Author: Luke

Epoch Transition #2
If you were to slice me in half through the belly button and analyze my rings, you would be able to break apart my life into four epochs:

#1. 1983 – 1990: The Shit Your Pants and Be Happy About It Era
#2. 1990 – 2001: The I’m Better than You Era
#3. 2001 – 2008: The Arms Wide Open Era
#4. 2008 – 2016/17: The Searching Era

It takes a large and/or significant event to define a new epoch, and in 2008 mine came in the form of the greatest thing I have done in my life, which was to chase love through South America.

Leading up to that, I had to leave behind the conveniences which we all take for granted. I quit a kush job that would have easily seen me through the financial crisis of my lifetime. And maybe most difficult was to step back from many relationships that had cultivated and matured over many a wonderful year.

And that sucks.

But what nobody told me is that by making those gaps in your capacity as a person/friend/lover/co-worker, you can fill them again with new and wonderful experiences and even more amazing people. Not to replace what you had, but to enhance both the old and the new. Enhanced through a new and better you and your appreciation for a more inclusive world.

Ultimately I did find what I was chasing, I just didn’t know it… until I found it. When I have challenging moments with my wife, I find solace knowing that it was her who got me to where I am today. It was her who inspired me to be a better human. And we will always be better together. Thank You.

So to anyone who is pondering a serious life change or relocation… to anyone on the precipice of your next epoch, jump far… and jump long.
```
...
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 
...
- Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
```
May 28, 2017
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How to Learn Another Language

As I walk the path to learn my third non programming language, I cannot help but reminisce about my previous (and ongoing) journey of learning Spanish. There was that one time when I proudly was explaining to my wife’s parents why the food in the USA is not as good as it is in Chile because we use condoms. Or when I asked the waiter if he could put a bottle of wine in the freezer for a rat. Oh, or the countless conversations that had changed plot two minutes prior to me injecting a mildly interesting anecdote. Ahhh …. so many times I would just blankly smile and nod my head and focus on timing my laughter with everyone else’s.

But ultimately, the pay back has been infinitely in my favor and I am grateful to everyone who has helped me along the way. So in an effort to try and share my quest for renaissance, here is my sure fire way for you to learn a new language.

1. Pretend you want an MBA, quit your job, and move to Argentina (or another Spanish speaking country).

Turns out you will never get into an MBA when you’re interview consists of … “Ya, I quit my koosh job at IBM so I can travel and cycle and party before I go to grad school. What if I don’t get in? Pssh, I’m gettin’ in.”

But you will find yourself with a bunch of time to figure out how to install Rosetta Stone and get started.

2. Install Rosetta Stone, try it, give up on it in about 10 days, and go get yourself some serious classes

Rosetta Stone works. But you will murder yourself from boredom before you actually get anywhere with it. I have yet to hear anyone tell me they got all the way through it. Nobody.

I paid $600 for 80 hours of small group classes, one month. 9am – 1pm every day, Buenos Aires time. I mention Buenos Aires time because I had 83% attendance due to that country having the absurd rule that you don’t even think about going out for the evening until 11:30pm and even then you will arrive early.

But even the 83% gave me the structure, and homework, and constant corrections that was needed to eventually hold a conversation just long enough to meet my now wife.

3. Move to England (or some where that doesn’t speak the language you just spent months learning).

So the trick to this step is to test yourself. Test yourself to see just how much you really want it. There are many ways to keep the spark alive. I chose a few methods that worked well for me. The most useless one was me signing up for a local community center class that was filled with a bunch of old english ladies with your classic tea and crumpets accent. I tried to challenge myself by teaching them the Chilean national dance.

This dance was also supposed to impress my now wife, but after living in Chile for a while I now understand that this video is maybe the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, but at the time I sent it to her as if I was biggest bad ass on the planet.

Ultimately the best method I found to maintain the language was describing super deep and complex emotions and thoughts with a native Spanish speaker over voice and text chats. If you are looking for one, I was recently told about https://www.italki.com which I think offers the same service for a small fee.

