“Fear, panic, and mayhem gripped Google yesterday as employees saw their fortunes vanish before their eyes.”

This article, published by Daya Baran of Webguild.com, is depressingly malicious and painfully ill-informed; in fact, the blind anti-Google bias is so strong that it makes what little “fact” is present very difficult to take at face value. For example: the “panic” described by the author cites no sources other than “junior employees.” That aside, common sense dictates that a minor fluctuation in stock prices is, as one commenter astutely puts it, “just another Day in the Valley.” Case in point–Google stock is at 526.65 today, a 4% recovery of the original 4.5% loss (529).

Did you happen to catch the term the author uses to describe Google employees? “Gayglers.” Based on this alone, I wouldn’t trust a word that comes out of Webguild.

“On Twitter alone, Internet strategist B.L. Ochman reports that self-described social media experts more than tripled their presence, from 4,487 to 15,740, between May and December 2009. And while many are the real deal — Ontario’s Scott Stratten, B.C.’s Kris Krug and Lorraine Murphy, and Massachusetts’ Chris Brogan among them — a disproportionate number are charlatans who’ve left a snake-oil slick on the profession’s image.”

This Montreal Gazette article strikes closer to the truth, though it draws an over-generalized conclusion from a limited example. It’s absolutely true that social media is a territory “ripe for douchebags,” where liars and cheats can make a few bucks before their victims catch on. Therein lies the rub: every field is plagued with “posers” who ride the coattails of success. This does not mean we discard social media as a lost art and start over–we identify and deal with fake experts where needed, then prove our own value in the field by offering intelligent functionality to our users that eases the assimilation and dissemination of information. (Say that three times fast.)

From the same article: “Shankman and his partner, Sarah Evans, made a 25-point list of warning signs that cue a potential scammer (http://tiny.cc/1wwr4). These include offering social media as an add-on, as opposed to integrating it into a comprehensive public relations strategy; charging a company for signing them up with a social media site; and measuring success by the number of Twitter followers amassed.”

In my own experiments with Twitter follower-boosting, I’ve found that to be completely true. It’s remarkably easy to inflate an account to X thousand followers without much effort at all–but in terms of advancement, this means next to nothing. By and large, these “readers” are a spam network of interdependent home-business and marketing “specialists” who all follow each other, automatically thanking new “friends” with a direct message that encourages them to connect on Facebook and further perpetrate the illusion of influence and power. My favorite example: Twitter user besserwerber, boasting 200,000+ followers and not a single tweet.

[I should note that one good thing came from the experiment. Every 20 followers or so, you happen across a solid contact with informative tweets and interesting ideas. In general, it's still difficult to connect with such users directly (or else everyone in our field would easily follow and be followed by at least 1,000--this is the interwebs, after all). When you're swimming in a stream of marketing mediocrity, that moment of mutual recognition and respect stands out as an event worth repeating. To my mind, this is the only justification for participating in what is otherwise a misleading and misguided activity.]

Despite the best efforts of trolls like these, progress will not be stopped. The only question is this: will we be in the driver’s seat, the passenger seat, or running to catch the bus?

Verizon Wireless has thrown their lot in with Mastercard Securecode, a feature that requires you to input all your credit card information a second time–after the checkout process is all but completed. You can hit “Cancel” at the end of the process, but then Verizon’s checkout goes into an endless “Processing your request” loop. Other business such as Tiger Direct and Toys R Us have followed suit, making it all but impossible to purchase items without unnecessary hassle.

What’s worse is Securecode’s claim to “increasing peace of mind.” The entire Securecode process reeks of phishing–seriously, you want me to “secure” my transaction by giving you my credit card info a second time? Even if it isn’t, surprising users with an extra layer of complication that is badly and suspiciously coded–for zero end-user benefit–is commercial stupidity at its worst, as Dale Phurrough notes after lengthy talks with customer service.

Interestingly, even USAA–the bank that introduced me to this delightful feature by way of Mastercard–seems unsure as to what this constitutes. They have SecureCode listed as a scam on their site, but also hail it as a feature.

