What are you listening to?

Josh is the smartest person I know. He started building computers in the 80s, when he was in elementary school. For fun. When he was at school, he was a hot commodity. My mom would show up in the office to pick him up for appointments and what not, and nobody would know where he was. He would be all over the building fixing the teachers’ computers. This was before school systems had tech people; they used to come get him out of class to help them.

He knows everything there is to know about hardware, software and networking. He’s completely self-taught; I used to get so frustrated, because the material that I was trying so hard to learn in college just came naturally to him. I don’t think anything has ever come to me that easily.

From the time he was little, he’d been building and wiring things. Legos and Construx were his best friends. When he was about 10, a trip to the county fair changed his life. He was stuck on top of the Double Ferris Wheel for almost two hours, I think. Our folks were freaked out, but Josh was in heaven. Those two hours changed his life. From that point on, it was all about carnival rides for him. He would spend hours, days, building these rides out of Construx. Then, he would wire them to a transformer and add lights and movement through the joints of the toys. It was amazing. He had created miniature replicas, sometimes 4 feet tall.

Life wasn’t ever easy for him. He was bored in school, so they tried their hardest to label him with a learning disability. They said he needed counseling. Really, he was smarter than all of them, and they didn’t know what to do with him. He powered through that with support from our parents, but it didn’t get easier. He was different. Kids used to make fun of him, because they didn’t understand him either. There were a few times in our life where I was the one defending my big brother. (I once backhanded a neighbor kid across the face; his dad pulled him to our doorstep in a Radio Flyer so that my mom could see the hand print I had left on his face. He deserved it.)

He got through junior high with a struggle, and then came high school. And freedom. And a car. He met some true friends who loved him for who he was, and I think that’s how he got through high school. His summers, of course, were spent at the county fair. For the first three weeks in August, we didn’t see him unless we went looking for him.

He had no plans to go to college after graduation; it just didn’t interest him. After 12 years of being bored, being misunderstood, being forced to learn things that he already knew or wasn’t interested in, why volunteer for four more years? I can understand his logic, and his decision. So that summer after graduation in 1995, he left with the fair and the carnival rides. Nothing else has ever made him that happy.

I think what he loved about the fair and the carnival rides was the fact that he could do something that he truly loved to do, that made other people happy. People were waiting in line for him to show them a good time. And it was satisfying to him.

He’s never been concerned with material things, ever. A paycheck doesn’t mean anything if he’s not happy earning it. And if he’s doing something he loves, he’ll do it for free, or for a trailer to live in or a car to sleep in. Sometimes he would come home at the end of the season without any clothes but the ones on his back, and his shoes would have holes in the bottoms of them. But he was happy. I’ve always accepted this with love and amazement; how can you not be proud of someone who only wants to be happy, and make other people happy?

I don’t ever talk about my brother, because I’m too afraid of what other people think. There’s so much judgment, and too many stereotypes, and I don’t think I can handle what people will say. The truth is that he’s a carny, but that’s just a word. He knows everything about everything. He has a huge heart, and a great sense of humor. He loves music and animals. He makes the best homemade spaghetti sauce in the world. I’m lucky if I see him once a year. And I’m lucky he’s my big brother.

Originally published on November 26, 2007

So. Apparently I’m the last person in the world to see this, judging by the ten million views in the last week. Better late than never, right? Right. I followed a link following a link, and the next thing I knew I was dropping big stupid happy-tears on my keyboard. There may have been a sob or two. Don’t judge.

I hit play, and Mark said, “What is that?” Then he looked at me and said, “Ooooh. You must be watching that wedding thing.” It was The Ugly Cry that gave me away. Something about choreographed dancing gets me EVERY TIME. Add in a side of wedding bliss, and I’m a goner. Happiness makes me happy, moves me to tears. And dancing is happy. Shut up.

I’d embed the video, but embedding is disabled on YouTube. So you have to go watch it there. Then come back and tell me you had The Ugly Cry too. Or at least a tear…

(Because I’m gangsta’.)

(Which always surprises people. Ask Barbara.)

Sunday I was driving to my in-laws’ for dinner, and could not find anything worth listening to on the radio. I was a channel flipper, which is so NOT ME, because I can always find something worth listening to. (I was pissing myself off with the rapid-fire tuner-skipping,  I don’t know how Mark sat quietly through that.) I love music, all music. It’s not like there weren’t any good jams, there just wasn’t anything right for my mood just then. Does that happen to everyone? 18 pre-sets, and nothing worthy of my time. 