4. Marry someone who speaks the language you want to learn

Can’t stress this one enough. Very important. You think communicating with the opposite sex is hard in your own language? Psshh, try doing it with 20% of the vocabulary and not being able to roll your R’s. But finding ways to explain yourself in ways that you never knew existed will change you. Change you into someone that you will be so happy to find within yourself. I am eternally grateful to Kathy for her guidance and wisdom and patience.

So in conclusion, bring it on Portuguese!

February 15, 2016
Dear Zoë Alexandra Payne

I was recently told that I have not properly mourned your death. Considering it has been 14 years, maybe it is about time I start trying to figure that out.

I guess the way in which Dad and I tried to spread your ashes doesn’t count towards mourning. Trust me, in our head’s it seemed monumental to spread your ashes in the hills you spent so much time. But Dad got tired so we barely got up the first 100 meters of rocky peak. And when the urn merely cracked instead of exploded and the ashes barely fell out instead of flying majestically through the air, we could only think that you were watching and laughing hysterically.

But I digress…

I was only 18 when you died. I was just beginning to figure out for myself who I was as a human. I realize now that the Luke you had to deal with was nothing like the Luke that I am today. And there is no doubt in my mind that we would get along like a house on fire. I have been told a number of times, in recent years by the people that probably knew you better than I ever did, that I am definitely your son. By the things I do, the way I do them, the people I meet.

There is so much I wish I could share with you. My beautiful wife. How I learned a language, how I want to learn more. I wish you could have taken my golden retriever before I came back to Chile. Where I have travelled and lived. I want to travel more than you! I like making things out of wood. I had a cat with seven toes. I race bikes now. So much to tell you!

Sadly, I sometimes forget your voice, or your smile, or struggle to remember when we last touched each other. And I feel like a horrible person for that. But life has a pleasant way of reminding me that you will live on indefinitely in high def clarity.

My friend Brian messaged me the other day explaining just how amazing it is that 26 years later your Lion picture is being admired and used for texture and study in illustrations of the latest Ice Age movie. Oh, or how your friend Denise got a hold of Ros and wanted to give me a picture that you had given her when you were living with Jeff. And she went on to talk about that time of life and how impressive you were as a person and gave me a new window to see you through. But most importantly you will forever live on in my sense of adventure, my brown eyes, and my belief that there is so much more to this world.

I wish I hadn’t been the naive teenager who chose not to care more during those last difficult years of your life. I don’t know what I would have done or could have done, but when you decided that life wasn’t just hard, but impossible, I wish I would’ve been there for you … with you. I wish I wasn’t such a jerk! You might remember the last words I said to you a week before you left…

“Wait Luke, before you go … what do you think about my new walker?” as you leaned on it with one hand and waved over it with the other.

“Pathetic.” is all I could say while I looked you up and down and I jumped on my motorcycle in a rush to get back to university and the new life I was living. I didn’t even think twice what I might had just done.

I want you to know that I would do anything to erase that moment from existence. To replace it with me looking you up and down, and walking over and giving you a big hug and a smile and telling you that I love you.

A week later you left us. I want you to know that I love you and I appreciate everything you gave me and did for me and I want you to know that you were, and are, and always will be one of the most important influences in my universe.

January 25, 2016
Exceeding Expectations

In high school I felt untouchable. But at a large university, it was easy to compare yourself to others and realize you just aren’t that good. I was a B+ student getting wrecked by all the Asians in my computer science classes. I was a red shirt on the soccer team filling in for the guys who were exceptionally talented. I wasn’t very tall or short. I wasn’t very rich or poor. I was run of the mill. But on one Saturday morning, I scoffed at the mill and exceeded everyone’s expectations.

I was sitting with my roommates at Wahoo’s Tacos in Costa Mesa. It was 10am and my face was deep in my palms as I tried to sooth the pain in my head that was roaring from the night before. It had been a long night and I had only gone to bed a few hours earlier. I don’t want to risk my reputation or station in life, but let’s just say that the night before involved a lot of alcohol, marijuana, and cocaine.

In the middle of my second taco, my shitty japanese knock off palm pilot “DINGED!” at me with a message saying:

11am: Go be experiment at Physical Sciences building 2a for $100. Woop!

