Some of you might be thinking that I have a hard enough time keeping this place updated and how could I possibly think going multi-platform with the blog is a good idea? Well, some of you are right, I do have a hard enough time updating the old nerd hut. But I don’t care.

Ze Frank says that people who create and distribute original content on the internet do so because they want to connect with others. “To feel and be felt.” I want to feel that connection too. If done well, vlogging can be much more personal and engaging than blogging is. The good ones (Ze Frank, John and Hank Green, Philip DeFranco) make it look easy. I really want to give it a try.

I have the tools – barriers to entry are really rather low. You need a video camera (xmas gift), some editing software (free, free, free!), and some online hosting (the youtubes). But even though it’s easy to get started – just get in front of the camera and start talking – it’s also easy to ramble on and bore your viewers. It sounds like it’s hard to get and keep and audience.  And, if we’re talking about connecting, that is the point.

So here’s the plan I have rolling around my pea-sized brain:

1. Cut the random clips from the early july road trip together into a recap-themed youtube video. This will help me learn the ins and outs of the editing software as well as what I’ll need on the back end to make a good video. Post it to facebook and see what the reaction is. See what feedback I get.
2. Come up with a framework for how each installment of the vlog will work. Nothing’s worse than a “here’s what I did today” blog/vlog if there’s no point. Figure that out – what’s the point? I have an idea I’m working out in my head – each episode will have me pulling a “random” volume from my admittedly-too-large book collection and relating the book to larger issues: world events, my life/outlook/etc. I might change my mind on that, but it will be good for me and easier on viewers if the vlog has a theme – if it’s going somewhere.
3. Write it out. I don’t know how others do it, but I know I’d be doomed to a sea of “uhh” and “umms” if I try to wing it. Not saying I’ll write an exact script for every episode, but I need to at least bullet point it – know what I want to say in what order I want to say it. Know the intro, the pertinent points to cover, and the conclusion.
4. Film a pilot episode. Not for public consumption, just to get the visual parts right: where each episode will be shot, what lighting I’ll need, lighting, etc. Put it all together and see if I’d want to watch what I just filmed.
5. Get over the fact that I hate my own voice.
6. Begin!

So that’s what’s been on my mind the last few days. I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to move, but I think I’m going to start playing around and eventually give it a shot.

But, as all worthwhile vacations do, this one swallowed me whole and such plans were forgotten. In the end, we probably totaled somewhere around 3o hours in the car and put 2000 miles on the odometer. Not bad for ten days work.

Today is proving to be especially trying. After a wonderful week of friends and family, it’s had to drive a third of the way across the country, away from all that – away from home, for no other reason than that this is where you’ve chosen to live. Why did I choose that again? Oh, right, the job. The job is here and the job is teaching me a lot and giving me good experience. When the time comes, the job will look mighty nice on a resume. But in some ways, the job was my port in a storm. I’ve anchored while the storm’s raged, but I haven’t been curled up idle in my bunk. I’ve been patching leaks, mending sails, and shoring up the hull. Sure, this little bay I’ve found is fine, but it’s awfully far away from home, and I have a hunch that there’s a better anchorage out there. Just need to wait a little bit more, let the wind die, and see what tomorrow brings.

Extended, obvious, and tiresome metaphors aside, the people and places I saw on the vacation and the sense of home that both brought me have me feeling grateful, relaxed, and introspective. I am friends with and related to some awfully good people. And they are so very far away.

One of these tomorrows, the wind will die and repairs will be complete. I wonder what that day will bring.

Tonight we’re Toledo-bound for no other reason that Toledo is about the point we’ll be getting tired, there’s a Hampton Inn, and Hampton Inns have free and tasty breakfasts. Friday through Monday will be spent at the family cabin in central PA. Then it’s on to Binghamton, Baltimore, and Frederick before we point our car west once more. We’ll be back in the Chicago area (hopefully) on the 10th, leaving one lovely day to veg out and destress (and, importantly, not drive) before we have to return to real life.

So, c’mon vacay. Get yourself started. I have some beers to drink, some laughing to do, and some people to see.

