Worth Reading

Via Mel, Tim Wise's This is Your Nation on White Privilege.

Nothing to Fear

I guess this is growing up.

It's better to be home, but it was good to be away. One of the lovely side effects of business travel to a far away place is ample hours for reading. I absolutely went to town. Two and a half books on marketing (two not deeply satisfying, but many useful bits all around), Marguerite of Navarre's The Heptameron and 1984. I'd been wanting to read both for years. I'll pause here to allow time for all of you to gasp about the fact that I had yet to read 1984. I'd also never read Kurt Vonnegut's Galapagos until a month and a half ago, and Cat's Cradle before that, but no Vonnegut before or since. I've decided that my paltry knowledge of literature that is not early American and British through Virginia Wolfe can no longer go unattended, so instead of staying up late on IRC I've been pulling the greats off the shelf. I digress.

1984 was, as most will no doubt agree, an amazing novel. I started reading it at 20:00 and went to sleep at 3:00 the next morning. I'd seen the film when I was younger and just skipped the novel for years, for no good particularly good reasons. Something to do with Aldous Huxley, audio books and being generally freaked out by John Hurt. Long story, I'll tell you over a beer.

I had not counted on the excruciating longness of my layovers in Heathrow and Cape Town. When the travel agent tells you that two seven hour layovers are going to lower your flight costs by over 10,000 USD, you accept that the journey was already going to suck, so how bad can a layover here and there be? There's always the chance to pick up the British edition of The Economist, a Hello Magazine, some crisps for Ben and to eat something that's actually health at giraffe in Terminal 1. I slept on the planes for most of my flights, save five hours on the way home, so my time in airports was spent book in hand. Nights in Durban were largely spent reading to the roar of the Indian Ocean, accompanied by massive lightning storms more than half the time. Spectacular.

So, 1984. You've all already read it. Probably. The "do it to Julia, not to me" that's been blazing somewhere in the back of my brain for the last 20 odd years finally makes sense. Finely crafted work, that. Not a lot of other surprises, though.

Now that I've had some time to mull it over, the same thing comes back to me over and over again. The power of fear. A good friend of mine said it best: you're afraid of what will happen if you say something, so it is easier to say nothing at all. Or to do nothing.

I didn't do much while I was in Durban, and spent 99% of my time in the vicinity of tourist-strip-central-by-the-beach. So many people reminded me not to go anywhere by myself, to be on my guard and all that. I felt ridiculous being herded about the entry sidewalks and into taxis. I resisted clothes shopping since it would prove to be some intense affair where I'd need to have someone from the hotel come with me to make sure that I'd be all right at the shopping mall. (Maybe if I'd thought it through, I'd have seen it as an opportunity to inject some funds into the local economy for provision of excellent service, but I'm just not into being waited on in that way.)

I pride myself on not being the average tourist. When I visited Copenhagen to speak at Danish Linux Forum 2007, I touched down and there were riots in the city proper. I got the story later from my local anthropological expert and will be pleased to tell anyone who cares to listen the tales of woe of Copenhagen's squatting anarchists. Gotta love the Danes. Great shawarma and pubs, too. I left a 5 real note in one of them that I intend to visit again one day.

The riots continued throughout the conference, dying down and then reappearing elsewhere. The students I hung out with wanted to know if I was afraid to walk back downtown from the university given that there were riots and we might run into them. I told them they could no doubt be avoided and started walking. The next day the anthropologist asked if I was afraid to visit Christiana. I wasn't. We went. I got the t-shirt.

Plus, as can likely be deduced from above, I have also successfully navigated the wilds of Brasil and returned unscathed. Everyone told me to be worried about going there, too. My hosts wouldn't let me go downtown when a festival was on, but I wonder if that had more to do with dangerous fleshy bits on display than dangerous people in the crowds. They assured me it was the latter, and it would have offended them to ask about the former, so I didn't.