I’m usually head over heels for USAA, but this shift was a bad move. Unfortunately, it will fall to merchants–and Mastercard–to realize the error and revert the change, and history indicates that only a decline in business will force them to mend their ways.

Fall and Man - Mortality in all its Vector glory

I chose to stick with black-and-white and default settings, but ScribblerToo is rounded out by a full HTML color palette and adjustable brushes–a noticeable advantage over its predecessor Scribble, which had limited fine-tuning and could only calculate line connections after a sketch was saved.

It has its hiccups–imported images are missing in saved sketches, and the scroll-wheel resizes the paintbrush as you scroll up and down on larger canvases–but by and large this is an intriguing tool that will pique your mathematical and artistic interest.

I should work out. I should check my email. I should brush my teeth.

Email wins, as always. I sit, click, read.

Two new Twitter followers.
A question from a client.
Sale on Viagra.
Lost!

Time slips by like a beautiful stranger in a crowd. There’s plenty, then there’s none, then I’m late. What is so compelling about this arrangement of pixels on a backlit screen?

An image surfaces. Ten years old, I sit in the treehouse and punch sticky keys on a beat-to-hell Commodore. Line numbers denote the hours of effort I pour into the yellowed plastic. A blinking green cursor keeps the beat. I check, I correct, I execute. A man runs across the screen, bounces off the edge, falls. I laugh. I have created life. There is so much yet to do, but the foundation is laid. The possibilities are endless.

The power flickers and the man is drowned in a field of random characters. I regard the screen, understand the analogy, and unplug the computer.

Joy from a box. I delete the last of the spam and stretch. Priorities, I think to myself, and I turn my thoughts to the day ahead. Must keep one’s priorities.

I normally wouldn’t do this to you–this being inflict my prose upon such hapless innocents–but the lit mag Big Lucks launched yesterday, and I’m quite excited to land a copy. If I manage to get my narratives up to snuff, who knows–I may even submit and get a rejection letter from them. (Of course, it will be dutifully reprinted so you can share in my success.) Support the arts, y’all.

A blogger I work with will sometimes copy headlines from his Wordpress-generated homepage and paste them into the post-editing window.  In Firefox, this has the unfortunate result of converting absolute urls into relative ones.  For example, copying the headline for this article would convert the permalink (khaotica.com) to a relative link (../).

This creates broken links when the post is viewed on the archive page and RSS feed. The links will also be broken for subscribers who receive posts via email.

Enter the Relative Links Fix. This plugin will replace relative urls with the proper absolute urls every time you save or publish a post. If you use Wordpress and can’t shake those copy-paste habits, this is the plugin for you.

As always, donations are appreciated. I promise to spend them exclusively on Oreos and soda (the creative fuel that powers developers everywhere).

I’ve loved Halloween for as long as I can remember.  Even as a kid, it was my favorite holiday.  It blew Christmas away.  It wasn’t about the candy, though–it was about pulling on that terrifying/awe-inspiring/bad-ass costume and becoming something incredible for a night.  We transformed into fantastic characters and flocked through the neighborhood, scaring friends, comparing loot, plotting pranks.  It was chaotic and exciting and liberating.

Heavy-handed Halloweens are a tradition in my family, so my sister and I discuss little else this time of year.

Josh: it’s so weird seeing you on facebook
Katie: y?
Josh: it’s like you’re a real person!
Katie: :( and i was tryin so hard to be a vampire
Josh: ya win some, ya lose some.
Josh: you can still be a zombie with me :)
Katie: zombies are weird lookin
Josh: but it’s so easy! all you have to do is this
Josh: om nom nom
Josh: brains are healthy and good for your skin!
Katie: you get ur head blown off
Josh: tssh, yeah, if you suck
Katie: all the more reason for me to be vampy :)
Katie: i really want french toast now…

I love Halloween.  I rarely redesign this website, but when Halloween is the name of the game, I’ll do anything.  In fact, one of the party themes we’re considering for our annual bash is reverse Pimps and Hos–the ladies get the floppy hats and pimp canes* while we menfold shake it like a salt shaka.  jeffmorin would have me do anything else, but he admits to a similar disregard for boundaries when it comes to the horror-filled holiday.

