratio of 9:8. So on our justly tuned piano, C is (440 * 9/8) or 495 Hz. OK, let's switch to C Major. The interval from C to E, a major third, has a 5:4 ratio, so given a C key tuned to 495 Hz, the major third above it should be (495 * 5/4) or 618.75 Hz. But we already tuned the E key on this piano to be a perfect 5th above A, so it's (440 * 3/2) or 660 Hz. On our justly tuned piano, the E is perfectly tuned for A Major, but a little flat for C Major. There's no getting around this problem. It's pure science, I mean music, I mean math. I mean all of the above.</p>
<p>So the notion of tempering an instrument is to compromise the tuning of the instrument so that, while it's not perfectly tuned in <em>any key</em>, it is at least consistently and predictably tuned for <em>every key</em>. By deviating by a few cents (a standard measure of fractions of a semitone) from perfection for each of the tunings on an instrument, it trades pure tuning for the versatility of being playable in any key.</p>
<p>How much to deviate, and where to focus those deviations, depends on the particular form of tempering being applied. An instrument tuned with <em>equal temperament</em> aims for consistency between the keys, such that the ratio between any key on the piano and its immediate neighbor, is exactly the same. This effectively "divides up the keyboard" in a manner that averages out the rounding errors alluded to before when using perfect ratios for every key.</p>
<p>Was Bach's keyboard in a good mood? Possibly. But the Well Tempered Clavier consists of works written in a variety of keys that would be unsuitable for a keyboard that was not tuned with some amount of temperament. I guess in this sense the title is a celebration of the way tempering opens up the possibilities of composing in multitudes of keys.</p>
<p>I hope this helps you appreciate the meaning of temperament in the context of music. On the other hand, if you've understood it quite well, better than myself, and have corrections or elucidations to offer, please do share your thoughts!</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-85154085966890428672016-02-05T15:41:00.001-05:002016-02-05T15:44:58.088-05:00Runner's World<p>I've described my <a href="http://blog.punkitup.com/2015/05/my-running-habit.html">running habit</a> before, wherein I run "every other day," more or less without fail.</p>
<p>Today Boston was hit with a significant snow storm. Schools are shut down. The city is blanketed in white. It's a sight to behold.</p>
<p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOb23oKtL2RkpUn9XfUdVLZAme6Z75iiaF2gzHiCB08u21OUxrAfrl3q1LvlAvp_E1D7iH_c9w5VFNRWWpKbr3eTOQkMA5N5ogxnVNBJzyyahNN0aFR5SUbMaJyfy7jPxCDgED/?imgmax=800" alt="Picture of a snowy bike path." title="WinterWonderland.jpg" border="0" width="512" height="384" /></p>
<p>And it's my running day.</p>
<p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Cu7yHEEJrpujGhrj9IkaGx-E8QtGuGvgnxhYXVE2mNEWmMMK1O7ZpIpN88O0ndw8uAstHoJcqLVKMdkH7U5nU5I0bRxYELpCCoTwWH0egCL7DNo0skslwb6lgu2645Qdxg5x/?imgmax=800" alt="Picture of me on the bike path" title="thumb_IMG_4555_1024.jpg" border="0" width="512" height="384" /></p>
<p>That's just how I roll!</p>
Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-52651983831699987062015-11-24T12:32:00.001-05:002015-11-24T12:42:09.841-05:00Hipster Shit<p>I finally got around to reading the widely-celebrated New Yorker article about Megan Phelps-Roper and her <a href="http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/11/23/conversion-via-twitter-westboro-baptist-church-megan-phelps-roper">departure from the Westboro Baptist Church</a>, a hate group based in Topeka, Kansas.</p>
<p>The article is a fascinating profile of a young woman who transitioned from a committed, utterly brainwashed member of the "church," to an empathetic, thoughtful member of society at large. It's a valuable reminder that such transformations are possible even among people you would assume are the least capable of changing.</p>
<p>I was amused by a passage that describes Phelps-Roper's tentative online relationship with an anonymous "C.G.", who sparked her interest in a variety of finer things:</p>
<blockquote>He introduced her [...] to the novels of David Foster Wallace and Marilynne Robinson. “Hipster shit,” Phelps-Roper said. He turned her on to the Field Notes brand of notebooks. He poked fun at the inelegant fonts that Westboro used for its press releases. After C.G. complimented her on her grammar, she took pains to make sure that her tweets were free of clunky text-message abbreviations.
