Dave Caolo

Jonathan Fields published a post this week that hit home for me. In fact, I recently had a similar revelation. I spent last week in south eastern Pennsylvania, enjoying a family reunion and some outdoor fun, but no Internet or AT&T access. I was cut off from Twitter, email, blogs, etc.

At first I was aggravated. “Well, this will be a long week,” I thought. At the end of the third day I hadn’t even thought about trying my iPhone and by the next morning the desire was gone.

Then something amazing happened. I had an incredible dream. I saw a huge book open, and on the first page were song lyrics. The page turned, and there was the next line. It turned again, and the third line appeared. While the pages flipped, I heard the full score: Guitar, bass, drums and melody. “I’ve got to write this down,” I thought, and began to run.

The dream house was huge and I kept running and running. Finally I remember thinking, “I’ve got to wake up for real and write this down.” And that’s what happened. I woke up, grabbed my iPhone, opened the Notes app and wrote 24 lines of lyrics. I also remembered the music.

That hasn’t happened since I was a songwriting major at Berklee College of Music (I left Berklee in ‘91). But it gets better. Later in the week I got a full short story. The idea stared with a “What if…” musing. I wrote down the premise and now I’m working on the full story. Again, that hasn’t happened in a very long time.

What changed? You could argue that I was on vacation, and free of the typical day-to-day stress. But I don’t believe that was it.

Empty a box of junk and you’ve made room for more stuff. As a blogger, I spend all day every day reading posts, articles, comments and tweets. I listen to audio books and podcasts whenever I’m in the car. In other words, I was keeping my box full. There are times when I sit down to work and think, “What am I going to write about?” There’s so much stuff in my head, like news, opinion pieces, tweets and so on that I’d like to comment on, that I can’t get started.

By removing that stream, I made room for the good stuff. In this case, my own thoughts. Social media (God, I hate that term) is wonderful but it’s like drinking from 10 fire hoses. Yes, it’s cool to monitor  your friends and receive up-to-the-second news updates, but it’s not necessary. In fact, it’s detrimental. Step back, log out and let your mind rest for a while.

When Jonathan says, “Step away from the screen and live a little,” you best take that advice. You’ll be amazed at what shows up.

Today it was announced that one of my heroes, David Ortiz, tested positive a in ‘93.

Here are the facts. Nearly every pro player has used some sort of performance-enhancing drug. Upwards of 90%.  There’s no way Major League Baseball is unaware of it. It’s time for them to choose a stance once and for all. Either let it go or crack down for real.

Suspending Manny Ramirez for 50 games brought him back before the season’s halfway point to continue his heroics. A-Rod returned to the Yankees on May 8th and has since split 40 home runs and 116 RBIs with Tex. Were these guys punished? Not at all.

If Major League Baseball wants to appear like they’re actually opposed to drug use among their players, they should suspend offenders for the season or fire them outright. Otherwise, let them shoot whatever they want and start hitting baseballs a quarter of a mile.

Right now their actions don’t match up with their words.

The location of the Post button on the compose screen sucks. It’s entirely too easy to accidentally hit it while typing. Other apps like Twitterrific have it in the far corner away from the keyboard.

If this is the only thing addressed in the next version, I’ll be thrilled.

When Howard Stern moved to Sirius Satellite Radio, I went with him. When my contract expired, I didn’t renew because the experience wasn’t anything I couldn’t create for free.

Howard’s show was funny but disappointing. Specifically, there were commercials. Howard bragged that they reduced the length of commercial breaks from 20 minutes to 6, but still. The $156 I paid annually should usurp all ads. Unfortunately, this practice wasn’t unique to Howard’s 2 channels. Discovery and Martha Stewart also aired commercials. Sorry, Sirius, but ad-supported talk radio is available for free.

The music stations don’t broadcast ads, but I can create an uninterrupted stream of genre-specific music on my iPod by hitting “shuffle.” Plus, my iPod only plays songs I absolutely love. But the nail in Sirius XM’s coffin is podcasting.

The number of free, high quality podcasts increases daily. Pick any topic and you’ll find a terrific show operated by passionate, knowledgeable folks that you’ll love. Just like the music, they’re available on demand. Sirius’s Discovery channel had some shows I liked, but I wasn’t always near a radio when it aired. By contrast, I can listen to Stuff You Should Know or The Adam Carolla Show whenever I want.

I feel sorry for Sirius XM because I wanted it to work. Either kill the ads or make the content so compelling that I’m happy to pay for it.

In a typicaly ridiculous post, Robert Scoble shares some shocking statistics:

“There are seven billion people on the Earth. So far only about 30 million have even turned on [a Twitter] account and some of my friends who are analyzing the Twitter data say that active accounts are less than 10 million … This demonstrates that getting an extraordinary amount of hype won’t help build a super business.”