The excitement hits me on all fronts.  Example: I’ve had “Werewolves of London” stuck in my head for days.

I saw a werewolf
drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic’s
His hair was perfect

That was my status message last week.  Jeremy’s reply: “If I were a werewolf, I’d make sure I had perfect hair.  Werewolves with imperfect hair must drink moonshine.”  To cover our bases, we’ll probably serve both at the party.

I love Halloween.

*Autotune the News 5 reference.  It’s magnificent.

What do you think?

After to talking to a few inked veterans, I headed over to Pop’s Tattoo in Silver Spring to see firsthand if this was the place for me. So far, I’ve been very impressed with the service, cleanliness, talent, and laid-back atmosphere offered at Pop’s.

Craig, one of the senior artists enlisted in the war against bare skin, is very cool. He’s a straight talker, which I appreciate immensely. When I showed him my design, he replied, “To be honest, I don’t think you’d want something that crude. Let me have a crack at redrawing that–can I call you in a week?”

His redesign is below.

The tattoo will be the blue card (black outline) over black text. The blue spraypaint will actually be papyrus-like shading, and the beige is representative of skin.

Craig collects joker cards as a hobby, and it shows (for example, the stance is common to jokers from around the globe). The coloring I added in over his pen-and-ink drawing, along with a few adjustments we talked about in the shop today. There’s a ton of symbolism worked in; suffice it to say every major aspect of my life is represented in this fine piece of work. I’m really excited to get it done, and of course I’ll report back with details on the procedure itself (scheduled for August 21st).

In other news, the Day of Excess looms on the immediate horizon and I am seriously stoked. As the national holiday of the Hans Gruber Memorial Exceptional Minds Foundation, this gathering of gentlemen includes mass quantities of meat, unexplored levels of inebriation, and near-deadly mayhem. It occurs over a weekend (Saturday being the Day in question), and it’s usually held in a remote cabin to ensure that our raucous antics will go uninterrupted.

I can’t recall if I bragged quite enough about this, but I designed a crest for the DoE. This crest was intended to be displayed on a flag above a banner motto that reflects our annual promise: “The Worst is Yet to Come.” The flag arrived this week.

As its title indicates, over-the-top performance is our goal on every front at the DoE. Accordingly, two awards are granted annually: the Nick Panno Friday Night Too-Far Award, given in honor of its namesake, who on multiple occasions was drunk enough to perform feats otherwise impossible for the human body; and the Bassett Cup, awarded to the person or persons displaying exemplary knowledge or skills in furthering the goals of the Hans Gruber Foundation (which, I assure you, are diabolical in nature and scope). While I do not have my eye on either award this year, I’m definitely feeling a little excessive in the camping department. Colleague and possible DoE newcomer @jeffmorin warns that such pomposity may result in targeted pranking. If this idea has occurred to anyone else, be forewarned–my paintball gun won’t stray far from my hand.

And finally…my cats are the coolest fucking animals on the planet. Starbuck’s new toy:

Undoubtedly we’ve all heard about this by now – a white Irish-American cop in Cambridge arrested an African-American Harvard professor for “breaking into” his own home. The argument on behalf of the officer is that Gates was rude and basically refused to cooperate as much as Crowley would’ve liked (yo mama comments don’t always go a long way in de-escalating a situation). Gates’ argument is fairly straightforward – he was in his own home, and it wouldn’t have escalated to any such level if he were white (also yo mama jokes aren’t actually grounds for arrest).

Then Obama had to reduce a half hr discussion on health care to a 5 second soundbite wherein he said the Cambridge police behaved “stupidly.” And then had to explain himself (I don’t disagree, but I still had a *headdesk* moment when he said it, because it overshadowed policy and gave fodder to the gleeful pundits), and, finally, he invited both Crowley and Gates to the Rose Garden with Joe “the gaffer” Biden for a beer. (An Irish cop drinking a beer? Go on!) Actually, all joking (okay most joking) aside, Gates and Obama both have Irish ancestry as well, as the Irish liked to Thomas Jefferson it up with their female slaves.

