Back in December, I wrote a post declaring my appreciation for graphic and industrial design, stating that they represent one of capitalism’s few redeeming values.

I still stand by my comments in that post, but as I browse my favorite websites featuring design, particularly prototype or new product designs, I come across many items that elicit the reaction, “Who the HELL needs something like that?”

Listen, I try to be open-minded and non-judgmental, but some things just seem to cross some kind of line, where any honorable creative elements seem overshadowed by frivolity, superfluousness, banality, or triviality.

And so, I’ve decided to start a new series here at Fish & Bicycles titled Stuff We Don’t Need (aka SWDN), because a thing can be simultaneously utterly pointless and funny at the same time.

For the inaugural SWDN post, I bring you the Rock-Paper-Scissors Glove:

Per the inventor, Steve Hoefer (via Gizmodo):

This is a glove that plays a very competitive game of Rock Paper Scissors against the wearer. It learns how they wearer plays and plays to their weaknesses…

It remembers how you play so that if you always open with Rock it will tend to open with Paper. And if you tend throw a Paper after a Rock it will counter it with Scissors. The glove’s current record for best-of-five matches against me is 71 wins and 62 losses.

Well, ok. I don’t need one. You’ll have to decide for yourself.

Regardless, you know you want to check out the video of the glove in action!


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Chile Earthquake Moved Entire City 10 Feet to the West

The magnitude 8.8 quake that struck near Maule, Chile, Feb. 27 moved the entire city of Concepcion 10 feet to the west.

Precise GPS measurements from before and after the earthquake, the fifth largest ever recorded by seismographs, show that the country’s capital, Santiago, moved 11 inches west. Even Buenos Aires, nearly 800 miles from the epicenter, shifted an inch. The image above uses red arrows to represent the relative direction and magnitude of the ground movement in the vicinity of the quake.

–via Wired.com

I don’t know what’s more amazing, the fact that this entire city moved 10 feet, or that scientists are able to know that it moved 10 feet.


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From my office window, I’m incredibly fortunate to have a view of a variety of trees, with two notable standouts: a sequoia and a magnolia.

While I get to enjoy the massive, evergreen glory of the sequoia year-round, once a year, right about now, the magnolia bursts to life with the most beautiful, luscious flowers.

There’s something incredibly sensuous about the magnolia flower. The petals are large and thick and remind me of some of the succulent cactus species. They feel saturated with moisture and life.

I’m not sure if they are edible or not, but I do have this strong urge to bite into one whenever I see them. And, you know what? Since it’s lunch time right now, I’m half-tempted to go right out there and try one!


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This video of the upcoming Microsoft Courier device blew me away.

Not surprisingly, reaction in the comments section for the Engadget post from which this video originates is mixed, with some folks ready to buy the Courier now, some defending the iPad, and some saying it’s an apples (pun intended) and oranges comparison.

Time will tell.


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Oh, right, we’re near the equator.
The last installment of the Costa Rica Chronicles had us in the mountains, amidst the clouds, wearing layers, including rain jackets, which is fine for people from Bellingham. That said, as the photo I’ve used for the Costa Rica Chronicles suggests, the main allure of going to the tropics, for us, had to do with hot sun, sandy beaches, warm ocean water… the perfect antidote to winter.

And so, at the exact midpoint of our trip, we boarded a bus that would take us from Santa Elena to the port city of Puntarenas, where we walked onto an hour-long ferry across the Gulf of Nicoya to Paquera, and finally we took a taxi across the southern tip of the Nicoya Peninsula, to our next destination, the surfing mecca of Mal Pais. By the time we got to Puntarenas we remembered, “Oh, right, we’re near the equator.”

It was hot!

We dragged our bags around in the blazing sun looking for a restaurant for lunch, waited without shade in line for the ferry, and even in the shade of a canvas tarp on the upper deck of the ferry we felt the heat draining every ounce of energy from our bodies.

In Paquera, wasted from the already long trip, we were immediately thrust into the unpleasant task of haggling with taxi drivers for the final hour or so drive to Mal Pais. I say unpleasant, not because the drivers are unpleasant, in fact they are mostly incredibly friendly, but because haggling always elicits mixed feelings from me. In many ways, I can’t blame the drivers for trying to earn the best rate they can earn. They work incredibly hard, and most have families to support, so who am I, a relatively wealthy person, to try and talk them down? The sad fact, in the end, is that we couldn’t afford the trip if we didn’t work at trying to find the best deal possible, so ultimately the unpleasantness of haggling, you could say, is like an added tax.

