Self-Aggrandizement: Toys Archives

Re-disc-overy
Filed January 28, 2007 6:08 PM.

About seven years ago, when I first copied my entire CD collection to my computer, I carried out a series of blind listening tests. And, through those, I discovered that a 192kbs AAC sounded, to both my and my friends' ears, nearly on par with CD quality audio.

This afternoon, however, with city radio interference causing the music streamed from my Mac to my Airport Express to clip in and out, I defaulted back to listening to the same songs from Ye Olde CDs. And, holy crap, I don't know if we did those first listening tests on shitty stereo equipment, while exceedingly drunk or high, or simply with a more tech-friendly future-hopeful world outlook. Whatever the reason, we were ridiculously kind to those 192kbs AACs, the ones from which I've been listening to all of my music for three-quarters a decade. Because, in short, they sound nowhere, nowhere as good as the same music on CD, at least as played through a pair of Linn Tukan speakers or a pair of Etymotic ER-4P earbuds.

I realize this may soon turn me into the equivalent of the crazy old curmudgeon who still refuses to buy anything but vinyl. And, worse, I've yet to work out a way to steal music on CD rather than BitTorrent. But, regardless, for the time being, I'm sticking with it. Like most of the best music of today, it seems the best music listening of today is similarly, firmly, rooted in music's - and music technology's - past.

Hooked on Crack(Berry)
Filed October 23, 2006 8:28 PM.

Over the past four years, I've gone through six Treos. One, admittedly, I lost while making out drunk in the back of a cab. But the other five, through no fault of my own, and after merely standard smart-phone use, self-destructed in sudden, unexpected, work-derailing ways. So, this time through, when my latest Treo stopped answering incoming phone calls, I decided to look into other options. I may be slow, but eventually I catch on.

For a few weeks, I Googled cellphone reviews obsessively, and even considered leaving behind my long-loved T-Mobile (with whom I've been since their Voicestream days), in search of the perfect smartphone. Fortunately, however, the bluebird - or, rather, the BlackBerry - of happiness was in my own backyard, as I eventually settled in on the spanking new T-Mobile BlackBerry Pearl.

During my Treo years, I endured countless 'refrigerator phone' jokes, was often forced to reply, "actually, that is a phone in my pocket, and I'm not just happy to see you." So the Pearl's form factor alone was nearly enough to convert me. Thinner than a Razr, swankily silver and black, it had a look that, refreshingly, implied 'indie film hip' rather than 'corporate tech support worker not-so-much'. In fact, it didn't even include a belt clip.

And, it turns out, it works well, too. The phone sounds clear, the email functionality has been far better than the Treo's, the PDA software syncs cleanly with my Mac, the weird two-letter-to-a-key QWERTY is far, far better than I feared, and the Google Maps application has more than serviceably replaced Vindigo, a piece of software I'd previously assume I couldn't possibly live without.

Plus, as an added bonus, Jess' corporate BlackBerry is apparently attached to her like a pacemaker, allowing me to harass her via BlackBerry Messenger IM throughout the day or evening. Which is good, as we're both inexplicably semi-retarded when we speak to each other via phone.

So, in short, the BlackBerry Pearl = crazy delicious. If you're carrying any other smartphone, do your dorky self a favor, trade in for one of these suckers, and get as close as you can - while still, frankly, remaining kind of a smartphone-carrying loser - to looking at least passably cool.

Do It Yourself
Filed December 15, 2005 5:17 PM.

Four years ago, I bought a 42 inch plasma TV. At that point, plasmas were still wildly expensive, but Gateway had just inexplicably stepped into the space, and was selling one for literally thousands and thousands of dollars less than any competitor.

Beyond the cheap price, I was able to write off the entire purchase (hooray, running a film company!). So, I picked one up, and for the last four years, a giant flat screen has dominated my living room.

A few weeks back, however, that TV stopped working. It would power on and back off again, cycling endlessly. I called Gateway, who had long since given up on manufacturing TV's, and was told that the outsourced repair would cost $800, plus parts.

So, in standard idiotic style, realizing I could buy a whole new TV for not much more, and realizing that, despite the impressive size, the TV kind of sucked, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

By now, I have a lot of parts of a 42 inch plasma TV. All strewn across my living room floor. And, when I plug in the largest, screen-containing, chunk, it still endlessly powers on and back off again.

Crap.

Consumer Whore Week: Wet Wipes
Filed October 14, 2005 8:26 AM.

[Warning: this entry involves poop.]

Though once the sole province of young diaper-wearers, wet wipes have now crossed over to the adult mainstream, with companies like Charmin and Cottonelle pushing toilet-paper-sized, flushable, adult-targeted wipes.

