Bike the Drive pics I am too cheap to pay for

I get emails from the Chicagoland Bicycling Federation with offers to buy pictures they took of me from Bike the Drive, the Memorial Day event where they close off Lakeshore Drive for five delicious hours and allow bicyclists to turn it into their personal pedal-powered paradise, a description that is almost too illiterative to allow to live but which I am leaving in because it's exactly that annoying to receive these emails. They're a kind of betrayal. First, although they strongly encourage you to sign up for Bike the Drive and pay your $40+ fee for the privilege of not choking on petrol fumes, and even deliver a t-shirt and number to stick on your helmet, they hardly enforce the helmet sticker on the road. (I'm told you need one for rest stops, which I took advantage of when I got to the southern end of the course, at the Museum of Science and Industry at 57th Street, so perhaps they're at least good for two bananas, a fig newton and lemonade, especially if you didn't think ahead and bring water or sustenance.) The sticker is there, I must then surmise, so they can photograph and identify the bicyclists, photos which they then turn around and sell to said cyclists. I apologize for the second round of alliteration. That stuff gets in your blood something fierce. That leads me to second: I didn't ask to be photographed, and it's not like I could have opted out when they had at least four photographers at different ends of the course. Do I look like the poster boy for Chicacoland cycling here, with my wraparound sunglasses, uncool helmet and fold up bike at six o'clock on a Sunday morning? No? Well, safety demands my picture be taken just in case of... well, JUST IN CASE.

Third, these photographs aren't cheap, and the Chicagoland Bicycling Federation already have my money, which they took from me in order to charge me more money for photographs I didn't ask them for. Sounds like capitalism at work. The only way it could get better is if at rest stops they only sold me bananas with pictures of me on them eating other bananas. On second thought, perhaps it's best not to give them ideas.

I really do like the idea of photographs, even if I think I look like I've been photoshopped onto the bike I'm riding. It would just be so much cooler if they included the photos in the price of the event. Afterwards, instead of them pushing emails out to all participants with offers to sell them photographs, they send out gentle reminders that, hey, we all had fun, didn't we? And, by the by, you can download pictures of yourselves from our website... look for them by your helmet number, which we've handily catalogued using the same OCR that turns your scans into an editable Word document.

Like so many things technological, this is so much easier in my mind than in actual practice. Still worth doing, though.

Bran Sammich

As part of what feels like their neverending kindness to us, my Aunt
Ellen and Uncle Dave offered us their basement to sleep in after the
day's festivities on the Fourth. We like their basement. For one, it's
verboten to the dogs, so we don't have to worry about one of us
getting up to use the bathroom only to find the other smothered under
doggy paws and kisses. For two, it is almost completely dark, which of
course satisfies the part of me that looks for places to hide when the
zombie apocalypse strikes. The undead would never think to look for me
here! Now as long as I train myself never to need food or water, I can
outlast the dead and repopulate the earth with my wife. Taxes? Never
again!*

Dave and Ellen even went so far as to buy a new air mattress when they
pulled their old ones out of storage and found out both of them
leaked. Dave was off walking Charlie and Wylie, the dogs, so Ellen,
Brandi and I dragged everything out of the box to see how it fit
together. The mattress was straightforward, albeit a little tight in
the space. The inflating agent, as Ellen explained, was a little
nonstandard: a vacuum cleaner from the 1950s that reversed flow by
detaching the hose from one end of the fire extinguisher-like cylinder
and attaching it to the other end. This was completely baffling to us,
so we waited for Dave et al to return. The final setup also involved
jamming the hose into a funnel, itself stuck into the valve of the
mattress. It worked surprisingly well. Inflation took just a few
moments.

And then we knew we had a problem.

Dave insisted it happened when he twisted the now-full mattress away
from the entertainment center, gouging a hole in the side. I worried
it was my fault, unfurling it so close to the entertainment center in
the first place. Either would do cause the wave of air we felt washing
over our faces. Thinking quickly, Dave found a roll of duct tape and
slapped a pair of patches over the tear. "Air is like water," he
explained. "It finds places to go." The tape, he hoped, would be
secure enough to hold the mattress until morning. Just to be kind, he
filled the mattress again. We went upstairs to spend some family time
and put the matter out of our minds.

When we came back, the mattress was already partially-deflated. Brandi
sat back on it and bravely decided to sleep on it. A quick test showed
that both of us would probably suffocate if we tried to sleep side by
side; the curvature of the mattress took us both in the center,
leading to collission and probable tragedy. I took the couch.
Surprisingly comfortable, I slept through the night, waking only once
because it was so dark I couldn't figure out where the hell I was. In
the morning, though, Brandi's mattress was flat as a pancake. Somehow,
my wife slept through the whole thing. Nice work, dear!

That day, and without explanation, Dave took the mattress back for a
full refund.

* Except a death tax that would only apply if you were dead, still
working and had a social security number. And in this case, by "tax" I
mean "bullet to the brain pan."

Fourth of Julawesome

Brandi and I drove down to Columbus the morning of July 4th so we
could Represent (and, not coincidentally, Keep It Real) at the family
picnic hosted by my cousin Sandy. This is the branch of the family
that looks the most fractal: my grandmother and her sister each had
boatloads of kids, although Gabby Hefner stopped at six, Patty Eckel
went on to have twice that many. Now, so many years later, not only
have those kids had kids, but those grandkids--my generation,
approximately--are also having kids. Sandy does a great job
controlling what would otherwise be mass chaos. Parking is on the
lawn. Kids play on the driveway with hand-me-downs or toys Sandy buys
from garage sales, and everyone brings a dish, most often homemade. We
punted, preferring to bring two of Jewel Osco's enormous frosting-
covered chocolate chip cookies (actually, three, but it appears there
was some snacking on the drive down), but nobody seemed to mind.