</blockquote>
<p>C.G.? The David Foster Wallace and <a href="http://fieldnotesbrand.com">Field Notes</a> references were enough to draw my thoughts to John Gruber of <a href="http://daringfireball.net">Daring Fireball</a>. But the additional emphasis on typefaces and correct use of grammar? Come on! It's J.G., not C.G. Right?</p>
<blockquote> She and C.G. connected as strongly in person as they had online, and they now live together.</blockquote>
<p>OK, maybe C.G. is not J.G. But I bet C.G. <em>also</em> reads Daring Fireball.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-19719255266389384722015-05-04T10:02:00.001-04:002015-05-04T11:40:12.284-04:00My Running Habit<p>I was a sprinter as a kid: I counted myself among the fastest runners in my grade-school classes, and would routinely challenge friends to ad hoc dashes across arbitrary stretches of playground grass or asphalt.</p>
<p>As much as I enjoyed pushing my body to its limits for these explosive, 30-second jaunts, the idea of running any longer distance filled me, as it did most kids my age, with utter dread.</p>
<p>In Junior High (around age 13), we were compelled to "run the mile" at least a couple times a year. We anticipated such events for up to a week in advance. "We have to run the mile on Friday," was the empty refrain of doom shared by all except the <em>weird cross-country kids</em>, who seemed to somehow derive pleasure from the challenge.</p>
<p>25 years later, I am no longer a sprinter. Running a mile sounds like a mere warm-up. I typically cover distances that my younger self would have seen as impossible. And somehow, I too derive pleasure from it.</p>
<p>I started flirting with long-distance running in my early 20s. I worked at Apple, and the company fitness center had treadmills with TV. In an era before podcasting had taken off, what better way to pass the time than to watch endless episodes of <a href="http://www.judgejudy.com">Judge Judy</a> and reruns of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matlock_(TV_series)">Matlock</a>? I gained an extremely dubious understanding of the legal system while running in place at a very comfortable pace.</p>
<p>I carried the treadmill habit with me after I quit Apple. I ran through my second college career at <a href="http://sfsu.edu">SFSU</a>, and made a priority of finding a suitable gym every place I lived for many years. I enjoyed the grittiness of the <a href="http://www.cambridgeymca.org">Cambridge YMCA</a>, where I recalled an old iPod's <a href="http://www.atpm.com/11.11/pod-people.shtml">near death experience</a> while running on the treadmill. I upgraded to the lush <a href="http://web.mit.edu/zcenter/welcome/">MIT Zesiger Center</a>, where the impressive olympic swimming pool even got me cross-training for a stretch. In Brooklyn, I stuck to the academic plan and took advantage of Brooklyn College's modest yet reliable <a href="http://www.brooklyn.cuny.edu/web/athletics.php">athletic center</a>.</p>
<p>By this point I had been running "long distance" for 15 years or more, but had scarcely run a mile off of treadmills. I had come to lean on the predictability and relative ease of treadmill running: it's easy to do in any weather, at any time of day, and requires little motivation beyond stepping onto the platform. You simply set the machine to the speed <em>you think you should run</em>, then do your best to keep up.</p>
<p>Running off-treadmill, as people have more typically run for millennia, was a fairly foreign concept to me until a few years ago. I had occasionally gone for jogs around Boston or Brooklyn, but found it frustrating to keep my pace, to plan the route for the desired distance, and to keep my momentum in urban areas where pedestrians and vehicle traffic were constantly interfering. If I ran 100 times in a year, at least 98 of those times would be on a treadmill and only 1 or 2 in the great outdoors.</p>
<p>That ratio inverted completely when I moved from Brooklyn back to the Boston area, settling in to Arlington, MA. I was too far from my beloved MIT fitness center, and frankly all the local gyms seemed bleak to me. I didn't know what to do, but it was September and the weather was nice. I committed to sucking it up and running outdoors at least until I found a better long-term solution. Surely I would need a gym for treadmill running by the time winter came.</p>
<p>That was the fall of 2011, and I have rarely stepped foot on a treadmill since. The only times that come to mind are when I've been traveling and found for whatever reason that a hotel's fitness center made for a more expeditious workout than venturing out into the surrounding city or town.</p>
<p>I am very lucky to live in a town with a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rail_trail">rail trail</a>: a recreational path recovered from former railroad right-of-ways. A typical outdoor run for me consists of a few blocks jog through suburban streets, a few miles run up "the bike path," and a few miles back home. Occasionally I take more adventurous routes, especially if I want to explore an area of town I haven't seen much of, or if I'm trying to diversify the distance or terrain of my workouts.</p>