And then, like an answer from the heavens, there it was on 107.5. (WGCI CHICAGO HOLLA!)

Dr. Dre saved the day. Sigh.

Anyway! Choreographed dance scenes! Right.

This has been sitting in my inbox for a week. I’m not ashamed to say it made me so happy that I may have cried a little when I watched it just now.

It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone if you want to cry a little, too. Get it off your shoulders. You’ll feel better, I promise.

The goals of “understanding humanity” and “humanizing robots” are tightly related to each other. Infanoid Project is trying to relate robotics to human sciences in order to understand the underlying mechanism of social communication specific to humans and some species of primates.

Early communication between a child and caregiver is mainly embodied through touch and eye-contact. By investigating the developmental mechanism of the embodied interaction, we are trying to study the core human communication capabilities and design principles for future info-communication systems with which we can make symbiotic relationships.

Currently, we are implementing the social development on these robots; also we are observing and analyzing how human children interact with these robots. We believe these two complementary activities will help us to model social communication and its development during the first years of life. In addition, we are transferring the research outcomes to our society by utilizing the robots in the remedy for children with developmental disorders and by organizing a series of international academic workshops “Epigenetic Robotics”.

Cool, yeah. But also? IT DANCES.

This morning, as I was trying to get out the door, just about everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.

I bribed my department into starting an hour early by promising them McD’s breakfast this morning . We were all going to come in at 8, eat, and hit it. I was ready to walk out the door on time at 7:30, but couldn’t find my belt. Because I didn’t want to fight the plumber-look all day and I only have one belt, I had to tear shit up looking for it. (Found it.) Then the cat yakked on the carpet, and I had the privilege of cleaning that up. Then when I did get out the door, I realized I didn’t have any cash and would have to stop for that too. Except… (wait for it) …I left my debit card on the coffee table. Then I had to grab stuff for our lunches (which ended up being Hot Pockets, jello, pistachios, applesauce, dried fruit and a turkey-and-stuffing-freezer-dinner) before running out the door a third time. I was 30 minutes late. I hate being late.

I knew that it couldn’t possibly get any worse, so I was going to have a great day. Right? How could it get any worse?

Then, my BFF called to tell me that her gramps, just diagnosed with lung cancer this week, had a seizure and ‘coded’ earlier in the morning. Wow. So, I’m an asshole. He’s stable now, thank God.

My husband’s response to my email, wherein I declare myself a horrible person for saying the day couldn’t get any worse:

When you said that the day couldn’t get any worse, you were referring only to the specific context of being unprepared to meet the day in the way that you would have liked.

In the existential sense, it can always be worse. That goes without saying and is generally omitted when we refer colloquially to the course of our lives.

So, you’re off the hook, basically.

This is only one of the reasons why my husband is perfect. Tonight when I got home (at the end of a day that got increasingly worse), he hugged me, parked me in front of my computer, put a popsicle in my hand, and hooked my iPod into the Bose stereo where now I’m listening to Jose Gonzales. I’m so lucky.

And, tomorrow will be better.

But first, in honor of the holiday weekend, this one’s for mama.

.: Me and mom, summer 1979

Oh, I’m so angry. Look at my angry, angry eyes.

What?

I had to wait a couple hours for the explanation, which was, “Oh, that? I built a Ziggurat. With the pillows. You know, so the kitty couldn’t mess up the curtains.” Oh, ok. Silly me!

On another note: two JayZ references in five days and four posts. This must be some kind of a record for an almost 30-year-old white girl from the burbs. Love!

.: Jack Johnson . Bubble Toes
.: The Postal Service . This Place is a Prison
.: Van Morrison . Everyone
.: JayZ . 99 Problems <—- This is my jam, yo.
.: (cough)NickLachey(cough) . What’s Left of Me
.: Sinead O’Connor . Success has Made a Failure of our Home
.: Bob Dylan . You’re a Big Girl Now
.: The Band . Acadian Driftwood
.: John Mayer Trio . Wait Until Tomorrow
.: Belle & Sebastian . The State That I Am In
.: Ft. Minor . Slip (This is more embarrassing than Nick Lachey)
.: Death Cab For Cutie . Company Calls
.: The White Stripes . Little Acorns
.: Maybe I’m Amazed . Jem
.: Ben Kweller . Dienu