Two weeks earlier I was asked by a random person on campus if I wanted to be a test subject in a Science Experiment. They would pay me $100 and it would last 3 hours. I didn’t need any more details. I was in. The only other pre-requisite was that I could not eat or drink for 12 hours prior to the experiment.

So hangover and all, I raced my motorcycle to the Science building and prepared to lie through my teeth about the last time I had put any sort of substance into my body, food or otherwise.

As I entered the building, I was greeted by a grad student who asked me to fill out some paperwork while he asked me questions about my mental and physical health. I averted eye contact and speaking more than necessary to avoid any automatic disqualifications from pupil size or bad breath. All seemed to be going well and he moved on to explain just what exactly they were going to do to me.

The Experiment

The goal of the experiment was to determine just how soon they could release a patient from the hospital after they had received general anesthetic. The sooner the patient could leave, the more beds would be available for more patients, and thus more money. So I was either going to be given a low dose of general anesthetic (to add to my cocktail) or I was going to be given a placebo. I would then be asked to perform tasks and they would measure me. Seemed simple enough.

I was led into another room that was no bigger than 15 feet squared with no decorations and a single window looking into an office. At it’s center was a big brown leather chair and the grad student told me to take a seat. At this point, I would like to imagine this grad student, who was reaching the climax of his educational career and about to finish all over the faces of his advisors with this experiment, put on his headphones and began the final jerks. He casually strapped my shins and biceps to the chair so escape was not possible. He effortlessly stuck me with an IV and flicked the tube as he looked into my increasingly concerned eyes. He roughly attached electrode sticky things all over my chest and neck. He then walked behind me and almost caressingly, placed a breathing mask over my mouth and nose and gently tightened the straps above my ears. And finally he rolled a cart directly in front of me. It had a computer monitor about 18 inches from my face and a special keyboard that had four big buttons on it labeled one through four. One and two on the top row, three and four on the bottom.

“OK, I think that’s everything. How do you feel?” he asked while he stood in front of me looking over the various connections and straps as if there was no human behind them.

“Actually, it’s a little tig…” I began to muffle through the mask but he quickly continued before I could describe any discomfort.

“Excellent. OK, we have already began giving you either the placebo or the drug. There is no way for you to know so stop trying to smell it. Once I leave the room, the monitor is going to start showing you images. If and when you see a red dot in one of the four corners, as quickly as you can, press the button that corresponds to the corner the dot is in. One is top left. Four is bottom right. Understand?”

Now, at this point, it did occur to me that $100 was not worth whatever the fuck they were about to show me. But I meekly and groggily nodded my head in agreement, and he left the room.

The lights were dimmed and the monitor flickered on. The first image came up. A picture of a family laughing in the park. It stayed on for two seconds or so and was followed with a cat sleeping that had a red dot in the top right. I pressed two. The next picture came up of a gruesome car accident with blood flowing from the head of the dead driver and a red dot in the top left. I pressed one. Then a picture of students studying. Poppies in a field. African children with flies in their eyes. A car driving with a red dot in the bottom left. I pressed three.

This went on for at least 100 pictures and then the screen was turned off and the grad student entered.

“So how was that?” he said to me while he checked the connections and straps.

“I don’t know man, that was pretty fu…” I tried to blurt out from behind the mask but again I was interrupted.

“Excellent.” he said coldly. “OK, now we will begin the actual experiment now that the medicine has had time to enter your blood stream.”

Now, at this point, it did occur to me to Godzilla my way out of this situation, ripping out IVs and straps and running through campus in a hospital gown. (I was’t actually wearing a gown.). But I again weekly nodded my head in resignation and looked towards the monitor as he walked out.

The lights dimmed and the process began again. The process was the same but it went on for a lot longer and the time intervals between images were never the same. A few times I was left looking at a child crying with a gunshot wound and a red dot in the bottom left for what seemed like an eternity. Flowers. Rape. Love. Violence. War. Language. Travel. Starvation. Open wounds. Dead babies. And red dots.