<p>It turned out I didn't need a gym and I didn't need a treadmill. Not even in the dead of winter. That first season of running outdoors was relatively mild, so I gradually invested in the necessary gear: thermal underwear, gloves, and a beanie cap. In subsequent winters I've made good use of extra-insulated running shirts, <a href="https://twitter.com/danielpunkass/status/571003437233659905">even a balaclava</a>! There were days when I ran in 5F weather and practically froze my face off, but I got, and get some kind of perverse thrill running in all weather conditions.</p>
<p>What's kept me going all these years, on treadmills and then on roads and paths, has been the establishment of <em>some kind of rule system</em>, and then sticking to those rules as if they were not negotiable. Eventually, this becomes a habit. Back in the early Apple days, I made a sort of pact with two co-workers to go to the gym nearly every afternoon (yes, the flexible hours were a god-send). More often than not it would be one of us getting motivated, and dragging the other two away from their screens kicking and screaming. But it worked. Committing to the habit together made it easier for all of us to start the habit, but eventually it became easy for each of us to preserve the habit on our own as well.</p>
<p>In more recent years, I've had to piece together new rules and conditions. Especially after switching to outdoor running and inevitably upping my mileage, I struggled with some moderate injuries that threatened to put an end to my running. I countered this by taking a hardline stance that was rigid and unforgiving, but also gave my body time to rest: I <em>must</em> run every other day, but <em>must not</em> run two days in a row. To me it's important in establishing any habit to have a fairly easy to understand system. Will I run today? If I didn't run yesterday, then barring a <em>very good excuse,</em> the answer is yes.</p>
<p>To give the habit some teeth, I have also imposed certain minimums on my running. At first it was just "2 miles or more." Then, as I dabbled in my first efforts at running in official races, I upped my minimum to 5K. Eventually I worked up to a point where I was running at least 5 miles, and for the past several months I am running to a landmark that logs me 6.5 miles in total. I'm free to run longer than the minimum, and in extenuating circumstances I run less, but as a general rule the decisions are all made for me.</p>
<p>Eliminating questions about when and how far I run has made it far easier to keep the habit going. Is it a running day? If so, put on clothes, load up a podcast, and go. Meet the minimum distance, then turn around, or keep going. I still have choices, but they are delightfully few.</p>
<p>When people ask me about starting a running habit of their own, I try to emphasize how gradually you can grow one. Start by jogging around the block once or twice. Set a standard, and then stick to it. If your experience is anything like mine, you'll find that as your body gets used to the standard regimen, it will eventually yearn for something more. Add another block. Make it an even mile. Shoot for 5K. You'll feel better, be stronger, and develop a hopefully lifelong habit that makes it easy to rest assured you are getting enough exercise.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-58324014963703031852015-02-07T14:44:00.001-05:002015-02-07T16:59:32.448-05:00Make Pizza<p>I like pizza. Shocking, isn't it? Like many people, I have enjoyed the delicious combination of dough, sauce, and cheese since I was a kid. For a long time I dreamed about making my own pizza at home, but it wasn't until I was around 30 that I finally decided to give it a try.</p><p>My first attempt was disappointing to say the least. The crust was baked hard like a cracker and was difficult to chew. The sauce, Newman's Own pasta sauce from a jar, was over-applied, and overpowering. The cheese had been on the verge of burning, baked into a kind of solid orange mat that clung to the pie while also recoiling from it, leaving considerable gaps between it and the sauce.</p><p>After that first attempt, I didn't try again for some time.</p><p>Then, around 7 years ago, I made a commitment to get better at it. How would I do it? I would "make pizza every Friday night." Eventually, my technique, and the results, would have to improve. Right? Right?</p><p>My wife was pregnant with our first son, and I looked forward to establishing a family tradition that the kids would also enjoy. Thus, Friday evenings were known from the start of this grand experiment as "Dad's Pizza Night."</p><h3>A Pizza Recipe</h3><p>Here's how to make a pizza, in four easy steps:</p>
<ol style="list-style-position:inside; padding-left:0;">
<li><strong>Shape the dough.</strong> Ideally into a pizza-like shape.