Can’t wait.

Renovations work at the museum continues, and is going well, for the most part. I can’t seem to shake this near-constant feeling of anxiety, though. This is not a good thing. I posted as such a few weeks ago on facebook and a college friend pointed out that “anxiety is just another word for fear. So what is it you’re afraid of?” I think he’s absolutely spot on. I throw around words like ‘anxiety’ quite a bit without thinking about what they really mean. What am I afraid of?

I’m afraid that the renovations will hit some kind of deadline-busting snag. I’m afraid some additional expense will come up that will eat up what little remains of the budget. I’m afraid that some little bureaucratic detail will rear its ugly head and delay the renovation progress. I’m intimidated by being the one in charge of the renovations project – I feel visible and exposed. In the financial state of the University, I fear that not constantly proving my worth will lead to layoff. I fear the future. When this project winds down, will it be time to job search again? I hate job searching. Chicago doesn’t feel like home. Is there a place that will? I long for it; I fear I’ll never find it. What does the future hold? No way to be sure? I fear uncertainty. Too often I find myself thinking, “What’s going to go wrong next?” I hate that guy.

So, yeah. I have anxiety.

I fear.

I don’t have the answers. I don’t have a ton of patience for those who tell me they do have the answers. How can they know? Faith? There’s a thin line between faith and self serving self delusion. That said, there’s an equally thin line between objectivity and nihilism. I don’t know if I’ll let myself believe. But I desperately want to.

In LOST, the “flash-sideways” we’ve been seeing all season (as opposed to previous seasons’ flash-backs and flash-forwards) have not been to an alternate reality, but instead to a metaphysical limbo, some kind of staging ground between this life and the next. The characters in it don’t know – not at first – that they’re no longer living. It isn’t until each of them has a transcendent moment that they reconnect with the memories and emotional baggage of their prior lives that they find peace and become ready to move on to the next stage of afterlife; presumably heaven, Valhalla, sto-vo-kor, etc.

I like the message this says. No one is alone. We are all members of a community, a family. In life and in the afterlife, it is only with the help of others that we can move forward. In sideways-limbo-world, most of the characters had a pretty decent life. But they also felt like something was missing. They were unfullfilled, untethered, un-ruddered. Until they made the connections with people from their “real” life and found fulfillment and peace.

We all feel this disconnection on some level. I know I do. I have a good life: good job, great wife, family that loves me, wonderful friends. But – like everyone – I feel like something’s missing. Some people fill that hole with faith. Faith in a deity, in organized religion, in the universe. If that’s you, well, we’re on different pages. I don’t judge, and frankly I admire people of faith. But I’m not there yet. I was once and may be again, but life events of the last decade tell me that if there is a God, if there is a higher power, they are utterly unknowable and un-understandable at best. For me, faith is on hold until I can construct a world view where a compassionate deity and senseless suffering are not mutually exclusive.

But last night showed me that the missing piece in all of us can be filled. Not only with faith but also with those we are connected to. It’s on us to make those connections, to nurture them, and to let them guide us through life. And maybe, just maybe, those connections resonate in the great beyond. Maybe part of ourselves stays connected to parts of ourothers and the bonds we’ve made in this life, to borrow a phrase, echo in eternity.

And that’s the answer. To feel fullfilled, tethered, ruddered? Find someone to love. Let them provide fullfillment. Tether yourself to them. Let them become your rudder. If you lack faith? Don’t worry. Hang on to your loved ones, and they will see you home.

I know it was just a TV show. But it gave me hope.

Well, hello there. Work lately has been a bit stressful and nothing helps me unwind better than the sound of my own voice, so here I am. Nothing’s on the agenda today, but I thought I’d mess around a bit with embedded maps. Because I am a nerd.

So, without further ado, here are maps of every place I’ve ever lived.

321 Cherry Tree Circle, Hagerstown MD. The childhood home. Where all the old, good memories are. The driveway was pretty steep, good for jumping your BMX. Dad built a treehouse in the backyard. At the age of 7, I went rebellious and wrote the word “shit” underneath my bookshelf. (Sorry, Mom.)