After roughly two hours and one five minute break where I was allowed to not have the monitor directly in front of my eyes, I was unstrapped and unplugged and told to go wait in the first room I had been doing paper work in. I was then asked to write down as many images as I could remember that had the red dot on them and in what corner. This was not easy as I had seen hundreds but I made a best effort and handed them the paper. They asked me to wait a few minutes while they reviewed the experiment and would be out shortly to give the results and the money.

The Results

Now, at this point, it had occurred to me that these people were fucked up. What computer were they on looking up all this child porn and animal killing images? I paid tuition for those computers? How many people had seen this stuff? Why would people coming out of a surgery care if a grand mother cut in half by a hack saw has a red dot in the top right corner? My thoughts were interrupted as they came in.

It was now the grad student and an older looking professor who was carrying a manilla folder full of papers. They didn’t seem happy and anxiety and guilt began to surge through my veins. Guilt for lying to them about not eating or drinking or whatever else I wasn’t supposed to do before these last three hours.

“First Luke, thanks for coming in today and helping us. We understand Saturday mornings are valuable.” the professor began which immediately made me feel I was in the clear and I had just a few more nods and smiles to give before I would get my hundred bucks.

The professor continued, “But it seems we have some anomalies with your results, and we are not really sure how to interpret them. In fact, we are not positive we can even include these in the experiment. In all my years of Science I have never seen anything like this. In every aspect of the word, you are an outlier.”

“Outlier?” I questioned with a twist of my head as the possibility I wouldn’t get my money came back into play.

“Ya. You see, the human body has a minimum time that it must take to perceive something, process it, and then react. In your case, it was to see a red dot, determine what corner it was in, and then press the appropriate button.” the professor explained while pointing his fingers at his eyes and brain and hands. He continued, “The whole point of this experiment is to measure that time while the affects of anesthetic are present in the body.”

They seemed to be waiting for me to say something but I stared blankly at the two of them. Not because I didn’t understand, but because the hangover was demanding I go get some sleep.

Eventually the professor ended the silence, “You are an outlier because you repeatedly were reacting significantly faster than what science believes is the human minimum time. And this was WITH the anesthetic!”

The professor seemed to want to jump up and scream that last sentence but restrained himself when he noticed me not giving a single fuck. He composed himself, straightened his jacket, and stood up gesturing for me to as well.

“Again, Luke, thanks for your time.” and he handed me a white envelope with a hundred dollar bill inside and sent me back into the mill.

January 11, 2016
Noviciado Bike Race, Santiago Chile
Five years ago I was in Santiago Chile pretending to race my bicycle. I wrote about my first experience then, which involved a much steeper learning curve than I experienced today. None the less, I feel compelled to document how today came to pass so I may help future racers and my own shitty memory.

Where to get the Information

So first thing is to be friends with the facebook person/page https://www.facebook.com/canadelaciclismo.santiago . They seem to do most of the communication through facebook although they have a website but it does not seem to be updated as often.

While you are at it, you can befriend https://www.facebook.com/ciclismo.amcla which is the other organized racing I hear about but have not participated in. Maybe it will come in the summer? Additionally, the following page seems to be trying to represent the Chilean cycling scene so it’s worth a check every now and then, http://www.ciclismolaboral.cl/category/competencias/ . It included a slightly more helpful instruction set for today’s race.

I was sent the following post to instruct me on the winter cycling season for the Canadela association.

So, I am now living in an enormous city with a shit load of little towns all around. And this is all the information I get for the whole winter. If you google map Cerro Navia you get a highlighted area of maybe 15 square kilometers. Fortunately, Canadela is on top of it and sent out this post a few days ago.

Don’t worry about the Spanish. Basically it says, the start is at the corner of Las Torres and J.J. Perez, it’s gonna be neutralized until Noviciado and the finish is in an industrial area. $8 entry and start time is at 9:30am for the first category.

OK, so even in California, cycle racing maps are notoriously shitty. It seems that all bike races are limited to about 18 words to describe how to arrive to a point in the middle of no where where you will likely not have cell phone reception. If you look through the comments of the post above, you can see me begging for someone to confirm the start (partida) on a google map, which no one did. Eventually I was able to confirm it to be here which is about 4km from where I am staying, nice.