<p><img title="ShapedDough.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBQ8ffi6Uh-NnsaJbhFi5WlTvpUZ7fmM9Vr3szCOhwI7-whJQIpn3kxrTXtW9Z8nsqer1v8PZDcdEWrnaSnb9gdGvQ4AMjXOZttSfKfLellKhGNcX3cc9E5RF-qyKc10oXelH/?imgmax=800" alt="Pizza dough shapped in a roughly circular form." width="550" height="400" border="0" /></p>
</li>
<li><strong>Add sauce.</strong> How much is mostly a matter of taste.
<p><img title="SaucedDough.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWp_Gpkj9QmWboq3x7_sF5l0g-9YOJFanU21fNSbP8b5Bod1viMvMXcIe-tMRhyphenhyphenK7aDy3C-uw-ZdN23fVW0Y1ecWhXBK938Dx3suRYQ4ZAj-jF9eRXnXGS_nMbgv-rDSZ_ajE/?imgmax=800" alt="Image of pizza dough shaped and topped with sauce." width="550" height="398" border="0" /></p></li>
<li><strong>Add cheese.</strong> And/or other toppings as you see fit.</li>
<p><img title="CheesedPizza.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsUWT1Eee0G6C-KLDDepdan792gMN-VFw5-qwxdKOyTCtqNrnDtq4Ahfn7sYPsVqhekcLQAsfYTqlsyUDWoqG95m2gzeTPecozXWQJlipvmkYJzZnuIwSC9IEh3D2mg1XWW6m/?imgmax=800" alt="Image of pizza dough topped with sauce and cheese." width="550" height="412" border="0" /></p>
</li>
<li><strong>Bake.</strong> On a stone, on a pan. Whatever. Just don't forget to stop baking at some point!
<p><img title="BakingPizza.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizW5lpUI_d7lkADQG9IYDLxW1Pef_u5e6dcaWYhrzzaeDkyClok3yUJGKas0OgYvOW6rgUUNuLGZTGq_E_IzKFZUka4mMkgzFzWUM4lgGaCNmDY2DitUTo5Ye-uNTiqJSjsGLG/?imgmax=800" alt="Image of pizza in the oven while being baked" width="550" height="412" border="0" /></p>
</li>
<li><strong>Ta da! Pizza.</strong> Enjoy.