It was nice to see the family again. Last December, we lost my
grandfather to pancreatic cancer, and, while that was a sad and trying
time for some--my mom, aunt and grandmother particularly--what they
say about weddings and funerals is nearly as inevitable as death and
taxes. They brought us together. I looked forward to the rematch. Of
course, trying to remember names stretched my limited brain pan to the
limit, as it always has, but my Uncle Dave clued me in to a trick that
part of the family uses to at least pretend familiarity: call everyone
"buddy." It works, too!

At least, nobody felt like calling me out on it.

At the end of the night, all the firefighters (there are four) trudge
off to the middle of Sandy's DEEEEP backyard and light off fireworks
like you would not believe. The kids get glow necklaces to add to
their glow-in-the-dark temporary tattoos and everybody "ooh"s and
"ah"s for the next twenty minutes.

Here, Brandi and my nephews Hogan and Nolan look at pictures of the
fireworks on Brandi's phone. The day was simply so fabulous, we could
not possibly cram in more fun.

So the next day we drove back to Chicago. AND finished off the big
cookie.

More Geekery

Today, I:

• Installed the iPhone 2.0 software on my phone, one day early, using the direct download link and following instructions carefully.
• Downloaded and tried out many new, free iPhone applications. Man, when just the freeware for a phone rocks this hard, I cannot even imagine what the applications are going to look like going forward.
• Loaded my fourth OS onto my MacBook. Following the installation of the new hard drive and the extra 160 GB capacity it gave me, I added Ubuntu and, now, Vista to my collection of emulated operating systems. Soon enough, I'll hopefully install software as well. This, more than anything else, is what I think the future will look like.
• Ordered DSL for my mom, hopefully setting in motion a crazy, half-baked plan to free her from the MSN dialup to which she's been chained (at my behest, originally) for the last seven years.
• Had several writing idea I think are worth pursuing. I can't wait to wade through the ideal-muck, as it were, to see what comes up. For now, consider this a teaser for cool things to come.

Today was a good day, a geeky day.

In prase of Torx

Brandi's four-plus-year-old computer bummed her out. It crashed all the time. It ran out of memory: 512 MB RAM might look great in 2004, but in 2008 it feels a little like a corset: quaint and painfully tight. Every time she used Photoshop she would get an error indicating the hard drive was full. The page file (the bit of the hard drive Photoshop uses to store all of your previous versions, so you can go backwards through 20 or more changes) took up all the remaining space. Brandi would get upset; I would get upset that I didn't have time to deal with the crisis, hard words would be exchanged and, inevitably, the feelings of a 6 lb lump of plastic would get hurt.

Well, the week before last, I took matters in my own hands with her iBook, stripping down the machine into its motherboard, plastic casing, aluminum inner casing, and about 50 screws, all of which I carefully labeled and most of which I returned to their proper positions. (There are always parts left over.) Eventually, I replaced the 40 GB hard drive with a much newer 160 GB hard drive that I DARE my wife to fill up before the computer dies. And the one mystery screw? No worries. If the remaining 49 don't hold the machine together, natural laws are meaningless and we all have moments to live anyhow. Luckily for us all, so far they have.

Well, this little daylong project (about 3 hours of screws plus another 2 of hard drive copying), gave me confidence for my Macbook. In the intervening two years between the sale of Brandi's computer and the advent of mine, Apple took it upon itself to reinvent the way users accessed the guts of its machines. So all it took to get to the hard drive of mine was the removal of the battery and a small cover inside the battery slot, about fifteen fewer steps. I had done it before, for fun. (I'm insane.) All I needed to do it yesterday was the proper hard drive.

This was my first great big, "Aha!" in a while. Last Christmas, I got a tiny portable external hard drive from Brandi's father. It looked a lot like a 2.5" hard drive in a plastic enclosure, but how best to tell? Brandi's computer taught me that sometimes equipment manufacturers just use plastic clips to tie everything together, and that the proper torque might pop them open without breaking them. It was a risk, though, so I practiced at work with another version of the drive I'd asked for from my supervisors. (I love these drives. I'm also insane.) I got it open with a minimum of breakage, and, what was more, the guts of the drive were a 2.5" SATA hard drive, exactly the same kind of drive as inside of my laptop.

So it was with great excitement that I fired up "SuperDuper," a cool program for cloning an Apple machine to another drive, set it running, and, three hours later, performed my second Apple brain transplant. It worked! I'm typing on the new/old computer at this very moment!

Only a few questions remain at this point:

• Does the new drive use more power or less? Will I take a hit on battery life because of it?
• I used to edit video off the external drive, and I assume connecting it more directly to the motherboard will increase throughput, but will access time beat the old drive?
• What to do with all that space? I used to liken hard drive space to that of a warehouse, but with warehouses, you can calculate space at a glance. Empty hard drives are like digital clocks versus analog clocks: harder to quantify. Very likely some of that space will be virtualization software. I've been dying to load Ubuntu on the Macbook for a while, and my job sometimes takes me into Vista territory, so now might be my chance.
• Do I get any geek cred for this? Probably not for hard drive replacement, but for guessing that Western Digital packed a standard SATA inside a plastic enclosure, then ripping everything open? Come on, don't I deserve at least a little?

Oh, and the Torx? A couple of years ago when I wanted to build my picture frame computer, I bought a pair of Torx screwdrivers to disassemble the lid of my old PowerBook. At the time, I thought, "That's $15 wasted. When the hell will I ever need to use these again?"

Now I've used them again, in the last 24 hours, not once but TWICE. Thank you, Torx.