Dave Caolo

Five steps

1. Create an account
2. Follow the people you want to reach
3. Write a few clever, informative messages per day
4. Don’t blatantly sell
5. Converse with your followers

Done.

CNN Money:

“A rough three-day estimate, based on an analysis of order numbers: 152,000 units.”

Remember, this is for a device that the vast majority of customers have never even seen.

Dog Stache is as awesome as it gets.

[Via Swiss Miss]

I’ve never gotten much use out of notes on the iPhone because I dislike typing more than a few words on it. I’m slower with it than I am with a full-sized keyboard which is frustrating. Plus, the bundled Notes app syncs with Mail, which makes no sense at all.

Now that I’m using the combination of Notational Velocity, SimpleText and WriteRoom, my iPhone is full of easily-accessed, useful notes that I wrote on my Mac and transferred with no effort. Here’s how it works.

Notational Velocity is designed to create, store and retrieve notes. Its marquee feature is modeless operation. There’s no difference between searching for a note, browsing a note or creating one. It’s extremely fast and efficient.

WriterRoom is a full-screen text editor for the Mac and iPhone/iPod touch. It works well, but I’m really using it just to display notes.

SimpleText brings the two together. It’s a sync service originally created to let Taskpaper and WriteRoom users sync documents. Fortunately, it works with Notational Velocity, too.

Here’s how to set it up.

1. Open Notational Velocity Preferences
2. Open “Notes” preference pane
3. Select SimpleText’s folder for “Read notes from folder”
4. Under storage, select ”Storage and read notes on disk as Plain Text Files”

That’s it. Now every note created in Notational Velocity is instantly synced with WriteRoom and vice versa. It’s simple, it costs all of $4.99 to set up (the price of WriteRoom) and it “just works.”

Method laundry detergent uses significantly less plastic in their packaging and a mess-free pump dispenser that looks like it’s fun to use. Even if it doesn’t clean my clothes any better than what I’m currently using, it’s still a superior product because the experience is so much better. Sign me up.

[Via 37Signals]

I’d absolutely love to have one of these in the back yard to use as an office. Beautiful.

In 1989, my friend Doug* drove a sky blue Plymouth Horizon Coupe. Despite being a 4 cylinder econo-box, the automotive equivalent of a grey-haired old lady, Doug drove the Horizon as if it were a Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile-certified Rally Car, at our urging. It was a light, maneuverable, irresistible invitation to trouble for four teenage boys.

One winter afternoon, we were driving around in the Horizon — Doug, Dell (who was, unofficially, Doug’s sidekick) Jake (the cool one who owned a Camaro) and me, the youngest of the group at fifteen. While zipping through the snow we came upon the big church. It sits on top of a hill and the property takes up a whole city block, all of it covered in powdery, new-fallen snow. Virginal snow, if you will, without a single footprint, sunlight glinting off the surface.

“Who’s up for a little off-roading?” Doug said. He got no resistance from us. Dell turned the radio up loud as Doug turned into the church’s large parking lot.

With its gas pedal mashed to the floor, the Horizon whirred and slid through the snow, swaying on the edge of control, leaving a tattered trail of slush and exhaust behind it. Dell rolled down his window to stick his head out. “It’s not too deep,” he said. “Go to the back lot and we’ll leave through the rear gate.” Doug urged the car, with some effort, down the path to the back lot.

The back lot, as well called it, differed from the main parking lot in one crucial aspect — it wasn’t a parking lot, but a large field of grass with a narrow path that opened onto the street. Each summer, the church held a popular event that drew many visitors, and that field was used as temporary parking.

To us, it was the frozen tundra, and the Horizon was a team of sled dogs.

The car roared onto the path, pitching left and right, then began to slow. Doug hit the gas but it wouldn’t pick up speed. “Oh, …” someone said (you can fill in the blank). “Just try to make the gate.”

The engine screamed as the car crept towards the small hill that led to the fence. As we crested the hill, we saw it.

The gate was padlocked shut, and we were heading right for it.

“Crap! Turn around!” Jake yelled. Doug instinctively hit breaks and all four wheels locked. The car slid, gracefully, into the fence, where it stopped with a muffled crunch of snow.

“Oh, ….”

Dell clicked the radio off. No one spoke. The engine was quietly humming beneath the snowy hood. “Caolo, you’re the smallest. Get behind the wheel. Everyone else, out.”

“But, I’ve never driven a car before,” I said.

“Well, you won’t be driving one now, either. Putting it in reverse and hitting the gas is hardly ‘driving.’”

“OK,” I thought.

The three of them got out of the car and made their way to the front end, snow up to their knees. Just then, our friend Martin, who lived across the street, came walking past. “What the hell …” he said.

Martin was bigger than the four of us, so we recruited his help. He hopped the fence and got in front of the car.

All five of them put their hands on the hood, and leaned hard on their heels. “OK,” Doug said to me. “When I say so, put the car in reverse and step on the gas.”

“OK,” I said, certain that this would turn out poorly. I had no idea.

I watched my friends position themselves through the slush-soaked windshield. Once they were still, Doug said. “OK, now!”

I placed my foot on the break and moved the shifter into reverse. Since the car was on an incline, and resting on a mound of snow, it moved forward just a few inches. “Arrgh! My legs! My legs!” Marvin yelled. I had pinned him between the car and the fence. “Oh my God!” I screamed.

“Push!” Doug yelled. “Everyone push!” I mashed the gas and the Horizon’s engine roared, its wheels spinning and spraying everyone with brown, dirty snow. At last it began to move, slowly, and we managed to free Marvin, who was unhappy. I hit the brake and shifted the car back into park.

“You guys are idiots,” he said. Fortunately, the fence had given way under his weight and he wasn’t injured. “I’m going home to call a tow truck.” Despite our pleas, he hopped the fence and went into his house.

Thirty minutes later, a tow truck arrived and got stuck at the top of the path. Thirty minutes after that, the plow arrived to free the tow truck. Thirty minutes after that, I was being told exactly how dumb that little stunt was by my parents.

—–

Last Sunday, my kids were flying on a Cinnamon Toast Crunch high. Grace decided to show William how to jump from Couch A to the coffee table, and then from the coffee table onto Couch B. We put a stop to that right away.

“What would possess them to do that?” my wife asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just one of those dumb things kids do.”

*All names have been changed to protect the guilty.

There are boxes of these in my basement. My family history is slowly deteriorating (Yes, that’s my mother’s handwriting). I must devise a way to digitize it.

My TUAW colleague Sang Tang took the first iPad ad apart, frame-by-frame, and determined how much screen time was allocated to each function. Awesome. Go and see the full chart.

Steve and the iPad both appeared on TV during last night’s Oscar awards. The ad (above) simply demonstrates what the iPad can do from a first-person perspective. Perfect.

You’ll remember that the first iPhone ad also aired during an Academy Awards ceremony.