<p><img title="BakedPizza.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5D1PCXiEmmTeWyU3nGUV1bM3xvpKb0bkEiU4hK1iDGkfZhcy2SiMq9_saAzUAYxcamqlj-wTOznWZuqQJ0sXnD5gLBT-q5SWz7h_Xm956pS8hc2vAa01mgcDW8iZj2ovUqngd/?imgmax=800" alt="Image of baked pizza out of the oven." width="550" height="399" border="0" /></p>
</li>
</ol>
<p>You might have noticed that this recipe is considerably easier than some, leaving out the painstakingly opinionated advice about how the dough should be made, which flours to use, whether the sauce should be cooked or not, fresh mozzarella or aged, how hot to heat the oven, whether to use a stone, whether to use a peel, etc., etc., etc.</p><p>The recipe is simple because I believe you should start your pizza-making adventure by eliminating <em>most</em> of the complexity, thereby minimizing the number of things that go wrong. For such a simple food, pizza preparation can be fraught with peril. It occurred to me when I started my "Dad's Pizza Night" tradition, that it was hard enough to modestly master the four steps above <em>without</em> delving into the nuanced questions of how each step could be improved. For first-time, and even tenth-time pizza makers, just getting the pizza into the oven should be considered a triumph.</p><p>I encourage you to start by simply buying all the components for your pizza pre-made, at whatever level of convenience you find most approachable. Bags of pizza dough are available at most supermarkets for under $2. Buy a bag of pre-shredded mozzarella if you fret grating it from the block. Cans labeled "pizza sauce" will actually get you in the right ballpark. Oh, and don't forget to buy two of everything. This stuff is relatively cheap, and if you don't end up needing backup supplies to avert a crisis, you'll have an excuse to make pizza again soon.</p><p>After you get the feel for assembling and baking pizza, you'll be in a position to evaluate which components could be improved. After the stress of worrying whether the thing will even be edible has been soothed, consider trying a recipe for homemade sauce. Or switch it up and use fresh mozzarella (tip: pat the mozzarella very dry with paper towels). Eventually, you'll probably also make your own dough. And it will all seem <em>relatively</em> easy.</p><p>If your pizza adventure is anything like mine, you'll forever be finding faults in the fruit of your labor, while nonetheless enjoying it more and more. After 7 years of making pizza <em>nearly every week</em>, I still consider myself to be more or less a novice. I'm frustrated that my progress has seemed so slow, but on the other hand, I am sometimes quite proud to look back at how far I've come.</p><p>Over the years I've also developed a lot of very fine-grained opinions about pizza making that I would love to share with you. I've purposefully left them out of this post, because the message I want to send is that people who are interested in making pizza should <em>just start doing it.</em> I'll look forward to writing future posts about my opinions on making and shaping dough, cooked vs. non-cooked sauces, cheese varieties and quantities, and the mother lode of all home pizza making opinions: oven temperature and apparati.</p><p>Stay tuned for more pizza posts. In the mean time, go buy some supplies and have a go! Good luck.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-85935444747013892182014-11-26T20:32:00.001-05:002014-11-26T20:33:36.243-05:00Stellar Dunkin'I was moved to write a <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/dunkin-donuts-rocky-hill-4?hrid=--862SmGE7inajk4s2i2JQ">Yelp review</a> for a particularly good Dunkin' Donuts (767 Cromwell Avenue, Rocky Hill, CT). It's not normal to feel moved to review a more-or-less gross fast food place, so I thought I'd keep the review here for posterity.
<blockquote>
Stopped here unexpectedly to give a break to a car-sick-feeling 6-year-old on a road trip. The 6-year-old sickling and his 2-year-old brother marched in to find the staff up on ladders hanging Christmasy stuff. The older boy had spent the last hour or so of our road trip confusing Connecticut and Canada. He declared loudly for all to hear: "I love Dunkin' Donuts! I've never been to a Dunkin' Donuts in Canada!"
I ordered a bagel and cream cheese, which the staff had to lightly dance around ladders to accommodate. But they did it quickly and with friendly courtesy. I brought the bagel back to the kids and was confused to see a man approaching the table with two small bags. He held the bags up, looked at me with questioning eyebrows, and glanced at the kids. I assumed it was somebody else's order being misdelivered to our table, but when I asked what it was, he just said, "donuts."
I thanked him, told the boys of his kindness, and explained that we'd save them for later. They shared them as dessert after we had reached our destination.
The staff continued hanging Christmasy stuff and a customer, a man I had noticed writing copious notes onto paper cards, stood up to offer his advice. "Hang it a little imperfectly. It's always better if it's a little imperfect." He waited for the man on the ladder to string the corporate festivity a little to the left and a little to the right, before declaring, clearly sharing in the pride that exudes from many aspects of this Dunkin' Donuts: "That's it. Perfect."