View larger map

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11908 Woodland Way Road Myersville MD. When my parents split up right before high school, I moved with Mom and the step dad to this house. I used to tell people I lived on a hill in a valley between two mountains. And I did. And it was awesome. We had a pool, I set up a shooting range in the back yard, and sometimes hours would pass without a car driving by. The wind whipped from south to north up the valley.

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1006 Hamilton Boulevard Hagerstown, MD. This is where my Dad lived after the folks split. It was one half of a duplex. My bedroom was at the top of the stairs and had a balcony with a green hammock. The house was a 5 minute walk from my grandparent’s, a 10 minute walk from school, and a short bus ride from the comic shop. Here is where I nurtured my love for being in a work shop, eating grilled cheese, and watching bad sci-fi.

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Butler Hall 408, Loyola College. My freshman year dorm. All guys and at that point I was even less of a “dude” than I am now. Thought I’d hate it, but made some of the best friends there I’ve ever had. We played muddy football in terrifying thunderstorms and drank ourselves silly.

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Winwood (Wynwood?) West 802, Loyola College. Sophomore Year. Lived in a six person apartment with five of my best friends. We began to perfect the art of throwing amazing parties. I got an inkling for what it must feel like to be an adult. I learned what it was like to have brothers. You could see the Baltimore skyline from our living room window. I fell in love with a city. The dorm has a different name now, but it’ll always be Winwood and/or Wynwood to me.

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Gardens D302, Loyola College. Junior Year. Our room overlooked the volleyball court. I had already met Joey A, but he was a year older than us and had been studying abroad. Coming back, he didn’t have a place to live so  they stuck him with us. And thank god for that. Joe has been a partner in crime, a cheerleader, and a brother ever since. Here was the site of some legendary parties, and some indelible memories. I hate claiming that any years were the best of my life, but if I could go back and experience any D302 weekend all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute.

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Charleston 12B, Loyola College. Senior Year. The curtains were closing on the college career, but this basement apartment was the best place we could have lived. Me, Duff, Chris, and Griff. Becca, Jess, and Timmins upstairs. Rich stopping by regularly. We grilled, we hid kegs in the room and passed the tap discreetly out the window. Got drunk, slept late, didn’t do too much studying. But I learned a lot about life and a lot about myself.

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Twin Ridge Apartments, 10 Sunny Meadow Court. My first real place after college. BFox and I shared a pretty sweet two bedroom place. There was a wide disparity in bedroom sizes, which he was too gracious about. We’re pretty sure there were many heavy-footed russians living upstairs. One of the first weekends there, a gerbil chewed its way out from within my bedroom wall. I screamed like a nine year old girl. Tom, visiting, got a new pet.

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Waterloo, 640 North Calvert Street, Baltimore. After a year at Twin Ridge in Mount Washington, Fox moved away and I moved into this Melrose Place-like complex with Saulo and Chad. Bars and restaurants were closer, the city was mine to explore, and I eventually got used to the traffic noise. We through some pretty good parties, had a beer pong table in the dining room, and our kegerator was just steps from the swimming pool. Here I rediscovered the internet, learned that any movie, tv show, or song can be found free online, and learned about blogging.

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6225 Cliffside Terrace, Frederick, MD. Sooo…  I thought I was getting a job in Virginia. So much so, that I gave up my spot in the apartment. Then I didn’t get the job. With nowhere to go, Mom and the step dad took me in. I lived with them for nine months or so. A hell of a commute, but delicious dinner on the table every night and the opportunity to get to know your parents as (almost) equals. I lived here during 9/11. Work let out early that day. Speeding like a banshee out 70 to get myself in front of a TV, I was overflown by two f-15′s, low and fast, on full afterburner heading for Thurmont. The rumor at that point was that Camp David was the next target.

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1538 South Hanover Street, Baltimore. The more things change…    Saulo bought a house in Federal Hill (well, technically South Baltimore… I think) and needed a roommate. I needed to be closer to work. Back to Baltimore I went. Although not my house, I felt more at home than any of the post-college living situations. I also learned a lot by osmosis about what being a homeowner was like. Hung out on the roof deck, and played a lot of kickball.