Race Summary

I woke up at 7am to bake the bread I prepared the night before. I ate three eggs on top of it, it was lovely. I left at 9:15am and got there at 9:25am. My race was not to start for another 70 minutes and it was like 5 degrees celsius. Fortunately the Morris Family was still making a killing selling coffee and snacks to these races! These guys took me in like a son 5 years ago, and became my cycling family. Took me to races. Made fun of my Spanish. Gave me a jersey. Drove me to all the races. Gave me free food and coffee. So I fought off the cold with some banter and a coffee this morning.

There are five categories you can race and there is really no qualifications for any of them as far as I can tell other than age.
1. Debutantes: first timers, youth.
2. Dorados, Super Masters and Women: the best of the old guys
3. Senior B and Master
4. Senior A
5. Adult A and everything else: my group, the good group
You will see all types of bikes at this race but for the most part, people got them well tuned and looking clean. A lot of no-name wheel manufacturers with a few that got their hands on some expensive brands. Almost no tubulars since the roads are pretty crap. Teams do not seem to be as big of a focus as they are back home, but indeed there are many of them.

From the start line as one of the masters groups was starting.

The race was set for 80km. They explained the directions to us but I didn’t have a clue what they were talking about as the announcer would say things on the microphone to everyone like “… so you know that little town with speed bumps, you’ll do a u-turn there, and then when you get to the highway, you’ll do a few turns and then you’re at the finish line.” Not ideal for me but it’s all I had. The race started with 10km of neutral riding out to the country. Once we were set free an attack went off from the get go and the pace picked up.

Attacks were often and with passion and seemed to make sense. The roads were long and straight and slightly windy so it was difficult to get a big gap. The group in general seemed fit and my presumption that they were in winter mode meant fuck-all. Initially I planned to sit in and conserve. But where’s the fun in that? I attacked at 10km, 30km, 40km, 60km, and a few more times as we got to the pointy end of the stick.

I was happy with all my attacks until the end. I was able to fend off the group for a few kilometers each time and by the end of the race, I was getting whistles as I would jump away. But then things got messy. As we hit the 75km I was sitting in the top 5 letting a team do the work. I heard them and others talking and lead myself to believe that we had 1km to go. So when someone jumped, I followed him and we got a gap. I told him I would help him win if he got me to the finish line and then we turned what I thought was the last curve, and saw just more straight road. He told me we still had 5km to go. So I let the peloton catch us. This same sequence happened again with, what I was told, still 2km to go.

We hit the airport, did a few curves and were sprinting for the finish. I rolled in with the back of the sprint fighting off a cramp. The 80km race was more like 84. But I guess if they can put on the flyer a city name as the starting point, they can round to whatever the fuck they want for the distance.

10km to get home and a nice pork chop lunch with the family. Great day of cycling.

Here’s the Strava with no specific start or stop to the race. Power meter battery has been dead for a few days so need to replace that.
August 16, 2015
Presentation: How do I build an app or a webpage?
On Thursday the 23rd of October at 7pm, I will be doing a quick presentation on just what it takes to build an app or a webpage or in general anything that might need a software developer. This is not a sales pitch.

I have had the conversation a number of times with friends regarding how much they plan to spend on a website or how long it might take to build that great idea of an app they have. This presentation will hopefully be done in 15 minutes and I hope to cover the following topics:
- How long and how much it takes to make various kinds of webpages like blogs, business card sites, portfolios, e-commerce
- Native application development like Android and iOS
- Graphic design
- Outsourcing and how to find people to do the work for you
- How to avoid common pitfalls most projects run into
- Hosting and servers
If you have any specific questions please feel free to ask before hand and I’ll make sure to cover them or just ask during the presentation.