Here’s a link to Gates’ comments on the event. If you click on the “Photos from the beer meeting.” link, and proceed to #3, you’ll see a close-up of their beers (you can also just scroll down, cause I’m anything if not accommodating). I attempted to make some generic guesses about type of beer (noting Obama’s weak-colored apple juice choice) and then I clicked to photo #4, to see what they actually had.

Here’s my brief analysis of their drink choices on that day:

Crowley chose Blue Moon – a Belgian White! I wonder if the server poured it correctly. A proper Irishman might be concerned that he would take some guff for drinking a beer infused with orange and coriander, but Crowley knows the spice just means the alcohol goes to the bloodstream quicker, so suck on that (while he sucks on this orange garnish in a manly fashion). Also, it’s got the word “white” on the label just about everywhere, which is a risky choice. If you think I’m stretching here, just know that Blue Moon comes from Canada, and it don’t get much whiter than that.

Obama chose Bud Light – ugh, srsly? and it looks like Biden went along with it. Here’s a few possible reasons why he chose Bud Light – Obama offered to drink beers with the boys to try and recover that whole “I want a President who’s the kinda guy I can see myself having a beer with,” and not because he actually likes beer. Or maybe he’d had so many beers that day that he figured he’d go with the cheap stuff, and Natty was just a LITTLE too obvious. But, I think it’s safer to assume he wanted to go as American as possible and still maintain those 6-pack abs (ironically not achieved by guzzling 6-packs). Bud’s supposed to be one of the most popular beers in America, so Obama figured he’d try to gain ground with the beer-swilling voters. Maybe Biden really does have apple juice… My last supposition is that Obama had some leftovers from his beer pong party with the ambassador to Belgium, wherein he rubbed in the fact that Budweiser didn’t have to sell out to them completely, though they have their own distribution of “Bud” over there, so it was a subtle glove slap.

Gates chose Red Stripe – a Jamaican Lager. According to Wikipedia, “Gates initially said he would have a Red Stripe, but facing criticism from Boston beer fans, he changed his choice to Sam Adams Light.” “The Root” reports he drank Red Stripe. As Gates is editor of “The Root,” I can’t see the info there being incorrect, which makes me doubt this, but, then, the beer does look a little dark for Red Stripe. But, what? Were Boston beer fans hanging over the fence around the Rose Garden voicing their opinion until Gates re-ordered? Or did Gates feel compelled to announce his selection in advance and then got all sorts of hate mail? I would’ve found it fairly hilarious if he had changed to an old white dude beer, but the bottom line is, drinking Red Stripe makes a statement, and I’m more willing to believe it’s just the foliage in the background that makes it look dark, and not a beer change. The beer is Jamaican born (Gates is not, he’s WV born, that’s how you know it’s the beer I’m talking about), has gone through many changes (including a failed effort to appeal to Americans by re-designing the bottle), and is a fairly well-respected beer across the country now. Drinking Red Stripe says: “I come in a squat, brown package and you can’t rebrand me to a ‘Heineken-style green bottle’ to make me more accessible to the American people. Also, I like reggae.”

Bonus – Look at pic 9 – The P and VP reaching for snacks, or a Biden/Obama terrorist fistbump!?

UPDATE: I’ve been informed that Biden was drinking a non-alcoholic beer, which would explain why it so closely resembles Bud Light. Later, Biden would smoke a non-nicotenic cigarette, eat a non-protein protein bar, and work out on an invisible bike.

But not quickly enough. A hand closes on my ankle and yanks me down. I lay on the sidewalk, looking up into the wide, staring eyes of my mother. She opens her mouth to speak, and the shriek of static played too loud fills the air. I understand her meaning and get up, heading into the house to await my punishment.

My father stands at the top of the stairs. The piercing static follows me as I climb, mouth clamped shut so hard my jaw aches. I reach the top and stand toe to toe with Dad. I can’t remember what his voice sounds like, and I’m struck by the weariness in his eyes. The static sounds again, and Dad’s eyes harden as he opens his mouth to pass judgment.