</blockquote>
Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-48807131699943328602014-10-17T10:15:00.001-04:002014-10-17T11:18:18.386-04:00Not A Morning Person<p>For most of my life, I have borrowed hours from the late night and early morning, paying off the debt by either sleeping lavishly through the day, or coping with the zombie-making effects of sleep deprivation. Lured in by the (probably false) promise that endless, quiet hours of darkness and solitude will pay dividends in productivity gains, I have often struggled to complete "just one more thing" with whatever project has my attention, while also eyeing the clock at best, or the sunrise at worst, with anxious concern that I shouldn't be <em>too aberrant</em> in my defiance of sleep.</p>
<p>In short: I am not a morning person. I am "blessed" with that gift of waking that more or less makes it easy for me to press on, oblivious to the usual drowsiness that seems to coax most normal people to bed. On the whole, this has worked out okay for me in spite of the occasional job or class in school that required me to be up and at attention bright and early. Sleeping from 3AM to 6AM was <em>not a big deal</em>, especially if I could "catch up" on the weekends. I was younger then, and being in possession of a very long candle, it seemed only natural to burn it at both ends.</p>
<p>Now I'm older, and some things have changed. I have two kids who, whether they are in fact morning people or not, nonetheless rise between 6AM and 7AM most days. My older son Henry also attends morning school with morning teachers who expect morning children to be in their morning desks by 8:15. And my wife is not particularly a morning person either. I can tell, because she grumbles as I do, waking up each morning to dance this groggy dance. If only one of us <em>were</em> a morning person, they could embrace that natural tendency with pride and honor while the other snoozed on…</p>
<p>But no, we both get up every day. Solidarity. And I still fight that urge to stay up all night, but these days I've trained myself to <em>sometimes</em> get to bed by 12 midnight, and <em>almost always</em> by 1AM. That's still considered late by many of my morning, or morning adapted, friends, but to me it represents a great, great adjustment.</p>
<p>Not being a morning person, I've always scheduled appointments, be they with dentists, auto mechanics, friends, business colleagues, whatever the purpose, in the afternoon. The afternoon is so forgiving of non-morning people. I even tend to schedule lunches for the afternoon. Old habits die hard, and it wasn't long ago that getting out of bed, bathed, and transmitted from my home by noon was a pretty tall order. So by default when asked to pick a time to meet for any purpose, I'd say "How about 1 or 2?"</p>
<p>I continued to favor afternoon bookings even through several years of parenthood. Yes, I was waking up at 6 or 7 in the morning, but afraid out of habit to schedule anything earlier than noon. Lately I've literally surprised myself by finally adapting to my new lifestyle. When the internet company asked what time I'd like my service installed, I said "as early in the morning as possible," wanting to get it taken care of so that the rest of my day would be free. I took the car in to be serviced at 8:30AM because, anticipating a lengthy delay, I wanted to "beat the crowd." And when I make regular phone calls to schedule services or to follow up on a bill, I'm often calling the very minute they've started their business day. Perhaps I'm their first caller, because you know, I'm one of those weird morning guys.</p>
<p>Wait, am I really? After all this time, I'm finally broken? Not really. I'm not a morning person, because left to my own druthers I would still work and play long into the night, sleeping most if not all AM hours away. I'd be a "night owl," and I'd love it. But I'm living s a morning person, and it's all right. It has its drawbacks, oh god does it have its drawbacks, but I have to admit it also has its perks.</p>
Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-25572168352529896552011-05-06T19:42:00.001-04:002011-05-06T19:42:04.086-04:00Tis The Season<div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN3ukhZQGUU-IhvUqMRunWhBKeNjhitegW9-EykYSje8z5wCPc1Qdoq1dxRQZsn5j19uUiah2S2R3tIgL-meJgm2F4PJggFaI9jZ1YQZZNehyCumB5frv9FKMmfGQQ3Rj04ikR/?imgmax=800" alt="Tis The Season.png" /></div><div></div>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-76266997808146799652011-05-05T11:36:00.001-04:002011-05-05T11:36:45.261-04:00Brooklyn Botanic Garden<div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kq0gvgpnN9xqLQmrrWW-ElHdinUH37JoYn-zefNJU2PD0RCJ_bXr6cxfV1zip2shcCttnw9umlQvVJZwUmLNR4zW2Hpfz_Pln1jrFSJXjNP7bqwD4GWpvuESvXDO40JnrscG/?imgmax=800" alt="Brooklyn Botanic Garden.png" /></div><div>A perfect day in Brooklyn.</div>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-56499042274615908882011-05-04T14:21:00.001-04:002011-05-04T14:21:54.141-04:00No Cameras!<div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihokPkYVLOhS_i1d4ErVyXbD8ybNfpEiyNUupLslNufEQcrOvKdJ4eoqqEmj1Ny3-6ljrZZjk0k4WOpC8FWgaeJst3b8uOSWepZO7BDS2vWscXr0tRowrjW2_jV4FTOQa0Fht/?imgmax=800" alt="No Cameras!.png" /></div><div></div>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-48971728983597179282011-05-04T00:39:00.001-04:002011-05-04T00:39:56.793-04:00Subway Fire Patrol<div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWgj1Ay_U0fIhHhkVkOLtresfNr0JQmok5Dm_y9CB28ozy15AbU2bM_HaeQwzqIe_2hCwV2nz64-XEuhHYEw1xEjdsSU49zaeL82FWcBZKgLijwLbsMlVfM2e-URRfEcTvy1r/?imgmax=800" alt="Subway Fire Patrol.png" /></div><div></div>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-54952649589722078072010-11-15T18:09:00.001-05:002010-11-16T14:45:54.090-05:00I'll Take The Thigh Massage<p>Taking a stand on new TSA policies that require <a href="http://flywithdignity.org/">passengers to choose</a> between x-ray body scans or invasive pat-downs involving genital contact:</p>
<p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-D6jM1GXQB16CLe9Up6p0cDeEcgyVp2eFjNlytPoA0qLZBvZ8vZDecyGfRdQAPJdbEm0yY18lR29tSlJ5VW92mQqofq8DL9OtpL93c_4uyXxfgyZGuG1FchrsKwt2EwARdWGd/?imgmax=800" border="0" alt="Simmons.png" width="600" height="592" /></p>
<p> </p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-87869231505839332922010-09-28T21:24:00.001-04:002010-09-28T21:24:33.740-04:00TechCrunch's New Logo
<p>Aol has wasted no time in rebranding their new property.</p><p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKFdUfC8SPf8innqp2Sx1Cv1WaQyQuSMV9kY0aGJxeZU09f2EASYmX-f5tTGS0G97dy_l_wxwWzXCoKs1DBdlP9EaE6SzswZdlqMMkzz9EXlzAHCdvWzHR4g3tATvQOJ4d_U_U/?imgmax=800" alt="TechCrucnh.png" border="0" width="334" height="324" /></p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-91056199024764020422010-09-28T11:55:00.001-04:002010-09-28T12:06:20.610-04:00SMS Language<p>I'm listening to the audiobook of Gary Shteyngart's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/1400066409?tag=d73fh-20">Super Sad True Love Story</a>, set in an approximate dystopian future where, among other things, youth lingo has evolved even further along its current trajectory towards what Wikipedia classifies as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SMS_language">SMS language</a>. OMG, you don't know what SMS language is? These are the short initialisms that have become so popular especially among youth to minimize keying long phrases on cell phones or in IM chat.</p><p>Shteyngart's take on the trend is hilarious, and some of his invented phrases ring completely believable. "JBF," says one character. "I'm just butt-fucking with you." I had to Google to confirm that this does not, in fact, appear to be a trending phrase.</p><p>Is SMS language a symptom of society's plunge into illiteracy, or merely an example of culture adapting to the preferred aparrati of communication? Did wise old elders frown upon the impatient young monks who grew tired of laboring over "Anno Domini," opting for the quicker, albeit more cryptic "AD"? Did the mathematician scoff at his student, "Is that all you have? You haven't proven anything," only to be rebuffed for the first time with a terse, indignant "QED, dude." Perhaps each generation of your own family has rebuffed the generation before, by misinterpreting the underlying meaning for the initials <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/G.I._(military)">GI</a>, but using it freely nonetheless.