You can watch at the youtube link below or join the hangout at https://plus.google.com/events/c0q32br8en09127urj0acr0vo9g
October 19, 2014
Curiosity and the Asian Pirate
At some point in your career as a software consultant with IBM, they funnel you into a small featureless room with 12 uncomfortable seats and a bubbling projector on it’s last few hours. In this room, you are taught how to survive on the road, in the hotel, and at the client site. I only took three things from this…
1. Always do your dry cleaning outside of the hotel, it’s exponentially cheaper, and you can bring mountains of clothes from home and the salvation army to clean for the same cost as doing it at the hotel.
2. Chicago is a shitty hub airport to fly though for about 10 months of the year. I can only infer that Chicago is shitty as well.
3. The receptionist is your first and most valuable friend at any client site. He/she knows everything that is going on and usually are in dire need of some conversation beyond the passer by saying Hi or Goodbye.
One receptionist, let’s call her Janine, was as happy as could be. Always huge smiles on top of her very round torso. She was young and always in everyone’s business. One day I gave her my blackberry number so a group of us could meet at a concert which I made an excuse not to go to. A week later she sent me photos of her smooshy boobs from behind the front desk. An hour later and the photos were still arriving of other areas of her body. What the hell was going on in that lobby? As I left work that day I had to pull her aside and firmly whisper to her that my work phone could not receive these sort of things from a client’s receptionist! Janine liked me and I didn’t mind.

A week later as I made my coffee in the kitchen, I was approached by Li Li (pronounced Lee Lee). Li Li was an elegant looking friend of Janine who was clearly first generation Chinese from her very thick accent. She stood up tall and straight and almost shuffled around when she walked. It was hard to say how old she was but I presumed 30 and that’s why she enjoyed hanging out with the gossipy Janine so as to grasp on to her youthful years.

“Luke, I got somethin’ tell you. It important.” she said in her stereotypical Chinese accent

Up until this point, my interaction with Li Li was no more than 15 words exchanged as we passed in the kitchen or the halls. “Sure, what’s up?” I replied.

“Janine like you. Want to go on date with you. Why you no ask her out?” she quickly blurted out.

So to set the stage for my upcoming answer, I was a month or so into one of the many break ups I had with my ex-girlfriend. My dating life was dismal and I knew it. I loathed meeting girls at bars. My roommates chided me constantly for not talking to more girls or doing more about my situation. I needed to do something, and quick.

I awkwardly replied with, “That’s nice but I don’t like her like that. But Li Li, would you like to go out with me tomorrow to a comedy show my friends and I are going to?”

She had zero reaction. No blinking, no stammering, nothing. I started to get antsy after a few seconds but she finally replied. “OK. I send you email with phone number.” and walked away right passed where Janine was sitting and watching. I stood there alone and sipped my coffee. I wondered if her unexpected and odd reaction was at all any sort of foreshadowing.

Tyler and Marla, my buddy and his girlfriend, had bought tickets to the Laugh Factory and invited me to go as long as I brought a date. The three of us carpooled and I had arranged for Li Li to meet us at the sushi place before hand. Li Li was running late and after a round of beers and sake she called.

In a very frantic voice, “Luke! I outside. Come get me!” and then she hung up with no further instructions.

As I went outside, I heard some commotion near the valet area. As I approached I saw the valets screaming at a lady who apparently had skidded to a stop, diagonally, in the valet area and wouldn’t get out of her car and was blocking the rest of the traffic. She saw me as I jogged over trying to avoid the gaze of the valets, and she got out and sat in the passenger seat. I got in the driver’s side and quickly parked the car.

As Li Li got out of the car, I realized that she now had an eye patch over her left eye and was using a cheap looking cane. Neither of which I had ever seen before or even at work when I had seen her hours before.

“Li Li, what happened?! Why are you leaning on that cane and wearing a pirates patch?” I asked trying not to laugh.

“Well, I wa’ itching eye and my finga’ go too fa’ inside.” she casually explained as if this is a problem we all face at one point in our lives. “And when I leave building I trip on rug outside. I sue them I think.” again as casual as can be.

I convinced her the cane was unnecessary but the patch had to stay.

We got back to sushi just in time to catch Tyler and Marla getting up and saying we had to get to the show before it started. Brief introductions were made, Tyler made a crack about the eye patch which Li Li didn’t quite understand, and we were off.