Obviously, as a guy, my first reaction to this was extended, derisive laughter. But, urged on by a wet-wipe-evangelizing female friend, I took the standard wet-wipe challenge: wipe thoroughly with regular toilet paper, then go back for a wet-wipe pass.

The skid mark so aptly demonstrates how much you've been (quite literally) missing in the past, you'll likely end up, like me, an instant convert.

Consumer Whore Week: The Hip Flask
Filed October 12, 2005 3:10 PM.

Like the three-martini lunch, the hip flask has, sadly, fallen out of favor in these sober times. And while, if tastelessly displayed, a flask can say 'I'm an alcoholic, but an old money alcoholic', it can also be immensely practical.

For struggling artist types in a city like New York, where bar-owners have the gumption to charge $10 for drinks mixed from Popov vodka, a flask can yield far better drinking at a vastly reduced price. Further, topping off a bar-ordered coke with flasked rum, rather than (correctly) making you look like a cheap bastard, instead gives a hint of luxurious élan paired with a mischievous streak of devil-may-care.

It's outside of bars where flasks really shine, because careless designers the world over seem to have forgotten to install wet bars on commuter trains, in taxi cabs, seat-back in opera houses, or in the bathroom of your girlfriend's puritanical parents.

A few further tips: when buying a flask, steer clear of anything 'clever', decorated, or made from a material other than silver, pewter, stainless steel or leather-bound glass. Also feel free to give flasks liberally as gifts - men love them for their practicality, women for the Bond girl lifestyle they seem to imply. In either case, monogramming is a nice touch.

And, finally, as wisely observed by Tesauro & Mollod in The Modern Gentleman, "carry a flask in a breast or coat pocket; if this in not possible, you are underdressed for flasking."

Pick one up, and be prepared, wherever you happen to be, when dipsomania next hits.

Consumer Whore Week: Shure e2c and e4c
Filed October 11, 2005 3:20 PM.

Dear iPod Owners:

You are idiots. Or, at least 95% of you are. Because 95% of you are still using those little white freebie earbuds that Apple tosses in the box.

And those little white freebie earbuds suck monkey.

I won't plug the Etymotic ER-4's again here; if you'd appreciate them, you probably already own a pair.

Instead, you need something a bit more practical. Something you can haul to the gym, ride with on the subway. Something that seals out the whir of a treadmill or the screech of train tracks. Something sturdy, small, and cheap enough not to break the bank.

And, most importantly, something that sounds so good you'll kick yourself for every day you wasted listening to those little white freebie monkey-suckers Apple stuck you with.

In short, you want a pair of Shure earbuds.

The cheaper choice is their e2c, which goes for as little as $70 street.

Or, forgo the extra iPod case, armband, dock and car charger on your wish list, using the saved $100 to bump up to the Shute e4c's, which CNET's seasoned reviewers called "simply the best in-ear headphones we've ever heard."

Either way, pick up a pair, and experience actually hearing your music, like it was meant to be heard, for the very first time.

Consumer Whore Week: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser
Filed October 10, 2005 11:36 PM.

Arthur C. Clarke once observed that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic; Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser is a case in point.

Because, even as a dyed-in-the-wool tech dork, I have absolutely no clue why the Magic Eraser works. All I know is, holy crap, it does.

About the size of decks of cards, these white squishy squares don't inspire much confidence out of the box; I wouldn't even have given them a try, had a free sample not recently appeared in my mailbox.

But, as most of my family and friends can attest, I've grown increasingly anal about keeping my house scoured clean. After nearly a year in my current apartment, wear and tear had begun to show in ways that, I assumed, were only arduously reparable: dark streaks left from heavy objects banged up against white walls or dragged across wood floors; scratches in the porcelain of the bathtub and kitchen sink.

All of them resisted a parade of home-cleaning products, from Fantastik and Formula 409 to Scrubbing Bubbles and Orange Glo. None were a match for Mr. Clean and his magic erasing.

Despite it's super powers, the Magic Eraser is actually one of the easiest cleaning products I've ever used: simply rinse it in water, squeeze out the excess, then rub away any stain on pretty much anything at all. No additional cleaning agent, no preparation, just rub.

Why does it work? Is it also secretly eating away layers of my skin in the process? I don't know, and I don't care. I'm not one to look gift horses in the mouth, or gift sponges in the whatever is metaphorically equivalent to a mouth on a sponge.

These things are solid gold, though far cheaper ounce-for-ounce. Pick up a two-pack for $2.50, and observe your smile shining back off any previously crud-marred surface.

And how!
Filed October 10, 2005 10:51 PM.