I still can't believe I got an escort to the convenience store a block and a half from the hotel by a security guard, one who jokingly and freely admitted that "only God could keep [me] safe." I also anticipated everything he said about when to cross the street to get away from parked cars with people in them, when he felt my pace should speed up or slow, when to cross the street. I know how to not behave like a target.

I confirmed with various locals over various breakfasts: you're a tourist, you're a target. How this is different than anywhere else, I remain unsure. Ben's wallet was nearly stolen while we were in Rome.

The only reason I accepted the escort and all the other fuss is my voice, which immediately betrays me away as a foreigner, likely American. And minimum wage is 225 USD per month, assuming you're employed.

When I went to the beach, I went with two friends (which is probably just a sane thing to do anyway for happiness reasons), Ellen Ball and the aforementioned James Arbaugh. Just as we got back to the hotel, he mentioned that people had warned him about how dangerous it was in South Africa. He smiled thinly, but not unkindly, and said, "I live in Haiti, how bad can it really be?"

Indeed.

How bad can it really be? I know people in South Africa are poor, some of them painfully so. 25% of them have HIV. Desperation is the mother of many inventions, not all of them benign or benevolent.

But here's the thing. I was never actually afraid. Maybe that's just utter naivete on my part. The worst thing that happened to me when I went out for dinner, all alone into the big scary world, was having to overpay for cab fare. I didn't walk, though, even though I'd done it the night before with a group and I certainly had the energy to do it again. So maybe I was afraid. I suppose, in this instance, there's something to be said for the beauty of calling it not fear but pragmatism. Healthy levels of caution. A prudent choice.

I think I felt more rubbed raw by all the warnings than I felt worried that something terrible would happen. Then again, these warning always grate. The well intentioned who mentioned that I might be kidnapped in Brasil. (I wasn't.) I've always wanted to go to Haiti. No one supports this idea. My friend, ex-Army, told me he wouldn't go with me because he'd "been there with a gun and couldn't protect [himself]."

But James said I could visit and all I can think is "this is my chance to finally do this." Even though I have seen signs in US airports for as long as I can remember that state that the Federal Aviation Administration or some such administrative body has determined Port au Prince Airport, Haiti to be unsound in particular technical jargon. But people fly into and out of there and apparently they don't all die. I'm told I should be terrified to go to this place. That's just it, I'm not.

I spent last week with a whole bunch of young, idealistic hackers and informatics professionals. These folks are the real deal: living in Africa (or Haiti), caring for the health needs of the poorest of the poor. Some would call this the lord's work. They're not from Africa and are varying degrees of pale, or deeply sunburned. They seem to do just fine. What am I supposed to be afraid of?

Then again, it seems imprudent to risk my life by going to the poorest country on planet Earth. I'm getting married in six months. Ben doesn't want me to go to Haiti (and most would argue rightfully so). I think that there's a time and a place for everything, and it's called college. (Or just after.) That time for me has passed. Now I'm thinking about being somebody's Mom. In a few years.

Speaking of growing up and the importance of family and all that...

Cousin, you emailed me and I lost your mail. Please resend it. I would really love to talk to you.

I'm going to go read some more Vonnegut. Any author suggestions folks?

The Agony and the Ecstasy

I spent most of this morning taking online driver's education, which for those of you who aren't familiar with the concept is clicking through ~1,000 slides of obvious advice like "Service your vehicle regularly" and "Accidents on freeways are more severe due to high speeds." In short, it's torture, 30 USD worth of torture to make sure you think twice about exceeding the speed limit near one of our fine lads in black. Including the ~ 300 USD fine. At least I was able to hang out on IRC during the entire course. That and they helpfully electronically file the fact that you pass the necessary exam with the Santa Clara County Courthouse, so I guess I shouldn't complain too much.

Having spent the morning amongst flash-based mini-movies with a gift for either profoundly stating the obvious or seriously advising you "Image Not Found," I thought I'd escape the computer for awhile. So I read.

