n the words of Chato Cadena, from the fantastic-but-canceled-by-shortsighted-studio-executives television series Kingpin: "I don't believe in ghosts - but I saw one."

The following occurred in Winter of 1992 on an empty road somewhere in the desolate stretch between Los Angeles and Fresno. Good friends who attended University with me at the time know this story already, but for casual acquaintances and readers, this is probably new.

_________

Finals week, UCSD.

Thanks to an unfortunate coincidence between the physics and chemistry departments, I had THREE finals scheduled back-to-back-to-back on the same day. I didn't know it at the time, but students in such situations were allowed to petition a rescheduling of one of their final exams. No matter ... on about four hour's sleep, wired up to my eyeballs on caffeine, I marched to campus with countless facts and formulae precariously crammed in my beleaguered skull ... with bright hopes of swinging some Post-Finals Genuis Effect mojo into the three hours when the knowledge actually mattered. Hours pass, and by the time I turned in the final of my final exams, the morning light that greeted me bled into an inky nightsky.

Having already packed my belongings for the trip back up to SF in the trunk of my car, I stupidly thought "Hey, I'm packed. Why not drive back home tonight?"

So on four hours of sleep over 48 hours, I began the northbound drive from San Diego on the 5 freeway, crossing Los Angeles at midnight. An hour north beyond the Grapevine is a vast expanse of farmland and rural desolation; in the wee hours, the only vehicles on the road are long-distance trucks, rumbling landlocked leviathains ferrying their cargo hinter and yon.

And it was here, miles from civilization, the effects of my fatigue rapidly began catching up with me. Sleep researchers call them micronaps ... lapses of consciousness lasting a few seconds ... during which my wheel would drift over the bumps in the road to a loud BRBRBRBRBRBR (between friends, we refer to this phenomenon as 'brailling') that jerked me awake, only for me to drift off a few minutes later. Dangerous, I know. Did I mentioned I was young and stupid?

An hour or so north of the Grapevine pass, I saw in the corner of my eye a young boy, who couldn't be older than 10, dressed in a black leather jacket too large for his frame, huddled on the side of the road. He has a scared look in his eyes, and shivering from the December air. A runaway, I thought as I approached the boy's position. What's he doing way out here? Kid's probably hungry and been walking for hours. Maybe I should pull ove-

He runs. Across the freeway ... a hard sprint that places him on a collision course with the trajectory of my car. I stomp on my brakes full-stop, and even as I hear my tires screech, I know there was no way I can stop in time. Brace for impact in three-two-one ... but as he crosses the beam of my headlights, he vanishes ... just fades from sight.

For a full five minutes, I sit roadside, gasping for breath ... pulse roaring in my temples while I try to cool my nerves.

Where the hell did he go?

I search the grounds around where the boy stood, walked the line next to the long black stripes on asphalt where my tires left their mark. Nothing.

Did I imagine the whole thing?

No matter. Clearly, I was in no condition to drive and desperately needed rest. I pull into a convenience store parking lot six miles up the road, put my seat back and promptly drop into a dreamless sleep.

And to this day, driving along that stretch of road between Los Angeles and Fresno during nighttime still gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Who was that boy? What happened that night?

Your turn.

Tell me a time when you've had a brush with the inexplicable/supernatural.

ast week, This week:

• Fixed the domain-name registration issue that threw me into a frenzy for a few days. Domain-jacking scum : 0. Thanks for the help from those who chimed in their advice!
  
  
• Had a wonderful week with a person who always brings a smile to my day. You know who you are.
  
  
• Cleaning up a presentation in Keynote I will be delivering next week.
  
  
• Ate more gelato than really healthy.
  
  
• Caught up 80% on backlog of emails. Hurrah.
  
  I fear my posts are sounding more and more like twitter blurbs.
  
  More substantive updates pending.
  
  

he rollercoaster of my "high Beta" life continues its relentless pace.

Last week: TED was a phenomenal experience, and I am grateful for the connections that got me a chance to mingle with some of the brightest minds in the world, including a 5-minute conversation with Al Gore (!!!). Got a chance to meet a BMW executive who took me behind the wheel of a hydrogen-powered BMW 750 to showcase its seamless switching between H2 and conventional gasoline modes.