The show was hilarious every which way. Li Li didn’t laugh once. Li Li didn’t drink her two drink minimum since she said she was on some sort of eye medication. I had given up on the date and impressing Li Li and tried to enjoy myself. We went for more drinks after the show. Tyler, Marla, and I kept the conversation light and jovial but Li Li never really joined in. She sat there very poise and straight backed, scanning the restaurant with her one good eye.

At some point, Tyler and Marla “went to the bathroom” and left Li Li and I to entertain ourselves. I tried to ask how old she was, which she avoided. I tried to ask about how long she worked at my client, which she avoided. I tried to ask how long had she been in the United States, which she also avoided. And on and on it went.

It turned out that “going to the bathroom” really meant going to Tyler’s suburban and fucking and then going back home without me. Thanks. In the end Li Li gave me a ride home. I pecked her on the cheek where her good eye could see me and I left without looking back. What a date.

As bad as this date went, I ended up seeing Li Li a few more times over the course of a few months. Come on, I am a guy, and at the time anything was a good thing. It became known that Li Li was well into her 40’s and remained to be as awkward as ever.

After many weeks of not seeing or talking to Li Li, I had gotten back together with the ex-girlfriend. We were coming back from a date at the beach and she was riding on the back of my motorcycle. We passed my roommates on the way home who were waiving at me frantically trying to tell me something but I just figured they were saying Hi. The ex and I arrived home and went into my room.

I came out to get some water and who should I find there but Li Li and my roommate sitting on the couch. My roommate looked at me with a helpless shoulder shrug saying “She said she would wait until you got home. I tried telling her that it might not be for days but she insisted on staying. She has been here like three hours. We haven’t said a thing to each other for ages. It’s so weird!”

Li Li looked at me and said “Is your ex in room? Ex you say you don’t want to be with?” to which I nodded meekly. She continued, “I thought you say is nothin’ serious between you guys?” I stuttered a bit saying how it wasn’t serious.

“If dat true, I want hear it from her.” she stoically demanded in her accent.

I was a little taken aback by the request. I tried to ignore my roommates watching and snickering. Fine, if it would get her to leave, fine. I told Li Li to wait one moment while I went in to talk to my ex.

As I entered my ex spoke first, “Who’s that? Is that the old asian lady you told me about? Oh my god.”

I turned on my salesman voice, “Ya it is. OK look. I haven’t seen her for months so don’t worry about it. OK. Here’s the deal. She wont leave until she hears from you that you and I are nothing serious and we are not getting back together. Please, can you just say that to her?”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me Luke?! Fine. Whatever. I’ll say that. Looks like I ain’t lying anyways.” she said.

I went out and brought Li Li into my bedroom where my Ex was sitting on the bed. I made the introductions, unsure if I should suggest they shake hands or something. I then told Li Li that my ex had something to say to her.

My ex angrily said “Luke and I are definitely nothing serious. I don’t even know what I am doing here. We are just having fun, I guess.”

Li Li, now with two good eyes, just stood there taking it in. She didn’t say anything, long enough to give my ex and I enough time to look at each other, then look back at Li Li, and then finally Li Li said, “Good.” and turned around and shuffled out the door leaving me to deal with whatever the fuck I had created for myself. I felt I had been raped and pillaged by a pirate.
September 17, 2014
The Fear in Puerto Rico

If you tell anyone from the USA that you are going to Puerto Rico, they will ignore you and think you mean Costa Rica. If you tell anyone from the USA you are going to Puerto Rico for an entire month, they will immediately ask you “Why?” This is actually the programmed response for most Americans regardless of the destination as long as it is outside of what they know to be real.

The Rum Diary by Hunter Thompson takes place in Puerto Rico and in particular the San Juan area where I am staying right now. I read this book once before, but considering my circumstance, I thought I would dive in one more time now that I am a local.

In university I wanted to emulate the characters in Thompson’s books. A Raoul Duke halloween costume that lasted for several days even. But more than ever I saw myself in Paul Kemp, the 32 year old wandering journalist who is seeking his next place in life. After 10 years of travel and temporary residences and insignificant relationships, he begins to wonder “Why am I looking?”