Fortunately, rather than sun stroke, we had a stroke of good luck at the ferry dock. We noticed a grey-ponytailed man carrying a guitar on his back, talking with one driver, hadn’t seen him on the ferry, but then we saw a blonde woman we did recognize from the ferry, joining the ponytailed guy, and as we moved toward this threesome we were asked if we’d like to share a taxi with them, lowering the cost per person significantly.

The ponytailed man turned out to be Jay from Boulder, Colorado, and the blonde woman turned out to be Anna from Sweden, and the taxi, mercifully, turned out to be air conditioned. Hanging out in a cool taxi, driving through the southern peninsula countryside, and enjoying the conversation of two very friendly new acquaintances, was a wonderful way to recover from the hardships of the beginning of the day.

Jay was actually heading to Montezuma, but he decided to go to Mal Pais with us, partly to make it easier on the taxi driver, and partly because, though he’d been to Montezuma numerous times, he’d never ventured 30 minutes west to Mal Pais, and he thought he might like to surf, as it had been years since he’d tried it in Hawaii. Anna was a doctor, traveling around alone on holiday, and it was obvious that she had the kind of inner strength and occasional flares of outer toughness needed to go it alone in a foreign country, where she doesn’t speak much of the language.

In Mal Pais, a dusty, one-dirt-road-town paralleling the beach, we said goodbye to Anna, and we found that Jay was enjoying our company so much, and we were enjoying him so much, that we agreed to meet up for dinner. Then we agreed that we’d meet for breakfast, agreed that we’d meet on the beach, agreed that he might surf with us, agreed that we’d have lunch and then go back to the outdoor lounge at his hotel and play his guitar and sing songs, and then…

We’d eventually spend three days with him, sharing meals and stories and songs, and eventually a taxi to Montezuma, a hotel room there, and a farewell in what would become our favorite town of the whole trip.

Backing up, though, there’s much more to report on concerning our time in Mal Pais, not the least of which would be our very special lodgings…

A tree house!

Up Next: Surfin’ Safari

Costa Rica Chronicles: Vol. I, Vol. II, Vol. III, Vol. IV, Vol. V, Vol. VI, Vol. VII, Vol. VIII, Vol. IX, Vol. X


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Lawrence Kasdan’s 1983 movie, The Big Chill, was and still is a very special film for me.

I was fortunate enough, in 10th grade, to find myself in a circle of friends that would become incredibly close and vitally important to me during those trying, coming-of-age years, through high school and college. When The Big Chill came out, we were in our senior year of high school, and while the friends in the movie were older and at different stages in their lives, we totally recognized and related to the easy comfort they had with each other, how they seemed to spend most of the film doing not much more than sitting around and talking.

We were, and as it turns out still are, VERY good at this.

This past weekend, I flew to, of all places, Dallas, Texas, to meet up with five folks from this circle of friends. No one wanted to go to Dallas, as it turns out none of us cared for the place in the least, but it was fairly equidistant for a group coming from the east and west coasts, and by the end of the weekend we all agreed that, in some ways, it makes more sense for us to choose a place that we have no interest at all in, since we spend most of the time hanging out in some room or another yapping. It sadly had been 10 years since we’d all been together, so we had a lot to cover after all.

We’re now in our mid-40s, and there were the predictable mid-life topics, like marriage/divorce, career, and health, along with 45 years to reminisce. And, as always, it was so comforting to share our stories with each other.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like the friends in The Big Chill, we had our moments of tension. We’re from New Jersey for crying out loud, so it’s in our DNA to argue, even at the risk of things getting heated.

But, as Tom Beringer’s character, Sam, said, after an intense exchange with William Hurt’s character, Nick:

I don’t care what you say. I know I’ve loved you and everyone else here. And I’ll believe that ’till I kick.

Every time we see each other, we mourn the fact that we don’t get together more often, act clueless as we wonder why we can’t seem to make it happen, and recommit to trying harder in the future. It’s really not that complicated. We live in five different states — New Jersey, New York, Maine, California, and Washington — our lives are busy and filled with work, family, and other friends, and it truly isn’t a reflection of the strength of our bonds that we can’t all seem to make the time.