BIL was a huge hit, and while I felt unprepared for my speech/presentation, it seems the audience received it enthusiastically and I had strangers mob me after the talk to continue the conversation. More on that later.

Yesterday: Car accident. No bodily injury as far as I can tell, but car is gone. If you're a RL friend, can fill you in on details of that by voice or email.

Today: As VP Membership of Adobe Toastmasters, I am hosting my good friend, Bruno Bowden (lead engineer at Google Earth), to speak at Adobe's San Jose HQ office at 4pm and share secrets/hidden parts of Google Earth to an audience of Adobe folks. Non-Adobe employees are welcome to come by if you are in San Jose - just email me your particulars and I can pass your name to Security for a guest pass.

Chocolates will be served by Cacao Anasa.

From time to time, I want to curl up in a ball and sleep for a week straight.

This is one of those weeks.

But no rest for the wicked, as the saying goes.

	Only two bags of this design in the world ... The much-coveted, subject-of-wild-rumors TED swag bag for attendees. With about $600 of electronic goodies and one-of-a-kind gifts inside.
	Hydrogen Powered BMW Drinks Hydrogen, belches out water as exhaust.
	A Jawbone in every Bag Last year @ TED, Jawbone showcased their wares, but teased everyone by saying they are not for sale. Now, they are free in every bag.

eath, as the saying goes, is the great equalizer, and sooner or later, we're all bound for the bone orchard.

For Major Andy Olmsted, it was sooner - much too sooner. As a solider serving in Iraq, he understood, better than most, the ephemeral nature of life and had the presence of mind to entrust a final blog post to a good friend in the event of his untimely death.

On January 4th, 2008, MAJ Andy Olmsted's team was ambushed, and he was KIA in Iraq. As my only sibling is an officer in the U.S. Navy, I've thought hard about the harsh price that war extracts from the youngest and brightest of our citizenry.

The following are excerpts from MAJ Olmsted's final words/post:

What I don't want this to be is a chance for me, or anyone else, to be maudlin. I'm dead. That sucks, at least for me and my family and friends. But all the tears in the world aren't going to bring me back, so I would prefer that people remember the good things about me rather than mourning my loss. (If it turns out a specific number of tears will, in fact, bring me back to life, then by all means, break out the onions.) I had a pretty good life, as I noted above. Sure, all things being equal I would have preferred to have more time, but I have no business complaining with all the good fortune I've enjoyed in my life. So if you're up for that, put on a little 80s music (preferably vintage 1980-1984), grab a Coke and have a drink with me. If you have it, throw 'Freedom Isn't Free' from the Team America soundtrack in; if you can't laugh at that song, I think you need to lighten up a little. I'm dead, but if you're reading this, you're not, so take a moment to enjoy that happy fact.

...

I do ask (not that I'm in a position to enforce this) that no one try to use my death to further their political purposes. I went to Iraq and did what I did for my reasons, not yours. My life isn't a chit to be used to bludgeon people to silence on either side. If you think the U.S. should stay in Iraq, don't drag me into it by claiming that somehow my death demands us staying in Iraq. If you think the U.S. ought to get out tomorrow, don't cite my name as an example of someone's life who was wasted by our mission in Iraq. I have my own opinions about what we should do about Iraq, but since I'm not around to expound on them I'd prefer others not try and use me as some kind of moral capital to support a position I probably didn't support. Further, this is tough enough on my family without their having to see my picture being used in some rally or my name being cited for some political purpose. You can fight political battles without hurting my family, and I'd prefer that you did so.

On a similar note, while you're free to think whatever you like about my life and death, if you think I wasted my life, I'll tell you you're wrong. We're all going to die of something. I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes, I hope you are as fortunate as I was.

...

I wasn't the greatest husband. I could have done so much more, a realization that, as it so often does, comes too late to matter. But I cherished every day I was married to Amanda. When everything else in my life seemed dark, she was always there to light the darkness. It is difficult to imagine my life being worth living without her having been in it. I hope and pray that she goes on without me and enjoys her life as much as she deserves. I can think of no one more deserving of happiness than her.