Book was incredibly compelling. Melissa Holbrook Pierson ++. I find it odd that two of the best books I've read lately, this one and this one, were purchased by Ben at the airport. He didn't read them though. I need to send him traveling more often.

Ben's Mum Raewyn is in town, so we're heading out soon for dinner at Chef Chu's. Life is good.

Recap

I haven't posted in awhile, mostly because I've been busy with Lug Radio Live USA and Summer of Code. We'll be announcing accepted student proposals on Monday, so the craziness has died down and bit and we're in a calm patch for the moment. Things will heat up again in two days. Our duplicately accepted student resolution meeting in IRC yesterday was fast and furious as ever, but turned out very well and with no major damage.

I decided to take a break this morning, chill out, drink iced tea and read. Jeremy recently lent me Ben Elton's Blind Faith, and it was such a great book that I read through it all this morning. It's also left me with no desire to share anything whatsoever, so I'll just post some snippets:

Lug Radio Live USA was awesome. However, don't believe me, believe the hype. I learned a great deal over the weekend, especially about effectively managing a large-scale conference, spent some quality time with old friends, made some new ones, and even got to sing karaoke. Woot!

(Of course, that's not a particularly flattering photo and given what I've just read, I remain uncertain of just how excited I can and should get about karaoke.)

Among the many highlights, Emma Jane Hogbin's discussion of Women in Open Source was fantastic. She's right folks - we need more people in Open Source, and a great way to find them is to start with the very old and the very young. Ask her about her thoughts next time you see her.

Lessee, what else is going on....

After finishing off Elton, I now have a near irrepressible desire to go on to Atwood. So I shall. But first a few things about the house - the omnipresent laundry. Rearranging my office. Screwing around on IRC. I think I'll make some hummus. Perhaps I might even get saucy and include some roasted red pepper. Definitely a lot of lemon juice.

Then again, my blender is offline due to overuse. Meh. I also need to make myself some more iced tea.

The X.org folks were in last week, and it's always a treat to see them. We also hosted a MySQL architecture meeting on Friday, so I got to see Brian, Colin and Stewart. ++

Next week should give me some time to start preparing my speech for BSDCan.

That's about it heading west. Oh yeah, Lex is back in town. And happy birthday Louis!

The desrt and the Snow

Or the perfect end to an awesome week....

I left Boston on Friday afternoon not long after a lovely breakfast with Michael Hutchinson and a brief visit to Novell's Boston office, complete with a trawl through my inbox in their massage chair. Miguel was out and about at demoing some cool new Moonlight stuff, so sadly didn't get a chance to say hello to him. Spent my flight next to a fellow Drupalcon attendee, a gentleman working on putting together a start up focused on creating community oriented work/exploration spaces. I'm once again impressed to see so many civic minded business ideas coming to the fore.

An hour cab ride through Friday evening traffic later, I found myself at casa de Trow, and not long after eating an incredible burrito. To those who claim you cannot get decent Mexican food in the Midwest, I say "fie on thee." This place was kind enough to be open 24 hours a day and appeared to serve all manner of yummy breakfast items, though I wasn't able to indulge in any of those. They also brought us two kinds of salsa and some pretty sweet pico de gallo. The number of types of salsa presented to you, assuming of course the salsa is edible, is a great way for demarcating the so-so hole in the wall burrito joint from the truly awe inspiring purveyor of delicious carne asada. If the salsa is inedible, just leave immediately. Really. Your innards will thank you greatly, as will everyone you know, or at least everyone who likes you well enough to feel squeamish when you mention your recent bout of food poisoning.