</p><p>Initialisms reflect the human desire to optimize away the most tedious, repetitive aspects of written and spoken communication. Over the past decade or so, society has shifted toward communicating with devices that, frankly, make all forms of communication tedious. The result? A shitstorm of initialisms in order to cope. I like to think that SMS language is a trend that will diminish once our devices offer superior means of communicating fluidly and expressively in complete words.</p><p>Of course, there will always be room for a reasonable number of popular abbreviations. Slang prose, FTW.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-24131564567030629442010-09-14T21:17:00.001-04:002010-09-14T23:21:59.345-04:00Qathra Cafe<p>We are pretty lucky here in Ditmas Park to have access to several nice restaurants, some of which double as cafes. But there is a relative void of businesses going all-out after the cafe niche.</p><p>On my way to the supermarket this evening I noticed a "soft launch" for a business which seems aimed at filling that void: Qathra Cafe.</p><p><img title="Qathra Cafe.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOdG1hVjljdXx4ysfnhWmkJ3QKSbQfaShK0KVyKXXmYTWkRganGNXRyBefYrs-lgBJkmdz6Jwb_5wRKOF6zqIZjsIcwtUJHJBR8-2B9rYJkzAScSAAh_xOBwuFaLk6SyVF-V7/?imgmax=800" border="0" alt="Qathra Cafe Soft Opening Sign" width="448" height="600" /></p><p>Looks like they'll be offering coffee, espresso drinks, and pastries at a minimum. I also spotted some bowls of hummus and other mediterranean-looking snacks, presumably not there only for the soft-launch party but also as an indicator of their menu.</p><p>The place was fairly hopping, filled I'm sure with people who are friends and acquaintances of the owners, but also with curious passers-by who I overheard whispering skeptically about the freeness of the goodies inside.</p><p><img title="Qathra Cafe.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFzugKNLKaEr3J4X5J6e5F6rbRZDujHGYSXZPeUya-dkVlmoy2flmp6irxqz-XSP0Dvnqpfj0Ah4LBzPpwCPNpNh2V0XOVEvQnwpYDkA8v0wuOiAq0DOz_Bz1WvP3WmTnEpbvp/?imgmax=800" border="0" alt="Qathra Cafe Storefront" width="400" height="298" /></p><p>One of the things I love about restaurants and cafes in New York, in contrast to Boston and San Francisco, is the commonness of backyard patios. On this block, Sycamore and The Farm on Adderly set a high standard, but Qathra appears prepared to run with the big dogs... err, at least, with the cartoon dogs.</p><p><img title="SnoopyMural.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxbewKlImZIZmtsr6seY0mnJ4lN85OG655FSDs69VC0lEzz1CZ5Cxvf89QhdGtj5dPCu3bomAuaWeY51myzNlRKUWGX3Yq2tpGYkCh2M5aBBanuST89IbY52qp9qX-kJxV-Il/?imgmax=800" border="0" alt="Snoopy Mural" width="450" height="336" /></p><p>I only tried a cookie on my way out after snapping these photos, but I'll be back to check out the coffee offerings. I'm impressed by the design and apparent attention to detail. It looks like the proprietors are interested in making this a place to last.</p><p><img title="CoffeeBar.JPG" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieq_jjsgf2yJz6M9hSPceHVSxdD6l6RIfP6tEyMLnUWP4-hk1q3mQwdQnjLlnEeLOUzuGzXcILVRMKWGASUjVxyyWMBAcve0JT5nWpaNg6h_iepF7TT5AcaZ51qddbjt-7248-/?imgmax=800" border="0" alt="Coffee Bar" width="450" height="336" /></p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15058191.post-25979868073781700082010-09-14T21:02:00.001-04:002010-09-14T21:02:55.013-04:00Ditmas Park, Brooklyn<p>I haven't posted here in a while, but just to catch up everybody up: we live in Brooklyn, now!</p><p>Our new neighborhood, Ditmas Park, is fairly unknown to out-of-towners. Situated to the south of Prospect Park, it has relatively easy access to the amenities of Manhattan and downtown Brooklyn, while still offering some less urban perks such as relatively easy parking, and a bit more apartment space for your money.</p><p>I'll be trying to revive this blog in an effort to chronicle my adventures in Brooklyn, Manhattan, and beyond, as well as to record observations about things that are going on in my neighborhood.</p>Daniel Jalkuthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12789825025912821355noreply@blogger.com0