Parrots? In San Francisco?

I feel like I should be writing something profound about the state of the world as we move into the new year, or at least making a prediction or two.

But I'm dazzled by the fact that the flock of parrots that lives on Telegraph Hill made a ground level appearance today, just as I was walking by. Now how cool is that?!

Magic

The other day my friend JM told me about Ocarina and I downloaded it to my iPhone. Now I'm sitting and listening to people in Hawaii playing Christmas carols. A little while ago I listened to LonelyOne experimenting in New York somewhere. And Whyn in Hawaii is playing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow".

I've been a believer in online community for a long time. Meeting people and making new friends from all over the world is one of the most rewarding aspects of my job at Linden Lab. But I'm astounded at the magic of hearing a melody being played in Indonesia and imagining that person sending their little tune around the world to me.

This shouldn't be

It shouldn't be possible that a highly organized group, faith-based no less, can raise money and help to pass a ballot initiative in another state. And yet it's becoming clear that the passage of California's Prop.8 defining marriage as between a man and a woman, was made largely possible by the organized efforts of the Mormon Church in Salt Lake City.

I was heartened to see that I'm not the only one who feels this way; that members of the Mormon Church also recognize the role their church leaders played in passing a ballot proposition that so blatently denies same sex couples the opportunity to build a family.

This comment was posted in response to Judith Warner's latest blog entry.

I am so sorry that so many people in California (and elsewhere) believed the lies and distortions paid for and distributed by the people and organizations pushing for Prop 8’s passage. I was heartsick to find the names of friends and relatives on the Mormon “big donor” list. The “No on 8″ campaign seemed completely blindsided by the influx of money from outside California. Now there are demonstrations, now there is energy, but too late.

Throughout this entire sorry spectacle, I still have not heard one cogent, logical, sensible argument about how gay marriage would hurt my marriage or anyone else’s marriage.

The courts will have to overturn Prop 8 on the grounds that it violates gays’ fundamental rights. Overturning it will enrage the pro-Prop 8 groups, who will mount yet another costly campaign. For Prop 8 alone, the latest figures only with respect to Mormon participation show that 59,000 families donated some $77 million — the lion’s share. Now Mormons are unhappy that their chapels and temples are protest sites. They expected that the targets of their Salt Lake leaders’ policies would quietly accept having their rights taken away?

As a final thought, directed to my Mormon family and friends: the LDS church’s 13th Article of Faith states, “We believe in being honest, true, … benevolent, and in doing good to all men….” How is printing, disseminating, emailing, and telephoning messages filled with fear-based untruths and distortions being “honest and true”? How is taking away other people’s rights being “benevolent and … doing good to all men”?

Unfortunately, as I know all too well from my own several decades of devoted participation, Mormons place obedience to their leaders over listening to their own hearts and consciences, and over thinking for themselves. And as with civil rights for blacks, and the ERA for women, the Mormon church once again finds itself on the wrong side of history and morality.

— mofembot in France

Tears of Joy

Five days later, and the excitement and joy hasn't abated.

There are a few times in my life that I remember as defining historical events, where it was evident that something momentous was happening which would change us all. Some were frightening or sad -- the assassinations and riots in the 60's, the end of the VietNam war and Nixon's resignation, and more recently the horror of 9/11.

But the last event of such significance that was so filled with hope was the fall of the Berlin wall almost 20 years ago.

On Tuesday night something changed. Everywhere crowds of people were in the streets, dancing and cheering, with tears running down their faces. Can anyone remember seeing hundreds of people shouting with joy in front of the White House in any election in the past? Five days later we still have economic challenges, climate change fears and an abysmal health care system. And yet there's something different.

Six days ago we wondered if it would ever be possible for us to overcome the enormous problems we face, and what sort of world would be left to our grandchildren.

Today we are realizing that our grandchildren will know a world that has the potential to be so much better simply because we have allowed ourselves to walk away from prejudice and divisive stereotypes. Today I feel a renewed sense of possibility. And all because of one remarkable man who has managed to convince millions that things can be better with the simple words "Yes we can".

In London and wondering about America

Traveling again, and I'm finally having time to catch up with reading. Just saw this over on Cory's blog. When I see these videos, or others of McCain/Palin rallies inciting mob hatred, I just shudder. If anything happens to Obama, regardless of the election outcome, these two politicians will have some serious soul searching to do.

And the world really is flat

When I first heard that Iceland was facing bankruptcy and trying to borrow money from Russia I was confused. Isn't Iceland the country with the showcase energy policy and one of the highest standards of living in Europe, if not the world?