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2007 Sulgrave Avenue, Baltimore. Life moves on. Saulo was getting married, I had a girlfriend, and it was time to find a place of my own. So, I found this basement apartment in Mount Washington, not too far from Twin Ridge. The place was small and musty. There was a disastrous sewage leak in my living room closet. I’m pretty sure my gas bill included the gas for all four dryers in the building. I spent a lot of time at Emily’s.

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3617 Keystone Avenue, Baltimore. Looking back, this may be where my adult life started. Emily had put in an offer (unrelated to how awesome I am) early on in our dating. By the time we were serious, my one year lease on Sulgrave was up so I moved in. No, technically, my name wasn’t on the loan. But I was and felt like a homeowner in every other way. The house was tiny, but I loved it – imperfections and all. The times we spent here, especially with Nick and Kate and Ben…  I’ll remember them forever.

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13B East Spring Street, Winooski VT. Everyone wakes up one morning and realizes that they hate their job. I had made it through eight or nine hundred such mornings before I did something about it. I quit my job, and Emily and I moved to Vermont. I went to grad school in a bold and costly attempt to change careers. But, Vermont. Ohhh, Vermont. It was like living in a little slice of heaven, if heaven is located next to Quebec. We lived on the top floor of a Greek Revival house, had a succession of weirdo downstairs neighbors, and slowly fell in love with our new life.

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• 152 Allen Road, South Burlington VT. As grad school was wrapping up, so was our lease in Winooski. The future was a big question mark and we didn’t know how long we’d be in VT for. Our landlord would only let us sign another year lease, so we told him to pound sand and found a place managed by the company that Jessie worked for. The building was under construction when we first looked at it; we were the first tenants in our unit. Despite the empty lot in the satellite view, I assure you, the building exists. In the end, we’d only live there for three months, but it was a pretty nice place. The view across the street was a field, the first time I’d had that since Woodland Way.

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1136 South Oak Park Avenue, Oak Park IL. Which brings us to today. The post grad school job search led me to Chicago. After living in the country for two years, we weren’t sure where we’d fit in in one of the nation’s largest cities. We settled in Oak Park, which is just outside the Chicago city limits. Wide streets, tall trees, a very neighbor-y feeling. Our apartment is one of the sunniest I’ve ever lived in. I’m two blocks from the L and surrounded by delicious food. Dunno how long we’ll stay, but for now… it’s home.

]]> http://nerdhut.com/?feed=rss2&p=241 3 http://nerdhut.com/?p=239 http://nerdhut.com/?p=239#comments Thu, 22 Apr 2010 20:42:09 +0000 Michael http://nerdhut.com/?p=239 Continue reading →]]> I think I don’t write here very much because when I do, 99.99% of the time I am complaining about something. I don’t want to seem like that guy, so the thought process often goes like this: “GrumbleGrumbleGrumble.” “I should write about that on the nerd hut.” “No, no one wants to hear me bitch. Again.” “Ok, fine, I won’t write anything.”

So I mentally filter and thus, apparently because much of my mental capacity is taken up by being being generally annoyed, I don’t write here as often as I should.

That said…

Today has not been a great day. I won’t say too much other than this: I don’t think you should be allowed to make a decision, forget you made that decision, get upset that -in your mind- the decision hasn’t been made, reverse your original stance, and come down hard on the people were in good faith taking actions that were in line with the original decision. Make sense? Doesn’t matter. Make’s sense to me.

Fickle, forgetful, and dismissive is no way to operate.

Apparently some people handle it better than others. And, yes, this is the part where I pat myself on the back for being the most basic sort of human being and cast aspersions on others. It’s what I do.

This morning, on the Oak Park blue line platform, I was sitting on the bench awaiting the arrival of my vaguely smelly chariot. Staring off into space, just sort of zoning out. To my left, a little further down the platform, a commotion. Voices raised in anger. Two men doing some verbal barking. Racial epithets flew. One of the men was well dressed, well heeled, caucasian, waiting for the train. The other was dingy, dirty, messed hair and cloudy eyed, bruised and scratched, african american. He was visibly upset. And he made straight for me.

