Rogue Dictionary

operation: nightingale

Now that I'm back in the "sleepy" "Midwestern" "town" in which I attend law school (over a thousand miles from ocean), it seems as good a time as any to detail Operation: Nightingale.

It's a well-known fact that many, many lawyers want to do anything but law. I don't fall into that category, but the law of large numbers seems to suggest that I will eventually. To that end, I have focused the entirety of my anything-but-lawyer desires into a single project.

I will buy a boat. I will name her the Nightingale. And she will be powered by nothing but love and Newfoundland sea shanties such as Barrett's Privateers.

This entire crazy scheme was partially inspired by the poem Sea Fever, by John Masefield:

I MUST down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

the identity game

There's a game I like to play sometimes, usually (but not always) with people whom I am likely never to meet again. I call it the identity game, but really it's just structured lying. The rules are simple: when in an appropriate situation, decide to be someone else.

Earlier this week, in a shuttle riding back from the airport, I decided to be an itinerant math grad student who used to be a competition grade tennis player (it turns out that a lot of the fencing platitudes translate remarkably well to tennis). The trick is to make it plausible—it is unlikely that anyone would believe that I was an astronaut in training, or a martial artist monk who recently returned to the United States to fight crime. Live out a fantasy, explore a new life, just experiment.

Why play this game? It doesn't hurt anyone. It's actually kind of fun. And, let's be honest, it made the conversation with the shuttle driver way more interesting than if I had said, "I'm a law student." It adds a little spice into the world that otherwise wouldn't be there.

NOTE: Of course I am not espousing lying to everyone you meet. Of course you shouldn't play this game all the time—picking your moment is crucial (for example, a courtroom would probably be a bad place to play). But if you think of it as creative, spontaneous performance art, the idea begins to sound a little more palatable. Go on. Be someone else.

a few photos

Click here for the rest of the set on Flickr.

being a meat puppet

Yes, I'll be there at 8 A.M. to pick up a phone before work. It's a strange feeling, knowing that I am being thoroughly manipulated by Apple's marketing strategy and willfully (gleefully) going along with it. Oh well.

Nice work, Apple. You have succeeded in overriding my free will. Maybe I'll take a camera to my local Apple store so I can at least justify it to myself as a kind of street-level sociology experiment. Yeah. There we go. Self respect restored.

On the bright side, I finally get to escape from by-god Sprint. And it is a well-documented fact that my current phone is not only in its death throes, but actively and spitefully scheming against me. How dare I have the audacity to make a 20-minute phone call and expect more than three hours of standby time? How dare I jostle the phone in my pocket and expect it to remain powered on? How dare I cup it between my cheek and shoulder and expect it to maintain a connection to the network?

Seriously, good riddance. Now all I need is a clever, thematically appropriate (that is to say, mythological) name for my new toy. Currently debating between Aegis (since my laptop is named Athena—goddess of technology and heroic endeavor) and Mjolnir (because Thor is freaking awesome, and I am apparently a Viking Jew).

4 o' j weekend

Went down to Santa Cruz with a friend from the Firm for the long weekend to hang out at a fancy, lovely beach house. I've said it before, I'll say it again -- California is heartbreakingly, unfairly beautiful sometimes.

It was a grand old time. Met some folks who are internet famous, spent some time with a lot of very smart people, and even got invited to write an article for Slate.com. Also? I learned how to fly a stunt kite, played (and mostly lost) countless games of pool and chess, and watched Ong Bak: The Thai Warrior at four AM. Other highlights included watching a sunset, observing the operation of a truly disturbing *redacted*, marveling at the amount of *redacted* consumed, sleeping too little, eating too much delicious food, and more nerdery than the civilian mind can stand without snapping like a Thanksgiving wishbone.

To close, a few quotations from the weekend:

"That's mathematical onanism, and that's kind of a terrible idea."

"Whoa. It's nerd dueling banjos."

"I only date girls who say they hate girls."

more pure joy - boom de yada

Be sure to note Stephen Hawking at 0:53.

Alternate between this and Where the Hell is Matt?, and you may find enlightenment.

The world is just awesome.

Added bonus: it makes this XKCD make sense.

one of the coolest things i have ever seen

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Click here for a larger version. For more information, check out WhereTheHellIsMatt.com. Be sure to read the About Matt story. The internet is an awesome and powerful thing. And the world is a beautiful place.