I don’t even know what the last sentence means, but it doesn’t matter, becasue Robert’s math is skewed. There are 7 billion people on earth and 30 million have Twitter accounts. That’s only a valid measure if all 7 billion people have computers, internet access and an interest in Twitter. Of course, that’s not the case.

Many people of my parents’ generation have an interest in the Internet that barely stretches past simple web browsing and email. A huge portion of those 7 billion people live in underdeveloped countries where finding clean water is more important that how many retweets the’ve gathered.

Also, his Twitter/Facebook comparison is a bit apples and oranges. For me, Facebook is for people in my past. Twitter is for people in my present.

PC World has published an example of how to write for Digg. Let’s break it down.

Title

“Rumored Apple Tablet is a Tran Wreck.” Many believe that an Apple tablet is imminent and the buzz is increasing lately, so nice use of keywording there. Plus, “Train Wreck” is exciting language. “Apple Tablet will Flop” is less exciting. Personally, I hate headlines that Capitalize Every Word.

Linkbait

PC World quickly baits Apple fans with these lines in the 2nd paragraph.

“… this device would be a flop. This concept is such a train wreck from start to finish that I don’t know where to begin.”

Apple’s most fervent fans, the ones who read tech blogs like PC World, are also the most vocal. They’ll comment, tweet, post on their own blogs and so on.

Ridiculous arguments

In the 3rd paragraph, author Michael Scalisi displays his ignorance of Apple’s process:

“The tablet form-factor in general is good only for a few things … There are lots of things that tablets are not good at. Take watching movies, for example. Since a tablet is designed for lying flat, you have to be looking straight down to view the computer. Actually, that makes it suck for most things. I guess Apple could build in some sort of stand, but that detracts away from the sort of sexy minimalism that it is famous for.”

For someone who claims to be familiar with “…[what Apple] is famous for,” Michael isn’t. Apple excels at identifying a method of doing something that’s far superior to existing models. Before the iPod was released the market was full of barely-useable MP3 players. The same is true of the mobile phone market. Apple didn’t invent the digital music player, mobile phone or even the personal computer. They did invent the best way to use each.

Michael is assuming that an Apple-branded tablet will function just as existing tablets do, and he’s completely wrong. The innovation won’t be the device itself but the way the consumer uses it. Finally, Micheal throws in some more exciting language with “sucks.”

Baseless assumptions are your friends

The rest of the article is full of them.

“While I think a multi-touch display is a great idea, using it to host a virtual keyboard takes too much real estate on a petite 10-inch display.”

There’s no evidence to support the claim that this non-existent device has a virtual keyboard, but Micheal writes as if he’s got one siting on his desk.

“While the iPhone OS might seem like an obvious choice due to its small footprint and contribution toward long battery life, it has glaring limitations on a larger device. A huge audience for a tablet is the artist community, and they need full-fledged OS X to run the apps they’re accustomed to. While Apple certainly has reason to want to build on the success of its App Store, those apps are designed to run on a 3.5-inch screen and most won’t translate very well to something larger.”

This part’s a bit slippery. What we know as iPhone OS 3.0 is a variant of OS X. That’s to say, the aspects of OS X that are applicable to a mobile phone plus new bits that make the thing work. Mac OS X is comprised of the aspects of OS X that are applicable to a home computer plus different specialty bits. To think that a tablet would run the iPhone version of OS X is ignorant. Of course, Apple would develop yet another unique iteration based upon the needs of that device.

Again, these two paragraphs are meant to goad people like me into posting rebuttles. When you’ve sat down to write, abandon the urge to write something that will be picked up on Digg, various blogs or Twitter. Write because you have something insightful, funny or witty to share. If you’ve done a good job, it’ll get spread around on its own merit.

I don’t begrudge Michael’s opinion on Apple’s plans to release a tablet, but I dislike the way he’s presented it.

For the record, I do belive a new device is coming.

View of the back yard and golf course

Update: On 8/16/09, this story came to its inevitable conclusion. My only consolation is that the miserable indignity has ended. Our nations’ health care system — and attitude towards the elderly — must change. Dramatically.

– Dave

Sometimes life lets you down in an incomprehensible way.

Followers of my Twitter stream undoubtedly noticed that I was in Oneida, NY this weekend. My grandfather, now 92, has moved from his house to a nursing home and frankly isn’t doing well. My sisters, mother and I went up to see him for what was likely the last time. Already, I wish I could remove this memory from my brain.

Let’s back up. My grandmother (his wife) died about 12-15 years ago. She received Hospice* care at home. I visited during her illness, but not when it was bad. My selfish reason was simple: I wanted to my last memory to be of the incredible woman with the aqua blue ‘58 Plymouth Fury who drove us kids to Niagara Falls, served bologna-and-butter sandwiches on antique bone china, hosted my sister and I for two weeks every summer so my parents could get a break and otherwise loved us as her own kids. I wanted her gravel-y laugh, curly hair and giant glasses to stay with me, and that’s what I’ve got.