Here we go, I thought. I got ready for the ensuing confrontation. Back straight, hands free, all senses on full alert. The man approached. The man composed himself, transformed himself. “Hello, sir. How are you this morning? My name’s Erik, what’s yours? Mike, it’s nice to meet you.” He produced a clipboard. “Could I trouble you for your signature? I’m walking the AIDS walk this weekend. I have AIDS. I plan to walk at least five miles.” Not understanding, I took the clipboard and pen. “Thank you sir. As you can see, most people are pledging at least five dollars.” And then, my foggy brain woke up to the fact that I was being asked for money. That this could be on the level, but could also have been a scam designed to relieve me of five bucks. And so, I declined. Handed the clipboard back. Was polite. Told Erik I didn’t have any cash on me. (A lie.) I expected a repeat of the earlier witnessed unpleasantness. “Well, that’s ok, Mike. Thanks for talking with me. Have yourself a great weekend.” He walked off. Down the platform, he approached a woman. I assume he gave her the same speech. She ignored him, stared straight ahead as if he didn’t exist. The next person’s words were drowned out by the approaching train, but they were short and if I am a lip reading expert (note: I am not) it looked for all the world to me like they said “Get lost.”

For me, what it came down to was that I lied to Erik. I told him I didn’t have money. I did it because I generally don’t give money to people on the street. Because in the uncontrolled world of the modern city, I don’t like to whip out my wallet on the street. Because you never know what’s going to happen. The best way to avoid getting into such situations is to not put yourself into them. I don’t claim to be a good person. I have no moral high ground. We all make our way in the world the best we can, we all compromise.

Everyone makes such choices, and everyone has their own rationale. It’s hard to judge such personal decisions. But here’s what we all need to remember, here’s what disgusted me about my fellow commuters this morning. From what I saw, they didn’t treat Erik like a person. I can’t exactly say what any of the Erik-and-others interactions were like. I can only say that when I spoke to him, he was lucid, polite, and non-intrusive. If he was like that with the others and if they answered him with angry words, dismissal, or just ignored him, then there was some basic aspect of humanity missing this morning at 7:30am on the Oak Park blue line platform.

No, Erik is not entitled to your money. What he is entitled to, what we’re all entitled to, is the expectation that personal interactions will be conducted on the assumption that we are all people. That we all have dignity. Even if one of us is dingy and dirty, with messed hair and cloudy eyes, bruised and scratched.

Take my job, for example.

I like my job. I work with great people, in a set of beautiful buildings, for an organization whose mission I respect. But. There’s stress. We’re in the middle of a huge project that involves lots of work, time pressure, interaction with related and unrelated organizations with indifferent or unrelated agendas.  The work piles up, deadlines slip, focus is lost, found, and lost again.

There’s much I like about my job. There’s much that is ridiculous and causes me stress. How do I reconcile the two? Do I approach each interpersonal encounter with a firm but pleasant demeanor? Do I organize and to-do-list the hell out of myself? Will that get me there?

Or is that only part of the answer? Is there a different answer? Do I try to go all zen (note: I have no idea if I’m using the term appropriately) and and realize that the best I can do, all I can do, is to give each day my best effort, to give all of myself, and that all other factors are out of my control.? On the top of my monitor I’ve taped a quote that was painted above the Hull House stage, back when Hull House had a theater. It says, “Act well your part.  There all the honor lies.”

I guess – and I reserve the right to change my mind – that it’s a little of the first and all of the second. The way we carry ourselves, the way we interact with the world, goes a long way toward the way the world treats us. But at the same time, that’s just about all we can do. We have to realize that once we’ve given our best effort, given our all, there’s nothing left to do except site back and let things play out as they will.

Sit back. And relax.

Today the system punched me around. Today I understood how the soul-less, brain-less bureaucrat can become that way. I can become that way.

I understand more now about institutionalized inefficiency, apathy, and insider dealing.

If this is how the world works, it’s no wonder our governments have no money.