"I will see you again, in the place where no shadows fall."
Ambassador Delenn, Babylon 5

I don't know if there is an afterlife; I tend to doubt it, to be perfectly honest. But if there is any way possible, Amanda, then I will live up to Delenn's words, somehow, some way. I love you.

Andy, I've never known the privilege of sharing a cold one with you and hearing your laughter, the playful twinkle in your eye I can just visualize when you regale others with your stories. Now I never will - but your words will echo in eternity, as will your love for your family and friends.

I've considered your request to play 80s music in your honor, and combed through my extensive collection - the one that kept coming back at me was Joey Scarbury's 1981 hit single from the TV Show "Greatest American Hero."

Been playing it on repeat since hearing about your passing, and its lyrics, in connection with news of your death, holds a new poignance.

Look at what's happened to me,
I can't believe it myself.
Suddenly I'm up on top of the world,
It should've been somebody else.

Believe it or not,
I'm walking on air.
I never thought I could feel so free-.
Flying away on a wing and a prayer.
Who could it be?
Believe it or not it's just me.

It really should have been someone else.

May your G.A. carry you to Valhallah on swift wings, and may your love carry Amanda through these dark moments of her loss.

Quote of Evening (while slow dancing w tall redhead Bebe model)

Me: So who did you come with?
Redhead: my mom drove me.
Me: Uh ... How old are you?
R: 17.
Me: !!!

Foob, eat your heart out.

gainst my instincts for self-preservation, my insatiable curiosity has always prevailed and this week has been no exception.

On my upcoming trip to San Diego, I've agreed to meet for dinner with Caroline, an old flame from a decade past - someone I've moved boulders for and the genesis of my recurring dreams with my Guardian Angel, Alethia.

From the photos she sent me, she looks almost the same - a face frozen in time, little worn for the years but remarkably free from the ravages of time that has decimated the beauty of other loves from that time period.

It's a fool's errand, most likely - but your thoughts?


Poll #1104329
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

Dinner with Caroline next week.

So many years come and gone
And yet the memory is strong
One word we never could learn
Good-bye
Our love is frozen in time
I'll be your champion and you'll be mine
I will remember you

- Amy Grant "I Will Remember"

unday - Chocolate Kitchen Redux.

Thanks to the overwhelming response of the previous Chocolate Sunday, we revisited Anthony Ferguson's Cacao Anasa for a second act of touring his kitchen, making a series of ganaches, bars and potent chocolate liqueurs with a few familiar faces, and a some new ones.

Photos to follow.

	Heidi, amused at something.
	Etak, trying to temper the choc again
	This is your ganache. This is your ganache with nuts.
	chocolate-dipped cookies
	spice chocolate
	Dhwani, looking on
	Down the kitchen with the bar team
	Rebecca, stirring the choc.
	Dhwani, I will buy a vowel.
	Putting on the aprons
	With Etak and the Pixar crew

uick hits:

• Last week's trip to Boulder CO was ... eventful. More to follow. :)
  
  
• Welsh Corgis who love Peanut Butter, from Cute Overload:
  
  
  
• Will be attending the Napkin Business Challenge - Bay Area entrepreneurs looking to mingle with other like-minded souls and potential investors should RSVP. :D
  
  
• Been looking forward to seeing "300" since I read the graphic novel last year, and finally caught it with owyn. SPARTANS, WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION?
  
  
• Met and recorded a 20-minute interview with The Asian Playboy when he was out in San Francisco for one of his Boot-Camp instructional tours. Fascinating conversation which I have to transfer to MP3 and upload. Soon, soon.

As you were.

ne of the best decisions I made in college was joining Toastmasters International.

I first became aware of the organization through Harvey Mackay, author of the NYT-bestselling book Swim With the Sharks (Without Being Eaten Alive). In the book (a treasure trove of business wisdom condensed into three to five-page chapters written for short-attention-span business owners), he made a standing offer to his readers - join Toastmasters for a year and if you feel you didn't get your money's worth by year's end, mail a copy of your canceled check of membership dues and he will refund you the entire amount.

Toastmasters, for those unfamiliar, is a peer-mentoring international club focused on one goal: members helping each other become better public speakers through a series of time-proven exercises and live practice in front of fellow club members. With dozens of chapters in nearly every zip code, it's one of the best and most effective ways to build up one of the most essential and underdeveloped skills in your professional life.