By contrast, my last memory of my great-grandmother is of her withered face in a hospital bed, little more than a skin-wrapped skull with tubes protruding from her nose. Speaking with her, I knew she had no idea who I was and it was awful for both of us. She was uncomfortable and confused, I was a wreck. Sure, I remember her cooking for us when we were kids and picking figs off of the tree to toss at my great-grandfather, but any memory I recall mutates into the hospital scene and I hate it.

Back to my grandfather. Other than my immediate family, he is by far my favorite relative. To keep a long post short: Exceedingly kind, very quiet and private and the most talented artist I’ve ever known.

He hand-spun sliver and pewter. For decades, he worked for Oneida, Ltd. designing flatware, bowls, serving dishes and so on (here’s one of his patterns). His work was terrifically intricate and sold all over the world. He also painted in oils, pastels and charcoal. He made copper busts of his children which are incredible. He wrote short fiction. He designed and built his house (a boxy, Mid-Century Modern affair that I absolutely love) and local church. And, as we learned while cleaning his house, he sketched endlessly.

My aunt uncovered hundreds of sketches and blueprints on velum, cardboard, paper and so on for lamps, flatware, furniture, homes … on and on. We had no idea how much work he had done. It was amazing and will take months for us to catalog.

A mere portion of the work we found

Among the stacks were some gems. For example, there are two ornate lamps in the livingroom that I’ve always admired of cast bronze that he designed. We found the early sketches, adjustments, presentation materials and finally detailed measurements and instructions for the workers who actually built them. Incredible.

He and my aunt — his daughter — have a volatile relationship. Always have. She inherited the artistic ability but squandered it. She started painting at 12 and, by the time I was old enough to notice, was very good.

Not in her eyes.

Everything she ever painted, and I mean everything, went into the trash. She found a reason to be unsatisfied with every canvas, every sketchpad, every watercolor. Into the trash can the went. You’ll never believe what we found in the basement.

Every single one. All of them. The only way my grandfather could have collected these would have been to sneak into the trash can when no one was looking, remove the painting and tuck it in the basement.

I could go on but suffice to say my respect for him as an artist and a person has grown a hundredfold. So where is he now?

Sitting in a hallway littered with old people in wheelchairs. Just stuck there, motionless, like potted plants. What a rip-off. What an insult. What an undignified end to an incredible person. That’s what you get? After a lifetime of creativity, dedication and love, that’s your reward? The existence of a rag doll?

Now, that’s my last memory. My proud grandfather, hunched over from years at a drafting table and the workbench, sitting in a hallway filled with wheelchair-bound strangers. Awful. I sincerely hope I die before I get old.

*Can’t say enough good about Hospice.

When I was a child, I watched my grandmother levitate a table.

This was the woman who give my sister and me a Ouija board as a birthday gift. A devout Catholic whose faith in the occult was just as strong. In my grandmother’s mind, God and ghosts weren’t opposing forces but ingredients in the same recipe. Sometimes malignant, sometimes benign and always real.

When my sister and I were very young, we’d ask her to explain her tarot cards to us. She always used her cards at a folding card table. It had a red vinyl top and white steel legs as thin as the wooden dowels we used to prop up the tomato plants. The three of us would sit around the table, my sister and I with our feet dangling above the floor, and listen to stories about The Fool, The Chariot and so on. I can still see her small, veined hands rapidly sliding the cards in a great heap and hear the sound of them gliding across the vinyl.

At one point I heard the word “Seance” and came to know its meaning. I also knew that a seance was something that my grandmother knew how to do. My next memory is incomplete but what I can recall is clear.

We were sitting in the living room and my grandmother was alone at the card table. Her eyes were closed and she was sliding her hands across the vinyl as she did with the Tarot cards. The room was quiet except for the swish of her sliding palms. Then the table popped up into the air and fell back down. It popped up again and fell back down. This went on for a minute or two.

Then the table popped up and stayed up. Her hands slid wildly and the table undulated as if it were riding the waves of a violent sea. It leapt and dove, rose and fell. All the while, my grandmother’s hands made great circles across its surface.

That’s the last I remember of that scene, though I don’t know if that’s because it ended there or because my sister and I were led away. Later, my grandmother would tell us that “other hands” were moving that table, not hers.

Today, I have an irrational fear of those other hands. Yes, I’m a grown adult. I attended college and graduate school. I have a wife and two wonderful kids. I consider myself to be a man of reason.

But, when I go to sleep, I’ve got to walk 12 or 15 feet from the light switch to my bed. Every night as I move through the dark, I feel the cool air against my ankles. I become very aware of the protruding bones in my feet and the very thin layer of skin that protects them. As I get closer to the bed and finally step up into it, I cringe. Ever so slightly, but I cringe.

I expect a hand, cold and bone white, to reach out from underneath the bed and grab my bony ankle. Grab it and just hold it there, if only to let me feel the pressure and the cold of its grip. As a rational adult, I know this will never happen.

But if it ever does, I won’t be surprised one bit.