Knives shoot from the dark behind his teeth.

As I fall down the stairs, I wonder how I’m going to tell Caitlin we have to move out. The stairs disappear, and I land on the set of a metal concert during the band’s encore. The set is littered with forest props, and I’m surprised to find myself in a rabbit costume. I slowly make my way to the side exit, and I’ve just opened the door when I hear a cry of surprise from behind me.

“Hey, he’s stealing the rabbit!”

Running again, this time through the halls of my old high school. A hallway I’ve never seen before opens into a glass-walled showcase. Several Ikea vehicles are on display; I see the keys dangling from the ignition of a minivan-sedan, and as I peel out of the school, Todd sits up in the passenger seat.

“Sorry about that–I was supposed to tell you not to take the bunny pants.” He brushes the leaves off his pajama shirt.

“It was just the pants they wanted? They could’ve had those.” My stomach growls audibly, and I realize that a styrofoam container of cheeseburger salad sits open in my lap. “Oh sweet,” Todd says as he grabs a handful, “I love this stuff.”

“That’s my lunch! You shouldn’t eat without asking, dude, especially my lunch. If you don’t ask, it’s your ass.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.”

I shake my head and smile as I accelerate past 70, 80. “Two apologies in one day? You’re slipping, Todd.”

He turns to me, deadly serious. His clothes have changed–he’s now wearing his party shirt. “Am I slipping, Josh, or are you?”

“What?”

“Look in your rear-view mirror.”

I glance up and see Mark walking behind us, matching our speed without breaking a sweat. “That’s not right,” I mutter. “I must be dreaming.”

Todd strokes his beard. “Think so?”

Mark is looking behind him as if he’s about to change lanes. Just as he steps to the left, Todd grabs the wheel and pushes so that the car cuts Mark off. Mark turns bright red, smoke trailing from his head as he drives his sneakers into the concrete, shattering the road in his path.

“Good luck,” Todd chuckles, and he bails out the passenger side door. Before I can react, Mark slams his fist into the the rear bumper. The car fishtails.

I scream my disbelief into the wind as Mark pounds the car again and again. The windshield shatters; I can feel the world spinning around me as the sedan flips and rolls. On its side, sliding too fast toward a lightpole, the car disregards my last disillusioned remark before everything goes dark.

“I sure hope this is a dream.”

I wake, feeling as if I just bet the house on Russian roulette. The clock reads 4am as I roll over to hug Caitlin. The bed next to me is empty.

I wonder if I’m married. I wonder if I’m awake.

That was last night. Yup, I still have nightmares, and it isn’t difficult to trace their elements back to real-world events. Sometimes, certain details of a dream will make me realize I’m asleep, and before last night, that was enough to wake me up. Waking up like that feels like swimming from the bottom of a very deep well, and I usually have a headache afterward. In other dreams, I’m able to influence events without realizing I’m asleep. Those are the fun ones that usually include flying and arm-mounted cannons.

Two things struck me about this dream.

1) I felt the terror of being hunted, talked to my parents through noise and knives, wore a rabbit suit, drove a make and model of car that will never exist, and invented the least health-friendly salad ever, all without batting an eye, but Mark walking too fast was beyond possibility. Why did my mind accept that Ikea makes cars with no complaint? Why was that fact so easy to believe, and why didn’t I remember the Explorer I love to drive in the real world?

2) What the fuck was Todd doing? “Am I slipping, or are you?” Are you trying to put me in an asylum, Todd? Is this your revenge for getting drilled in the junk on Saturday? I’m trying to envision someone else in my life sitting in that car and punching holes in my carefully crafted sanity, and I just can’t see it. The clothes-changing, the food-snatching, the beard-stroking, seriously make me wonder if I’m going to sleep tonight. I doubt it. P.S. That party shirt is hot.

At the end of the day, dreams are something you have, you think about, and you put behind you. I made a bad decision in high school based on a dream, so I don’t plan to run Mark over the next time I’m picking up a movie.

Still. I should probably call my parents.