Thomas Freidman offers a solid explanation today, and shows once again that we are all connected and getting more so every day.

Carl's Journey

My friend Carl decided to teach himself better photography by taking a picture a day for a year, and posting them to Flickr. The result is not only a wonderful array of photos, but a fabulous year-long story. Enjoy.

BART Sightings

Something unusual is happening on BART.

Last week, at the end of a very long day, I joined the crowd on the dusty platform waiting for the train to take me home. Standing near the elevator, which makes a convenient marker mid-platform, I stared down the tunnel to see if any light was shining. As I strained to see into the dark, I became aware of an odd sort of bouncing and twirling movement to my side, with an accompanying tapping sound.

Turning to see more clearly, yet trying not to be conspicuous in my staring, I saw a young woman. Under most circumstances she would be unremarkable. Wavy, dark hair, a non-descript outfit, an aged backpack. Eyes closed and listening to a tune in her head, she was in the midst of performing an Irish jig. Arms rigid by her side, feet moving in the intricate patterns of the jig, she danced to the unheard music.

I was certain she would stop quickly, because it was obvious that the other commuters on the platform, like me, found this impromptu dance a bit unusual. Maybe it was the pack on her back, flopping up and down and looking pretty uncomfortable. Maybe it was just the incongruity of the lively dance on the platform, the absence of music loud against the crowd noise. But she danced on, oblivious to the stares of the passers-by. Then a train came, the doors opened, and she was gone.

I didn't think of it again until this morning. My train pulled into one of the above-ground stations and there, on the platform, dressed in a pale skirt with tailored jacket, was a young woman jumping rope. Without a rope. I watched her jump in a steady rhythm until the train pulled away and I couldn't see her any longer.

I'm not sure what to make of these sightings. I guess it could be boredom, or the pent-up energy that comes from sitting behind a desk all day. I wonder if it's come to this, that the only time to exercise is while waiting for a train?! Or nice to think, maybe it was joy.

Working for Quality of Life

A friend of mine recently admonished me to remember that we "work for our quality of life". This thought has stayed with me since he said it because I find that it's hard to believe. It seems true in principle, and certainly it's true aspirationally. But, is this aphorism really true?

Those of us who work very long hours often have to find quality of life in the work itself. It's not a trade-off -- work hard and then reap the reward later. Instead, work becomes life. And when the work fails to reward, or if it involves struggle or worry, there is no quality of life. Even when not engaged in working, there's the nagging, gnawing feeling at the edge of consciousness that all is not well.

I find that when work fails to reward I have to work twice as hard to set things aside and enjoy the peace and beauty of the day. Instead of working for quality of life, I'm fighting for a few moments of tranquility.

What I take away from this is how important it is to do work that you love, and when that changes, it's time to reconsider options in order to put life back into balance, with quality and perspective.

A Sliver of Moon

It's dusk, a sliver of a moon hangs over the lights of Westminster and Big Ben. I walk past the Whitehall Gardens, the air filled with the scent of lilac, because it's still early spring here. (I noticed on Saturday that the lilacs near our house had turned brown and lost their fragrance in the heat.)

I wander down past one bridge to the Vauxhall Bridge, where I decide to cross the river. Up and over the hump of the bridge, with the wind picking up in the center. Stopping, I look back down toward my starting point. On my left are the antique towers of Westminster, glowing gold in the floodlights. On my right the overwhelmingly huge white neon glow of the Millenium Wheel. Very odd.

Turning back, with the wind in my face smelling of the fresh water and reminding me of the sea at Brighton. Although it's considerably more gentle, warmer, with no rain. There are lights strung all along the river side, like a carnival or a holiday, and because the evening is so warm the boats docked along the embankment are filled with people enjoying the evening.

In front of me are two people who at first look like twins, nearly the same height, with white hair the same length, matching brick red fleece jackets and dark pants. The only difference is the white tennis shoes on one, the black walking stick in the hand of the other. Holding hands. I draw closer and then pass them, a man and a woman. Of course I wonder about them, with the sort of feelings that often come when you see two older people, clearly at peace with one another, and assume there's a great love there. Because isn't that what we all hope for ourselves?

So that's what it's all about

Sometimes I learn things in the most circuitous ways. I've read Garcia Marquez and Isabel Allende, and even Yann Martel, but it took George Bush deciding to mimic Ronald Reagan and buying a "ranch" in Crawford, Texas for me to finally understand.