Still, unlike The Big Chill, no one had to die to bring us all together, and I do feel a renewed sense of connection, and I already miss them. I, for one, am going to try harder. They are more than worth it.


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The origin of suffering is attachment to transient things and the ignorance thereof. Transient things do not only include the physical objects that surround us, but also ideas, and -in a greater sense- all objects of our perception. Ignorance is the lack of understanding of how our mind is attached to impermanent things. The reasons for suffering are desire, passion, ardour, pursuit of wealth and prestige, striving for fame and popularity, or in short: craving and clinging. Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow.

An interpretation of the second of the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths

Oh, I can read this business about how noble the truth of impermanence is and, intellectually, I can conceive of how suffering could be decreased by developing the mental discipline of detachment. But sometimes, when something happens that drives home just how impermanent some things are, it just plain stings.

This past week I received two unbidden reminders:

First, my beloved 6-year old Apple Powerbook fell from a height of five feet onto a VERY hard tile floor. Miraculously, the hard drive somehow survived long enough for me to back all of my data up onto an external drive, but the CD/DVD drive was destroyed, the wi-fi no longer works, and the lid does not stay closed.

Of course, computers are a lesson in impermanence without even breaking. Just about everyone has had the experience of buying a computer only to see the same computer advertised a few months later with better components for the same price or less. And yet we foolishly wait to buy until some upgrade is available, some new processor or operating system, thinking we can actually stave off the inevitable obsolescence.

Now, keep in mind that I just returned from Costa Rica, where I left behind a significant amount of money. The timing leaves me with two painful options: 1.) wait to replace the laptop, 2.) debt financing.

Either way, ouch.

Second, 12 years ago, my wife and I tore the roof off of our two bedroom, one bath Craftsman bungalow and built a second story on top. When we did that, on the east side of the house, we needed to board up where a window had been, since the window would be blocked by the new stairway. And, when we patched up the exterior hole, we didn’t flash the Tyvek at least 6 inches under the existing siding on all sides as is recommended, and while we did caulk the seams where the old cedar clapboard siding met the new siding in the patch, over time the caulk started to deteriorate, leaving cracks where water has been getting in (we live in a subtropical rainforest zone for god’s sake!).

As we were ripping off the siding in search of water damage, I thought of how un-Buddhist home ownership seems, how we invest in paint and caulk and flashing and gutters as if we could ever permanently protect these silly man-made structures from the forces of nature.

Hmmm. Impermanence. Computers. Houses. My guess is that the Buddha wouldn’t have anything to do with either of them.


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Cloud Forests: An Embarrassment of Riches

    Cloud forests, a type of rainforest, occur on high mountains in the tropics, generally between 2,000 and 3,500 meters, and experience very different environmental conditions. As one ascends in elevation, the hot steamy lowlands are left behind and several distinct vegetation zones occur…Cloud forests are so named because they are often shrouded in mist and fog. The high moisture level and cool year-round temperatures foster plant communities rich in mosses, ferns, and epiphytes…

So, there are around a half dozen cloud forest reserves in Costa Rica, and if you ask half a dozen people which would be the best cloud forest to visit if you only had time to visit one you’d get half a dozen different answers.

Three of these are near the village of Santa Elena, and my favorite piece of advice on the cloud forests came from one of the staff at our hostel. He said, “Here’s the thing, ever since the Lonely Planet guide said that the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve gets 20,000 visitors annually, while the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve sees 200,000 visitors per year, the pendulum has swung and now folks are regularly reporting that Santa Elena is too crowded.”

Based on this advice, in addition to advice to arrive at the reserve early in the morning because they only allow so many people in at a time, we chose to visit the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve.

Now, tourists’ have a reputation that precedes them, that of having very high, emotion-filled expectations – born of spending most of their days in nature-deficient lifestyles – of seeing every form of wildlife they’ve read about in all the books on the cloud forests. As a result, folks who have been there, particularly those whose jobs involve advising tourists about their visits, make it a top priority of pulling out a map of the area and running through an obviously well-worn shpiel to cover their asses out of sincere concern for our feelings and in order to lessen the blow of disappointment:

“The cloud forest reserves are so vast and the portions visited by tourists on the only trails tourists are allowed to tread on are so relatively small, that most of the wildlife has learned that they have plenty of room and don’t need to get anywhere near those loud-mouthed, binocular-laden bipeds. So, in short, if you are a binocular-laden biped, expect to see lots of flora and very little fauna.”