The fundamental truth is, everybody has conversational quirks and verbal tics that interfere with our ability to get our point across - some unknowingly pepper our sentences with 'um,' 'like' or 'you know,' - some of us may speak too fast or too loud; while your friends and co-workers are familiar with and have adjusted to these bad habits; they compromise our ability to express our best ideas and thoughts to the people we want to communicate them to.

As mentioned in Consigliere, Mi Consigliere!:

somewhere during the transition to adulthood, we cross the invisible boundary labeled 'You Ought To Know Better By Now,' and that flow of feedback slows to a trickle, and then stops. And as goes feedback, so goes your evolution as a human being.

Think of all the self-defeating and objectionable behavior you witness among your friends and acquaintances; unfortunately, given the choice between bringing up potentially uncomfortable topics or turning a blind eye, nearly all of us opt for the latter. And so we go along, blissfully unaware, making the same mistakes over and over again ... before an audience of knowing peers too polite to point out your flaws to your face.

This goes double for our communication skills.

While nearly everyone acknowledges that we can stand to improve our ability to get our point across, few take the initiative to do anything about it. To be sure, hiring a professional speech coach at $75/hour is a formidable expense and a very real barrier, but many people are simply unaware of the extremely cost-effective options that are open to them for showing up to a local Toastmasters group and joining.

As an enthusiastic advocate of Toastmasters to friends, co-workers and clients, I felt it was time to renew my own participation in this fantastic organization; after visiting a number of chapters in the area, I will joining and delivering my first talk to the Lee Emerson Bassett Club at the Stanford Graduate School of Business this Weds evening.

For those of you in the Bay Area who wish to come along watch me in front of a live audience, please feel free to respond in this RSVP and come on by. Typically, this club meets for dinner afterward as a group at a local Palo Alto restaurant.

<sub>(for unknown reason, LJ deleted the 30-odd comments on an older entry of the same name. These things happen from time to time, I suppose. In a conversation with an mutual friend, it turns out "Strawberry Girl" just got married a month ago.

The news, in conjunction with some recent events, put me in a wistful mood ... so a repost for posterity's sake.</sub>


trawberries.

She tasted of strawberries ... faint and aromatic, possibly from dessert a few hours ago, possibly from lipstick. The moment couldn't have lasted longer than thirty seconds before we broke apart - and her eyes were still closed when I opened mine.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," I said with a rueful smile.

Her eyes lit up with laughter - "Oh, don't sound so morbid! We'll be in touch. Call me!"

She squeezed my arm once, turned ... and then she's gone.

Whether it's the beginning of a full-time relationship or a fleeting moment of shared intimacy that vanishes by daybreak, there is always something magical about that first kiss you exchange with someone, isn't there?

It's that moment of hesitation; the sweetness of sensing the thousand tiny imperfections in the process of absorbing a woman's idiosyncrasies that, for me, lingers in memory long after everything else has faded away.

Wait wait - back up.

So it's Friday night, and I'm picking up my blind date from her cousin's apartment. My briefing on this woman was short ... a good friend's college roommate was in town for a week to visit her family. She ended a two-year relationship about one month ago, works as an artist/graphics designer at a web-design agency, and she was a runner-up in a Miss Chinatown pageant three years ago.

Naturally, since I'm a shallow bastard, one of these factoids stood out and grabbed my attention. That's right - I've got this major fetish for women who work at web-design firms.

Knock knock, Neo.

'Helen?'

Damn - she is attractive. Knee-length black cocktail dress, shoulder-length hair pinned back over one ear, light touch of makeup and a sunny smile that could pierce a storm cloud with its radiance. It's incredibly flattering when a woman takes time to look good for you - and I'm certainly not immune to its effect. Please dear god don't let me screw this one up I prayed, to no deity in particular.

With reservations for dinner and dance phoned in hours ago, we departed.

( Read more... )

urreal and beautiful stop-motion movie "Tony vs. Paul."