"Magical realism demonstrates that the most ostensibly mundane objects, examined closely enough, begin to assume phantasmagorical qualities." The literary technique known as 'magical realism' adds dimension and insight to how we think about the world around us. Something I'm going to learn more about.

The Art of Possibility

I recently attended the Virtual World Conference 2008 in New York City. It's been five years since the first State of Play conference in 2003, where it was all about big ideas. The possibility space for virtual worlds seemed enormous, and the challenge was all in how to build the structure and law to support this society with so much potential.

OK, maybe that was pretty idealistic.

But this most recent conference was largely a sad statement about what can happen when people start to channel their imaginations into commercial realities. Instead of thinking about how to shape and protect the civil rights of avatars the legal track was keynoted by "The Top 10 Things a Brand Should Know About Virtual Worlds". And the gentle folks from Mattel asserted that in fact a virtual world is a plaything.

"We fundamentally believe that virtual worlds are no different from CD-ROM games and are no different from toys," said Scothon. "It is a toy. It just doesn't come in plastic."

I continue to believe that there is genuine potential in the virtual world experience to change the way that we work, think, and connect around the globe. The art of possibility needs to be expanded and explored. We should be focused on understanding how this new way of coming together will allow us to build a global community with all the opportunity that suggests. Instead, the industry gets together and the focus is on building narrow experiences whose only purpose is "brand extension".

How disappointing.

History Will Not Judge?

Anthony LaFauce is worrying that all the ideas and thoughts expressed in millions of blog posts and tweets will be lost to the future because of the impermanence of digital media. An interesting idea, although I believe those ideas worth saving are generally saved in a variety of ways, many much more permanent than a tweet.

And yesterday I listened to a podcast where the question was whether personal virtue can make a difference in global warming. One theory says no; the earth will go on regardless of our efforts, and possibly without us, and new life will come about to replace us and those species we take down with us. The natural order of things. I have a feeling this is true, although I suspect if everyone were to agree the result could be a hopeless sort of thinking that there's no point in trying.

The interesting thing about both these existential questions is the self-centered nature of them. What if my ideas disappear? What if my society/my culture/my species disappears? I tend to think the more relevant concern and far more difficult behavior is learning to make the best unselfish choices you can, day to day, moment to moment.

While on a plane to NYC

The most beautiful time of day in the garden is late afternoon, when the sun seems to highlight every leaf and flower. I used to think the old bench in the corner was a bit of an eyesore, but as it gets grayer it looks softer and more a part of the surrounding trees.

I love this time of year when there is an hour or two of warm sunlight in the afternoon, inviting quiet and contemplation. The intense heat of the summer hasn't returned yet and there are birds everywhere. I just brought out the feeder and the eaves bell, and J hung up the temple bell. The meditation garden is taking shape in front of us with a promise of tranquility. I walked the path surrounding the redwoods and camelias at the end of the day, and everything slowed down.

The Murals

We took the metro from La Condesa to Zocalo, the historic center of Mexico City. An enormous plaza, which was the center of the recent demonstrations after the presidential election. Each side of this plaza has an important and significant building.

On one side is the Cathedral Metropolitana, where we watched a modern-day Quasimodo move from one bell to the next until they were all ringing in an incredible symphony.

On another side stands the Palacio Nacional, the seat of government, which includes the chamber where the constitution was written. What's most remarkable about this building are the murals of Diego Rivera, which tell the story of Mexico from the arrival of Quetzalcoatl through the Spanish conquest, to the revolution and establishment of modern Mexican government.

It's hard to describe the power of these murals. Huge panels surround a large, central staircase.

They tell the story of the ancient Aztec civilization that stood where Mexico City is today, then of the Spanish conquest, the Mexican Revolution and the founding of today's government. Beautiful, colorful, each lifesize figure with its own narrative, caught forever in a single moment.

The tale of the exploitation of the Aztec natives and subsequent founding of the Mexican state is simultaneously breathtaking and heartbreaking.


Walk along the gallery, and more panels depict the lifestyle and culture of the Aztecs before the Spanish. You can recognize the wide lake bed underlying Mexico City today, and feel the rhythms of agricultural life.

Sounds of the City

The first thing I noticed about Mexico City is the sound. I've never been immersed in so much unrelenting and varied sound. There are the usual city noises -- car horns, people shouting, children crying, sirens and engines.

But then there is the music. The expected mariachi bands, playing on the street and asking for money. The unexpected rhythms of hip hop and rap, accompanied by cheers for the sidewalk break dancers. Even on the subway, from one stop to the next, the loud blaring of rock and roll music from the modern version of boom boxes.

