A couple of weeks ago I bought myself a little stovetop espresso maker. Since then, I’ve acquired a coffee grinder and some beans that don’t suck, and have been drinking pretty good, wicked strong coffee every morning. So this morning, like many before it, I went downstairs, cleaned up the various steel components, added water, added coffee, screwed the pieces together, and set it on the stove.

Ahh, I thought. With this latest adjustment to the grind setting and the correct water level in the pot, I will be getting the best coffee possible from these beans. I tasted a bean… hmm, not bad, but something a teensy bit darker and possibly more fresh might reduce the bitterness of the final result. I paused to reflect on my sophistication in conjecturing subtle relationships between inputs and outputs in a process executed daily by millions of Italian households.

The stovetop espresso maker is a cool little device. Water goes in the bottom. A funnel with a filter at the top holds the coffee grounds. As the water in the bottom chamber is heated by the stove, steam is produced. The steam, having much lower density than liquid water, creates pressure in the bottom chamber that drives the coffee up the funnel’s narrow end and then through the coffee. Then another funnel in the upper chamber leads the coffee into a holding area where it awaits trial by special coffee tribunal. Er, I mean, where you can pour it into a cup and drink it.

The whole brewing process takes about 5 minutes. Most of the time is spent waiting for the water to heat up; it only takes about a minute to gurgle through the coffee once it gets started. And here I struck on the finest, most sophisticated revelation of them all: now that I’m a certified stovetop espresso guru, I don’t need to stay in the kitchen, waiting for the first signs of incredibly dark liquid pouring to the top chamber. I could go do something else, and as long as I came back within about 3 minutes, I’d be just in time to let the brewing finish and pour myself a delicious cup of lighter fluid for my mind. So I went upstairs to read “just a couple of things” on my computer.

After about 30 minutes, I became aware of a faint burnt-coffee smell. Whoops. Perhaps I’ll be less absent-minded after I get my morning caffeine.

Yesterday I went to a dinner at RSS Labs organized in part by my friend Pito Salas. As Bela Labovitch pointed out, Brian Del Vecchio took some photos. Am I supposed to look that asymmetrical when speaking?

A good time was had by all, or at least most.

I'm thankful for a loving girlfriend; fun, caring friends and family; my health; my job; voo2do and all its users; the good old US of A; and the zillions of other things that make my life great. Like the small but excellent group of people who read my blog!

I'm not a huge fan of fireworks. Although fire is cool, expanding smiley faces in the sky don't impress me anymore. But when my girlfriend Nicole proposed that we watch the world-class Boston fireworks from a two-person kayak on the Charles river, as close to the launching barge as police would allow, it seemed like the superlative fireworks experience. Besides, even if the fireworks sucked, I'd get to zip around the Charles on a kayak and take some pictures.

We started at Charles River Canoe and Kayak, whose Boston (Brighton) location is about 7 minutes away from my house. We got there kinda late, but not late enough. After waiting in line, indemnifying CRCK from responsibility for our certain deaths, and receiving a quick lesson on how to paddle, we set off into the Charles from their dock.

Kayaking requires a lot of arm and shoulder work. Unlike a canoe, your legs lie straight along the bottom of the kayak, and do nothing except anchor your butt to the plastic seat. But for these drawbacks, you get a fairly fast and maneuverable little boat. A two-person kayak sacrifices some of the speed and maneuverability of the singular variant, but in return you get help with paddling and, depending on where you sit, either the ability to hear your companion's voice or stare at the back of her head.

It's also important to paddle in a coordinated fashion. "Whoever can steer best should be in back, and the person in front sets the pace," they taught us after we selected a $1000 plastic pod to spend the next 5 hours in. After about hour 4.2, I think these lessons clicked in and we mostly went straight and didn't have any jarring paddle collisions. (It turns out the secret is to pay attention to what's going on right in front of you. That was never an issue on the single kayaks I've used before, because mostly you want to look away from the canoes you're ramming as their inhabitants may be tempted to splash you… while they still can.)