I was feeling better now, warm and sleepy and absolutely free. With the palms zipping past and the big sun burning down on the road ahead, I had a flash of something I hadn’t felt since my first months in Europe—a mixture of ignorance and a loose, “what the hell” kind of confidence that comes on a man when the wind picks up and he begins to move in a hard straight line toward an unknown horizon.

When my kids are in elementary school, I plan to swap them out for the children of some international friends. Only temporarily mind you, six months or so. I will inculcate my children with the culture of a dozen lands because it is over the horizon they may find themselves. But there is no place like home Aunty Em and if the blade comes down on you hard enough, you will want to run home for safety. Through unhealthy amounts of rum and police fights and dubious employment, Paul Kemp begins to yearn for a home that didn’t exist and attempts to construct one in San Juan. He knew it wasn’t real but the temporary feeling of safety and the loving embrace of a place to call “yours” is priceless in an unknown land. I knew that all too well after 36 hours in Puerto Rico.

My wife and I had arrived to our “home” for the next month after a very joyous night at a trendy bar De La Vida. The building door was open, the apartment door was open, and inside we found my laptop, passport, camera, solar powered backpack, and travel journal stolen. The Fear set in. I wanted out. Take me home. I can feel their beady eyes watching me. The apartment owner must be in on it. The police inspecting the place just made me feel more uneasy. The hours of telephone hold music as a backdrop to my meager glare out the dark windows. For the first time in my life I felt genuinely frightened and I didn’t know what to do about it other than get the hell out of there. The underbelly of Puerto Rico had won.

The sweat was torture and the rest of the day was littered with the dead remains of all those things that might have happened, but couldn’t stand the heat. When the sun got hot enough it burned away all the illusions and I saw the place as it was—cheap, sullen, and garish—nothing good was going to happen here.

September 10, 2014
Rest in Peace: OurThursday Android app, Get a Grip

Three and a half years ago I created an app that I hoped would break the introverted chains of the masses. I called it “Get a Grip” and it was available on the Android Play Store. Apple rejected it saying it did not provide enough functionality, those sorry sots. Well last night, I made the decision to retire GAG in hopes for a more civil and humane future. This blog is a memorial to GAG.

The app was simple as all good apps should be… you opened it up, clicked the enormous and somewhat scary tongue, and a microphone was presented to you with a stop button. That was it. What would you do?

In 1000 days this app was downloaded 246 times and collected roughly 100 recordings. So what did these people say? Who were they? Why would they download an app that had a grotesque image of people gripping a slithery tongue? What would you do?

Well my first and only use of the app reveals that I need to be much more creative as I still use this in my daily routine including work meetings.

My Dad… whoops… I mean Sophie chimed in with his very dependable attitude towards most people.

This dude took the opportunity to practice his Italian swagger for all to hear.

This lost soul thought that they could earn some money with this incredibly well funded app.

This bastard said probably the most obvious and intellectual thing out of anyone.

I couldn’t help but feel this girl was the precursor to the currently annoying and will always be annoying “But first let me take a selfie” song.

This recording was actually made multiple times so I presume they thought that this one was the best of the lot.

This was just one of at least two dozen that were in Portuguese. Most were asking if they were happy like them or in the middle of a party like this one. Good on you Brasilians.

This one was asking for gas over and over in the tune of a Fergie song I believe. I am not sure the word is “gas” though in the actual song.

I am pretty sure that this person chose my app to die in front of.

And then I will just lump together the rest that I thought were of some sort of noteworthiness. Library of Congress can you hear me?

So to all the kids that downloaded this thing and made stereotypical gargling and mouth noises… to all those who are so bored when they are eating and do not find total comfort in the clattering of their silverware on the plates… to all the Israeli’s who got me to see if Google provides an audio translation so I could understand what the fuck you are saying… and to the umpteen others who pressed the microphone button and did absolute nothing, successfully wasting my time three years later down the road…. I thank you all. This app was not in vein.

So what would you do if presented with a microphone and nothing else?

September 8, 2014