Friday evening, it snowed. A bit. Not much. I nonetheless found it fascinating. Mind you, I've been in a snow storm, California style, which pretty much meant ten minutes of snow at Lake Tahoe, all of which melted immediately. Sure, California gets real snow, I just haven't experienced it. Which tells you that, comparatively speaking, we don't get enough snow to make it part of the every day life of the average Californian, and certainly not the average Silicon Valley denizen. This whole snow falls, sticks to ground, stays thing - utterly unrecognizable by me. The snowing subsided quickly, though, but left a beautifully clear, crisp evening in its wake.

Saturday morning, I worked out all the inevitable knots that come from couch surfing, then headed for breakfast at lula. We're spoiled for choice in the Bay Area for restaurants offering free range meat, organic and locally grown produce and all those other tasty treats that make food taste, um, good, but lula is truly a cut above. Hand made, organic and nitrate free sausage patties? Meyer lemon marmalade? Marvelous. Truly. Particularly since I'd been musing with a fellow attendee of MJ's birthday bash about making Meyer lemon marmalade, though since I'd never done it I thought it would be a more difficult experiment. Now I've got a good idea to work back from.

Headed into Google Chicago, as I had a few things to get done, and suddenly got a ping from desrt. In yet another example of why flying a certain airline whose name really ought to be "Disintegration," he'd missed his connection and was forced to stay overnight in Chicago on his own dime. Not good. He still had a few hours to kill before finally getting on his way to the GTK+ Berlin Hackfest, so he cruised downtown and we met up for a coffee. We realized we hadn't seen each other since UDS Mountain View, which is clearly far too long and provided clear rationale for a random, two hour round trip journey to the big-G.

Right about the time Ryan pulled up, it began to snow again. Really snow. Once again, I was enthralled. We spent the next two hours hanging out in the 8th floor mini-kitchen, raiding the snack bins for future travel needs and catching up on all things GNOME. While talking to Ryan is always a pleasure, I can't help but think it was made even more delightful by doing it next to the window, hot java in hand, snow falling outside, looking out over the city skyline at Marina City. Bliss.

I left Ryan on the Blue Line heading for ORD. Headed out for dinner with Ben and his wife Frances, who were kind enough to share their home with me that evening. In addition to relaxing and enjoying a lovely dinner, staying at their home gave me the opportunity to do more research on this whole 'parenting' thing. Everyone marvels at the energy of babies, but I suspect it has a great deal to do with the fact that a 'meal' for them consists of wandering back to their plate food over a two hour stretch, in between bouts of constructing train tracks from oversized pillows and playing fireman. Or whatever else it is that toddlers get themselves up to these days. Efficient fuel distribution mechanisms these little creatures have got. It continued to snow.

By the end of the evening, I was nearly done with Good Omens and was all read out, so I settled in to watch a few episodes of Torchwood, a.k.a. "totally without a doubt the best show ever." Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, was all right, though I am not sure how much I buy the ever mounting tension between Gwen and Captain Jack. Awesome Bond reference nonetheless. Why anyone thought Tom Jones' pathetically written and suboptimally sung Thunderball an acceptable substitute for Dionne Warwick's gorgeous croon escapes me. Sleeper was much, much better, reminiscent of the incredibly powerful Cyberwoman. I was about to nod off so I left off satiating my Torchwood cravings there.

I spent today in the pursuit of baby observation, purchasing knitting supplies, watching the new Doctor Who and crunching along the frozen ice on Chicago's streets, careful not to slip but fascinated by the feel of it beneath my feet. It continued to snow a bit, but by afternoon the sun shone brightly and a squirrel here and there bounded from fence post to tree, which Frances assured me is a sure sign of the approach of spring.

I even finished Good Omens. I know you'll be proud of me, Lynne, and yes I will now get more Terry Pratchett and, gasp, will even read it. More quickly than two months after you put it in my hands, no less.

I'm settled into my hotel now, looking forward to the coolness that will be the Open Source Team's All Hands meeting this week. Now, though, it's time to tuck myself into the sweet embrace of Goldfinger and get some sleep. Boston awaits until I have the head space to write about it meaningfully.