On our way to the fireworks barge, I got rather hungry and we came to a live-parking-only dock so I could get a hot dog. The dock was seething with young men and women, in little clusters mostly discernable by shared seating towels and spoken languages. I climbed over them, still wearing my silly little life vest (seriously, the water of the Charles is great stability control) and eventually found the sausage stand. I shuddered as the last tentacles of yuppiedom clasped around my neck, and paid seven dollars yes seven whole American dollars for a sausage with peppers on a bun. Oh well, at least it was a tasty sausage. And I could return to Nicole, who was sitting pretty on a kayak in front of hundreds of increasingly drunk folks ("does that thing have a V-8? heh heh heh"). On the way out, an hispanic guy offered us some seating space and vodka, and it seemed genuinely kind and friendly, harkening to a society and culture where young strangers don't need to be afraid of each other. Of course, we already had better seats planned.

Here's where we planted ourselves: video 1, 3.6MB .avi: In front of the barge.

The fireworks themselves were surreal. Closer than I'd ever been: the explosions filled my entire field of vision, and then some. Shockingly loud. And there we were, floating in the middle of hundreds of thousand of people, paddling backward so the current didn't draw us into the restricted zone. I don't have any more words for it, so instead see video 2, 14.5MB .avi: The most amazing fireworks I've ever seen.

How did it end? Two hours of strenous paddling, strapping a kayak on foam blocks to the roof of my coupe, and 5 hours of sleep before returning the boat and heading to work. In other words, a perfect urban adventure.

It's hard to confront problems. Whether you need to honestly evaluate the status of a project, understand where someone has difficulty working with you, or just reflect on ways things could be better, it's hard to call out something as bad.

My favorite technique for working around this is to ask "if you had to change one thing, what would you change?" This makes it feel somehow more theoretical: you're under this hypothetical compulsion to call something out, without having to judge whether it's actually bad or just not quite as great. That is important in and of itself, because you want to think in terms of what alternatives and improvements may be available to you, not in absolute terms of good or bad.

So next time you want honest criticism, try asking this question. I'm especially fond of using it in job interviews and other judgment-focused situations to defuse the worry that honesty will offend.

Feel free to comment: if you could change one thing about yourself or your company, what would you change?

I vanished from Boston this blizzardy weekend, and went to Lincoln, NH to learn how to ski at Loon Mountain. I really enjoyed skiing, and although I fell a lot I think I ended up a pretty good skier for two days total experience.

Then we got home and shovelled two feet of snow out of the driveway. Which was nice, because it had been such a lazy, sedentary weekend.

Oh! I took my laptop with me in hope of finishing some of alpha 9's finishing touches, but I only got a little bit done. It's very close, but I think I need some clamoring users to help me overcome whatever bits of programmer's block remain…

I'm surprisingly excited about taking my car in for service for the first time. It's in the hands of the highly-recommended Colonial Auto Service. It's been having trouble starting, and also needs an oil change and probably new brake pads.

The trouble with starting was illustrated today in the mechanic's driveway. I drove in past a snow plow and parked where I thought he had already plowed. Once the mechanic explained that I had parked in the way, I gave him the keys and… rev rev *click*.

While I went inside to give my information to the other guy, the first mechanic was getting my car started. I think he hooked a jumper battery up to my car's battery, and eventually got the thing started. Then I watched him pull the car around, with the hood still up, with lots of wheel spinning and some sliding.

Now, this would probably scare some people, but I am quite happy to see the experts at work. What's making me feel great right now is the expectation that this evening, my car will once again be running perfectly. Probably with a new starter motor.

Update: The car has been fixed. Turns out it was the battery, not starter motor, which is good. Also, the brakes are in fine shape.

I just arrived home from a delayed and delayed and delayed flight. I was returning to Boston from Thanksgiving with my family in Cincinnati. Originally scheduled to leave at 6:55pm, my flight ended up leaving at around 9:55, putting us in Boston just before midnight.

But the delays weren't that bad. I sat at gate B34 in Cincinnati with Becky and Colleen, two other friendly young Bostonians. After the delay time was updated and we had two hours to kill, we started watching Monsters, Inc. on my laptop. We didn't finish the movie before boarding, but I caught the rest in the air. Good stuff.

Finally, after arriving in Boston to gargantuan lines for taxis, Becky's friends, who lived not far from me, offered me a ride home. For almost nothing, I got a ride home at a late hour with a fun, friendly atmosphere. So for all that, guys, thanks.

The fabric on top of my loafer's insole has been coming loose, so today I decided to try and reglue it. And what better than super glue? After I finally got the clogged lid off of the tiny tube, I squeezed glue generously onto the rubbery insole, and… it got hot and gave off some fumes (probably toxic). Perhaps this will contribute to a stronger bond.

Update: the bond seems to be holding well.

I voted for the first time today. If you can vote, do!