From James Fallows, On the Moral Splendor of the Early Adopter

I find that the early adopter mentality is widely misunderstood: Journalists going for a sociological angle on the people in line for iPads, for example, focus on a desire for status or attention, or to be first on the block. They completely miss the point. They don’t understand that the desire is for the thing itself and for what it can do; that we imagined this device before it was announced; that we’re constantly bumping up against the limitations of what’s available today; and that when these things finally appear in stores, we say “At last!” And then we buy them, and use them, and immediately get frustrated with its shortcomings and start waiting for the day when the next model comes out.

I hated using my iPhone in public when it was still considered new, and I still do not like using my iPad where other people might see it. You might not believe me, but I really do not care about the status or attention. I just wanna do cool stuff with it.

The quote explains a little bit more eloquently why I care: “we imagined this device before it was announced”. Well, that’s not totally true, I could imagine the device only once I had experienced the iPhone and the iPad was announced by Jobs. But then my imagination took off. I was already going paperless, and this would be the final piece to the puzzle. With the iPad, I now have at all times all my journal articles and academic e-books with me, I can annotate them using my finger, and I can feed these annotations back into a database so I can search for them when I need to write. It beats having to carry around a stack of papers, and it is a relief that I no longer have to go through stacks and boxes of papers just because I misremembered where I read that one particular quote I needed for my paper. That’s not to say that the iPad is perfect (really, what is?). I get the arguments against it (a closed system governed by a system best described as enlightened dictatorship, the case against generativity). But it also is truly transformative for how I manage my research and practice my writing.

People who are still asking “So what is the Ipad for?” or suggesting that it is just a bigger iPhone, even though it now has been out two months? Sorry, but maybe that’s just a lack of imagination.

Kobe is the best kloser in the game. Case Klosed.

I happen to like Vitamin Water too.

Gorgeous. His work is featured on the cover of Giant Robot issue 65 and includes an interview with the artist as well.

Decided to buzz my head.

I remember how surprised I was the first time I saw you. We were in the living room of my parent’s home. We heard the sounds of someone coming down. We turned around and it was you, with a smile so bright, so full of life.

It wasn’t until later that I found out that the smile was hiding a deeper sorrow, a heartache caused by a breakup. But by then, I already had fallen hard for you, and you, unknowingly or not, shattered my heart in return.

I am in my room, sitting on my bed, with a book in my hand, probably a Murakami. A few days before Christmas, it is cold, but the house is alive, with all its family members back, filled with excitement of hosting new guests.

I hear steps coming up to my room. It is you. You ask if you can come in. You ask if you can borrow a book from me. Surprised, but pleasantly so, we start talking. We sit down on the thick carpet of my floor, lean against my bed, and before I know it, we are talking about all the important things in life that people talk about when they first get to know each other – with an understated tension, but a spark of unanticipated excitement.

At some point, you fall asleep in my lap. I am frozen. “Does she like me?” “What does this mean?” “What do I do?” “What am I supposed to do?”. I decide to gently lift and hold you in my arms, carry you to my bed and cover you with a blanket. I look at your face for a long time, serene but so fragile. In amazement of this small miracle. Afraid you will wake up, because I don’t want this moment to end. My finger tracing your neck, thinking I discovered the secret of life. I sit on my bed, next to your side, and guard you, until I forget time.

Hours later, you are up and we are sitting on my bed – a comfortable silence and conversation, deep in the night. And then, there is the blackout. “This can’t be for real”. Sensible as you are, you suggest to look for candles. I go down and come back, you light them. A faint and soft glow envelops the room. We continue our talk, and at some point I mention to you that I don’t know how to tie a tie. You tell me how you used to help your grandpa on Sunday. You look up and ask me if I have a tie, and I hand you one. You get up and sit close behind me. You slowly wrap your arms around me, softly whisper in my ear, gently show and teach me, how to tie a tie.

Days later, and you left. Snow fell the day after, as if to erase the footprints in my memories. Faintly, I still hear you knocking on my door, asking if you can come in.

As if snow was falling in April.

Ever since Armin introduced us to Dash Berlin in his already classic Universal Religion 3 set played at Ibiza, I have been following them, hoping for more killer tracks like Till the Sky Falls Down, which was on my repeat list for pretty much the whole year of 2008 and a track I still often listen to.

To my surprise, Dash Berlin actually came out with a /whole album/ full of great tracks. That is pretty rare. Needless to say, I recommend their album “The New Daylight”, that is, if you are into this kind of music. Check out the clip, vocals provided by the awesome Sarah Howells.

There’s always more to see behind your eyes
..
You’re peaceful, impatient
You take all of the chaos in your stride
..
I’ll never let you see what’s in my mind
‘Cause I believe, believe, believe in you
..
And in time be away from here away with you
And I, I will be there to comfort you
‘Cause I believe, believe, believe in you

Interested in the song?

It’s 6pm. I’m sitting in my chair, with a book. I look out the window, and listen to the cars drive by, drifting away in distance.

I imagine we’re walking on the streets, your hand in mine. The sun is setting, radiating a slow golden glow that covers the city, the trees and the streets. Life slows down, and we are no longer in a rush. The occasional talk. Silently smiling at me with your eyes. So natural, yet so extraordinary at the same time. Your hands feel soft. And the world is made just for you and me. Melodies in my head, playing the soundtrack of our life. As time goes by.

Standing in front of the door, I remember the feeling of coming back home.

I walk in the building, greet the concierge, go into the elevator, anxiously wait for it to go up to the thirteenth floor. The cranky elevator takes it sweet time, every time, no exception. But then I am there, in front of the door. And I know you are behind that door. Waiting for me to come home. I no longer have to come home to an empty space, unlit and dark, curtains drawn, cold, with only the walls speaking to me.

You are lying on the couch, book in hand, covered with a blanket, soft music playing. You hear the sound of the key turning, the door opening, and you look up from your book to greet me, a smile understated from the outside but so warm from the inside. I walk over to you and I give you a hug. Your hair smells nice, you must have just showered. I rest my head on your shoulders for a bit. You stroke my hair, and ask me if it was a long day. I nod, close my eyes and feel the tension flow out of my body, finally home.

Listening to Bobina – Invisible Touch (Ferry Corsten remix) on a very early Sunday morning. Been writing steadily the past few weeks, getting up early, making a pot of tea, putting my headphones on. (I got new headphones!)

The graphic in the YouTube video reminds me of the awesome wallpapers at DeskTopography.

“There exists in our society a widespread fear of judging … [B]ehind the unwillingness to judge lurks the suspicion that no one is a free agent, and hence the doubt that anyone is responsible or could be expected to answer for what he has done… . Who am I to judge? actually means We’re all alike, equally bad, and those who try, or pretend that they try, to remain halfway decent are either saints or hypocrites, and in either case should leave us alone. Hence the huge outcry the moment anyone fixes specific blame on some particular person.”

Arendt argues we shouldn’t be afraid to judge. That to judge is to tell good from bad. That it prevents us from falling in the trap of “thoughtlessness”. That to judge is a moral responsibility. And in order to judge responsibly, that we owe it to ourselves to train our imagination to go visiting, to see all sides of a problem as if they were our own.