In other updates - attended the Silicon Valley Junta and spent a few hours conversing with Ben Casnocha, after which he kindly posted an extraordinarily flattering portrait in "Friends of Ben," which, I guess, officially makes me a FOB. Haha.

Whoohoo.

More frequent updates forthcoming (next post title: 'My Favorite Liar')

Until then ...

hy I Hate San Francisco, #29112.

Last Thursday, went to SF for drinks with madkiwi & company as well as a wine dinner party with Jason Korman from the early evening until around 11pm, only to return to my car and discover an odd breeze when I sat in my car; looking right, I noticed the passenger windshield smashed, and a ski jacket and other items stolen from the back seat of my car.

It's one of the most awful emotions to experience - that feeling of violation that some jerk decided to help himself to your belongings - to hell with your sense of security or respecting the sanctity of your space.

Apparantly, property crimes like this are so frequent that SFPD considers it a "low priority incident" and refused to send an officer to photograph the scene; I was told to file a police report online.

*Grumble* *Grumble*

Window has since been fixed, but the feeling of violation remains.

In happier news, was able to enjoy madbard's superbly sublime "The Charmed Life" at the Secret Rose Theater Saturday and spending a few relaxing days here before I return to SF.

Regular programming to return shortly. In the meantime ...

KIWI!

urn-of-the-century magicians become the subject of two major films in as many months, with The Illusionist made a strong initial showing, to be succeeded by The Prestige last last weekend.

As can be expected, a movie about magicians and illusions is naturally fraught with misdirection and disinformation; nearly anything presented in the first act is probably not what it will reveal to be.

( Spoiler-iffic text below cut. You know the drill. )

Poll #857034 The Prestige
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

1. Have you seen The Prestige?

2. Did you figure out what really happened before the ending/reveal of The Prestige?

3. For those who've watched both: how does The Prestige compare to The Illusionist?

For those who have not seen the film, spoilers are behind the cut and in the comments section and I strongly recommend that you avoid until seeing the film for yourself as it's a fantastic piece of storytelling it both atmosphere and visual beauty.

As you were.

o the planet managed to circle the sun once more since this post, and I'm still standing, none the worse for wear.

Worth celebrating, especially since I've now outlived the average guy in Medieval England, eh? :)
[Obligatory tin-can-rattling].

In entertainment news, thanks to bradtastic, I have developed a full-blown addiction to House, M.D. which premiers its third season tonight.

One of my favorite quotes from the pilot rings with particular resonance for whatever reason

Rebecca Adler: I just want to die with a little dignity.
Dr. House: There's no such thing! Our bodies break down, sometimes when we're 90, sometimes before we're even born, but it always happens and there's never any dignity in it. I don't care if you can walk, see, wipe your own ass. It's always ugly - always! We can live with dignity - we can't die with it.

Tomorrow, I will be going to Gilroy, CA to meet with the good folks at the Search Dog Foundation (where I volunteer) and watch them showcase the newest 'graduates' of their search-and-rescue dog training program.

Until then ...

rrington's Techcrunch parties are legendary in the valley, bringing together a potent melange of venture capitalists, entrepreneurs, high-powered engineers and other Silicon Valley power-brokers ... and the Techcrunch 7 event last Friday in Menlo Park proved to be no exception.

We witnessed demos from fascinating new startups, sampled wine from Stormhoek, and mingled with a cast of over 500 attendees at the headquarters of August Capital.

Alas, as is the case with such events, a few riff-raff managed to crash the party - and made off with a odd souveneir - a stolen 'G' from the metallic sign at the entrance of the August Capital office.

Sadly, nobody managed to collect on the $200 bounty to be photographed streaking next to Michael Arrington, as offered by Valleywag magazine.

Better luck next time, eh?


"Who stole my G?"

P.S.: Correction. David Hornik, at August Capital pointed that the 'G' was, in fact, not stolen - simply knocked off during the party's festivities. A dab of superglue later, the sign was promptly fixed. Thanks David.

P.P.S. Correction 2. An anonymous commentor indicated that there was, in fact, a streaker who managed to make his way through the party, though he was in a bathing suit so I don't know if that still qualifies. Ha.

or years, the U.S. Navy trains its officer corps in the medical service at Officer Indoctrination School in Newport, Rhode Island - taking in raw recruits and turning out medical professionals to serve aboard carriers and naval bases around the world.