You’d think that with all the snark in this post that I’m building up to complaining about how much of a waste of time Monteverde was, but the truth is that the preemptive disappointment prevention we received from our friend at the hostel worked. Our expectations were sufficiently lowered, and our visit there turned out to be quite lovely.

The forest, in many ways, resembles the subtropical rainforest we have right here in the Pacific Northwest: lush, green, dense with ferns and moss and lichen, and that ever-present smell in the air of damp soil. From there, however, the forest is entirely different. From the bromeliads and the heliconia to the ficus and mango trees, the flora is clearly tropical, and the star of the whole show was…

…the Resplendent Quetzal. I’d guess that 95% of the people who visit Monteverde would name the quetzal as being on the top of their wish list in terms of wildlife sightings. The birds are described as being elusive, and visitors who see them tend use the term lucky a lot.

Given that, I guess we were supremely lucky! Our first 2 hours in the park were with an interpretive guide, Rolando, a caffeine-fueled font of information on everything we saw in the forest. About an hour into our hike, Rolando was scanning the canopy and got very quiet as he set up his monocular on its tripod. Waving us over, we gazed through the lens and saw our first quetzal, stunningly colorful, sitting on a high branch.

Later, after we returned to the trailhead and were preparing to leave, we sensed a hushed commotion from some other visitors, and, making our way over to a small crowd, found that they’d discovered a mated pair of quetzals, sitting about 15 feet away on lower branches.

So, you might ask, were there clouds? Well, as a matter of fact, thanks to the clouds we were unable to see anything at a lookout situated at the Continental Divide. It was actually quite eerie, standing there at a steep drop-off, where the rainforest just stopped, and before and below us was nothing but vapor, blowing through in a breeze that felt like you could be swept off and float away.

I could go on and on, mention the hanging bridge and the gigantic tarantula that crossed our path as we hiked, but there is so much more to get to and this post alone has taken me almost a week to write because of my crazy schedule.

Up Next: Oh yeah, we’re near the equator.

Costa Rica Chronicles: Vol. I, Vol. II, Vol. III, Vol. IV, Vol. V, Vol. VI, Vol. VII, Vol. VIII, Vol. IX, Vol. X


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Has this ever happened to you?

You’re listening to a song and it just hits you on a very deep level, you can feel the song internally, it has penetrated your being, every note and every beat seems to resonate in harmony with exactly where you are at in that moment.

No?

Well, I sympathize, because it’s an amazing feeling, a feeling that I immediately want to share with others, so that they might have a chance to feel it too.

This is one of the many reasons why it’s great to be a blogger.

Anyway, today I was walking across campus, enjoying some wonderfully surprising springtime weather, a song came on my iPod by one of my faves, Mr. Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros, and something about the song, something not quite explainable, so perfectly fit my mood and the pace of my footsteps and the comfort I felt in the sunshine…

…it was one of those moments and I just have to share it with you!

So, close your eyes, visualize a sunny day, a campus of students and staff bustling about, feel a little bounce in your step because you’ve started jogging recently and you like how it is making you feel, and listen to this:





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It gets me just about every year, no matter how long I live here.

In the summer, we get gloriously warm and long days, daylight lasting past 9:00pm, offering 4+ hours of outdoor playtime after the work day is over.

However, inevitably, slowly but surely, the days grow shorter and colder. Before you know it, it’s dark when I wake up to go to work and dark before I leave work to return home.

Oh, there’s respite in the form of the holidays and skiing and, for the past few years, mid-winter trips to sunny places like Hawaii, Jamaica, and Costa Rica, but winter, all in all, can be trying.

And then, all of a sudden, in February, little green shoots pop up out of the ground, snowdrops and crocus and the beginnings of daffodils, and trees sprout buds and blossoms, and even though the poor weather might last a few more months, we have a good chance of getting stretches like what we see here to the right, and it always takes me by surprise, always seems premature, however welcome it may be.

Last I checked, spring doesn’t start until March 20th. So, enjoy these bonus spring days while you can, my fellow Bellinghamsters!


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