(This last one was suspect -- at each stop a new person got on and the last one got off. The style of music changed, but the pattern was the same -- very loud, and only a few bars played before the song switched. Were they waiting for someone to say "Play that one!" and then pay them for the privilege? Or just assuming we all loved their music as much as they did? We heard 60's rock, Mexican folk, Spanish ballads.)

And the drums, accompanying the native dancers, re-enacting the ancient dances of the Aztecs.

And the bells. I watched the man high up in the bell tower move from one bell to the next, ringing them in a dance of sound.

The other thing I noticed are the people. Thousands of people everywhere, filling the streets, overflowing the sidewalks, crowding the parks. From the rooftop restaurant, there are people moving in all directions as far as I can see, like so many small ants moving in a river of purpose. The impact is made larger by the fact that most are speaking in a language I can't understand, and the people and the sound come together in a cacophony of incomprehensible noise.

Strangely Evaporated

I first heard these words in the context of a dream.

A woman (me, not me) was with her friend in the midst of a snow storm. The friend died, peacefully. The woman looked at her and thought, she doesn't look like herself. She looks strangely evaporated.

It reminded me of my father when he died. He didn't look asleep. He looked...absent. Strangely evaporated.

Boys will be boys?

A couple of weeks ago a story appeared in Wired Magazine about a group of people who specialize in organized attacks on digital worlds, known as griefing. This group has been very active in targeting individuals and groups who they believe are easy victims. They do this under the guise of "because we can", and celebrate a culture of lawlessness and hate that if done in the real world would at best be considered vandalism, and at worst vicious gang attacks on peoples' persons and property.

When considered objectively, what these people are doing is interfering with the ability of a company to offer a service to their customers. By forcing people to leave their virtual land, crashing servers, and filling areas with hate-filled content they cross a line which would never be tolerated in the real world. Many would say that it's up to the world administrator rather than real world police to deal with these people. The recourse that the company has is to cancel accounts, but in an age of digital deviance, this action is a temporary solution at best.

I don't think we can wait to agree on roles and responsibilities for deciding what the consequences should be for this sort of behavior. Whether it is prosecuted as denial of service attacks, instigating viruses in software, or even disturbing the peace, there needs to be a recognition that these people are behaving in a way that negatively impacts the rights of both the virtual world providers and their customers.

Checklists

There was a story in the New Yorker recently by Atul Gawande, a physician who has been studying the value of using checklists for critical procedures in ICUs. He's discovered that the simple act of requiring doctors to follow checklists, with nurses making sure each step is taken, has resulted in dramatic decreases in the ICU death rate.

I'm going to make sure that any hospital I check into uses checklists.

California Tempest

It's the season of the California Tempest. What you expect to be a "rainstorm" turns into something mythic and awe-inspiring.

I planned to go to visit JC in Davis yesterday. Not a hard, although a somewhat lengthy drive, mostly freeway. Despite the rain, I thought it would be somewhat silly not to go. The redwood trees in the yard were whipping around, thrashed by the wind. I packed up my backpack, contemplated the first aid kit and decided my computer was more important and headed to the car. I was really glad I didn't have to go outside, but could climb into the car in the relative calm of the garage. I pulled out, windshield wipers on intermittent and started off.

As I headed down the hill to the freeway, windshield wipers set to constant, there were streams racing alongside the road, running across the road, occasionally covering the road. Tree debris was everywhere -- leaves, pine needles, small branches. But, I figured, once on the freeway it will be fine.

I pulled out onto 24E and joined the few cars that were out, windshield wipers set to high. I began to wonder if my 90 minute trip was going to be more like 2 hours. About 2 miles down the road I drove through a small lake, behind an SVU that threw enough water up on to the windshield that it took an eternity -- 15 seconds?-- to clear and I started to think, maybe 3 hours. Another mile down the road and the traffic up ahead was stopped. The road was closed, and gratefully I turned around and went home.

On Trigger and Seeds

I was catching up on Maureen Dowd's column today, and found this thought from Henry Van Dyke about Christmas. I think I will add "sow a few seeds of happiness" to my list for 2008.

“Are you willing ... to own, that probably the only good reason for your existence is not what you are going to get out of life, but what you are going to give to life; to close your book of complaints against the management of the universe and look around you for a place where you can sow a few seeds of happiness ... to make a grave for your ugly thoughts and a garden for your kindly feelings ...? Then you can keep Christmas.”