After five weeks of marching, training and being yelled at by drill instructors, my brother completed the grueling course along with fellow OIS classmates in a ceremony steeped in over two centuries of Navy history and tradition on a bright Saturday morning to an audience of family and friends.

But there is work to do, calls to make, people to contact - so I leave you, as always, with photos.

More soon.



 

ook a much-needed weekend jaunt in Nevada at a friend's condo and watching the Marques brothers boxing match in South Lake Tahoe. Two excellent, hard-fought bouts by challengers to a loud crowd of spanish-cheering audience waving Mexican flags at the Mont Bleu casino/hotel.

A few quick-hits:

• Will be in Rhode Island this week to watch my brother graduate from the U.S. Navy's boot camp (this will be the first time any of us will see him in uniform). The Usual Suspects in the area who want to meet up - give me a ring/email; I'll be in Providence, RI from Wed (9 Aug) to Sat (12 Aug). My username AT gmail.com.
  
  
• In music news, I realize that while I've pimped it out privately to a few friends, some may not be aware of the Mercedes-Benz Mixed Tape series; every six to eight weeks, the M-B Mixed Tape website offers a selection of dozen songs (mostly in the jazz, downtempo and occasional hip-hop genres) for free download. Well worth a look-see.
  
  
• Made a post in the sfbayarea for the upcoming film The Illusionist that a few of us are going to watch opening weekend ... if you are a fan of sleight-of-hand magic or a performing magician, you're welcome to join the fun and answer the poll for your preferred location/time.
  
  
• bradtastic, Julia - I'm dropping by the post office for something with your name on it, should reach you shortly.

Photos forthcoming.

ome memories are probably better left buried ... but curiosity can motivate us to revisit places probably better left in the archives of our recollections.

Of course by 'us' and 'our,' I mean 'me' and 'my.'

Certain conversations can take you to a mental place unvisited in years, and nostalgia can be a powerful if peculiar experience. Last week, I spent over two hours on the phone with someone I haven't spoken with in over five years; the twelve of you who actually read my journal back then may remember the story, a sentimental memoir that got the attention of the Diarist Awards.

It's strange - conversing with a voice from the past so familiar and so alien all at once. We talk about everything and nothing, like the old days ... of things we've seen, people we've worked with, lives we've touched, things we regret. Everything ... except that one thing.

Her: "I don't know why I'm even telling you this - after I got married, I spent a day throwing out every gift guys have given me before I met my husband, but ended up keeping letters you wrote and that photo. You know the one I'm talking about?"

The photo. I haven't thought about that in years.

In the middle of the Muir campus at UCSD, there was a rock garden ten meters by ten meters, with dozens of boulders on the bed of pebbles. The rocks were heavy but can be moved with effort, and the day before her birthday, I went to the rock garden and moved the stones one after another, to spell out her Chinese name in six-meter tall script. I had a friend take a photo of me standing next to the rocks and sealed it in another envelope.

We shared an early-morning class at the HSS building just to side the rock garden; at the end of our lecture I handed her the card gave a series of cryptic commands 'walk out the door and take ten steps left. Turn right, take twenty steps. Turn right. Look down."

The second envelope with the photo was taped to the railing with her name on it - and the reaction was as I had hoped when here eyes drifted down to see her name in stone. Boom. An hour of time and three bandages on my hands was a small price to pay, all told.

It's funny, the things you remember, and the things that drop from conscious memory.

At one level, it was cathartic to talk about the past with some distance from the intensity of emotion that burned in those moments when our lives were at a tipping point and the future was a wide-open landscape of possibility.

It's flattering, I suppose, that my gift to her was the one thing she couldn't bear to throw away. But ultimately, it doesn't matter. We live our seperate lives - her in her world, me in mine.

And on my drive in the early morning mist, I find myself wondering:

Is there anyone left worth moving boulders for?

*Ponder*

inner last night with Jason Korman, CEO of Stormhoek Wines in San Mateo at 231 Ellsworth.

There is a strange intimacy to converse with someone you've never met in person but share substantial overlaps in worldview and personality for the first time; our conversational Kwisatz Haderach touched upon wine and then vaulted in a dozen directions; from British business culture, memetics and social dynamics, authoritarian politics and its unintended consequences on its citizens, the choices and consequences modern men have about relationships/intimacy, AutoBlogger, the BMW Films and the horrible movie 'Sideways.'

A 6:00 dinner reservation ended with us parting ways at 10:00pm, drunk on great conversation more than the bottle of fine white wine we polished off (not Stormhoek, I know you'd ask).

In tangential news, I am delighted to see that Robert Greene, who I met for lunch back in 2002, has completed his magnus opus, The 33 Strategies of War and has a blog - Power Seduction and War.

This Friday, I will be in San Jose to meet with Maddox for a book signing of his absurdly hysterical work The Alphabet of Manliness.

Photos forthcoming.

unch last week with sunyata__ in Palo Alto was tremendously fun and our conversations meandered from her new job (for which I again offer hearty congrats!) to something that reminded me I wanted to cover in greater detail here.

The Avatar
For nearly all of us - we have, in our mind, an idealized version ourselves as we'd like ourselves to be. Call it the Self-Avatar. In this iteration, you are magnanimous, thoughtful, well-respected, honorable, courageous ... whatever attributes you'd like to believe you exemplify.

Then, there is your real, flesh-and-blood self - riven with all the flaws that beset humanity. Unless you are completely schizophrenic, chances are good that you bear at least passing resemblence to that idealized Self-Avatar in your finest moments. Unfortunately, your real 'you' has other qualities, revealed in your worst moments - petty, situationally-dishonest, cowardly, or immature.

Between your Self-Avatar and your real you lies ... a gap.

For some, that gap is an enormous chasm of hypocrisy, filled with pious, self-congradulatory posturing completely at odds with their real-life misbehaviors, willfully (or obliviously) unaware of the distance between the self they believe themselves to be, and the actual lives they lead. Others are aware and mindful of that gap, and seek ways to diminish them in time, understanding that their individual failures are part of a necessary and iterative process, along the path to maturity.

As mentioned in the entry on consiglieres,

As children, we expect grownups to correct our manners, grammar, and behavior. In the process, we open ourselves to change - we learn, we adapt, we grow. But somewhere during the transition to adulthood, we cross the invisible boundary labeled 'You Ought To Know Better By Now,' and that flow of feedback slows to a trickle, and then stops. And as goes feedback, so goes your evolution as a human being."

As a personal example, about 30% of my serious dating relationships were ultimately marred by infidelity (on her part, never mine). Now, I am uncertain whether that figure is high, low or average (and yes, I've already considered that the percentage might be even higher and I was simply unaware); but in nearly every case, because she considered herselt not be "that kind of woman," the infidelity was compounded with deceit. A soothing lie was preferred over an unpleasant truth.

In my experience, persistent obliviousness to that gap is a problem shared by a majority of physically attractive women (BOCTAOE). Pretty women occupy a strange world, standing at the nexus of a hive of yes-men looking to bed them, and willing to overlook any deficit in character for that opportunity; if they so choose, they have the option to refuse essential personal development for decades ... until their beauty fades.

Being mindful of the gap is a constant discipline - it is no sin to have lofty ideals as to what you'd like to be, and possess an ambitiously virtuous self-avatar; the difficulty comes in the day-to-day, having a clear-eyed understanding of where you fall from your own ideals and putting unremitting effort in closing that gap when you find them.

If your self-avatar includes seeing yourself as a honorable person - make your peace with those with whom you hold grudges that have long outlived the magnitude of its offenses - summon the courage to be the bigger man and take the initiative for reconciliation, even if you believe the other was in the wrong.

Acting with honor is about the self - not about how others may react, and it is infinitely easy when our own lives are riven with hypocrisy and pettiness to harshly judge the failures of others, to focus harsh judgement on those whose flaws may be more visible than our own, to reassure ourselves that at least we aren't as bad as THEM. Focusing that beacon of judgement on ourselves is a much more difficult action - far easier to sneer at condemn the weakness of others than to acknowledge them in oneself.

It's a tall order, but then again, we should expect no less from ourselves, or those we choose to love.

Now, off to work.