After another, rather unexpected, trip out West - to lock Cyan's partnership with animation studio Blur for an indie CG film - I'm back in NYC. And, to keep me on a more regular blogging schedule, I'm kicking off Consumer Whore Week, wherein, over the next seven days, I spill the beans on a number of items you'll shortly realize you can't possibly live without.

Gentlemen, start your checkbooks.

Adjudication
Filed September 19, 2005 9:12 PM.

This weekend, the first I'd spent in New York in over a month, I set out to wade through the pile of home errands accumulated in my absence. One was a run through Duane Reade, our local drug store, to replace toothpaste and detergent and light bulbs and a basket-and-a-half of other odds and ends.

One item on the list: a new head for my Braun electric toothbrush.

For years, electric toothbrushes, like driving to the gym, struck me as pointlessly lazy. But after my mother forwarded a handful of studies demonstrating how much better electric brushing works than its manual counterpart, I broke down and bought one.

I bought the Braun in June; by July, it was broken. Or, at least, partially broken. While the on/off switch no longer worked, I inadvertently discovered that whacking the thing into the side of the sink still did. Whack once to turn it on; whack again, and it's back off.

Thrilled as I was by this discovery, I soon realized the turn-on whack also sent toothbrush-top paste flying, usually directly onto the bathroom mirror.

So, obviously, I took to applying the toothpaste directly to my teeth. A nearly flawless solution.

Still, walking down the toothbrush aisle in Duane Reade, I couldn't help but notice, next to the $9.99 replacement head, a $24.99 replacement of the entire toothbrush - head included. And, for a moment at least, I took the new Braun off the shelf, and considered leaving my sink-whacking, teeth-toothpasting days behind.

Then I realized the $15 difference also just happened to be the precise cost of two six packs of Brooklyn Lager. So, obviously, I put the new Braun back, grabbed the replacement head instead, and headed off to the liquor aisle.

It was the only rational choice.

Soothes the Savage Beast, Redux
Filed June 6, 2005 5:08 PM.

Two weekends back, as celebration for closing out Long Tail's first round of financing, I bought myself an iPod Shuffle.

Ostensibly, I bought it to take to the gym, because professional bodybuilders (a significant part of Mid City Gym's clientelle) apparently have musical taste on par with their fashion sense (way to keep Zubaz pants alive, guys!), and because my trusty 60-gig model weighs enough that I unintentionally occasionally pants myself when moving quickly while carrying it in my gym shorts pocket.

I assumed I'd still use the 60-gig outside of the gym, as I've by now filled it to near capacity with a full month of tunes. But, it turns out, even really, really long subway rides (read: going to Brooklyn) are shorter than a month. And during most of them, I put the 60-gig on shuffle anyway, chunking through unexpected swaths of my collection.

So, since I shuffle most of the time anyway, and since I tend to head out for just a few hours at a time, I decided to try taking the Shuffle with me around town, instead of its big brother.

My conclusion: the Shuffle is, well, small. Small enough to be virtually weightless, to leave no strange bulge when pocketed rather than messenger-bagged. And, most importantly, small enough to encourage me to carry it literally all the time, rather than just on certain bag-carrying long-tripping occasions.

So now, full-time, I wander the streets earphones-in. I can barely hear the sounds of the city around me, and I miss them far less than I'd have ever thought.

Geek Out
Filed April 30, 2005 4:57 PM.

I like to believe that, since entering the world of film, I've become a cooler person. In fact, just earlier today, I caught an off-Broadway play in previews, and a stellar exhibit of Larry Clark's photography at ICP.

But, just below the surface, I'm at least as dorky as ever before. That's the only explanation for, on a Friday night, showing up at Tekserve for their Tiger Launch Party, then spending the rest of the evening home alone with my laptop, installing Mac OS X Tiger. And, worst of all, for being absolutely thrilled about it.

I could say how great the new OS is, how Spotlight alone will eventually overthrow the desktop/folder file organization metaphor, and how all the other little cool bells and whistles are, to quote the Great Leader, 'insanely great'. But, frankly, most of you wouldn't care. And the ones that would, like me, have already blown a perfect stretch of prime drinking time installing it themselves.

cough Losers! cough

Inked
Filed April 12, 2005 4:58 PM.

I remember, before I knew how to drive a manual transmission, that admiring high end sports cars would leave me feeling vaguely ashamed. What right did I have to ogle a Testarosa, if I'd be completely unable to put it to good use?

After I learned how to drop the clutch like a pro, however, those feelings of guilt transfered over to high-end pens. Like expensive cars, it wasn't so much that I actually wanted to own one myself. Rather, passing through stationery or art supply stores, I couldn't help but appreciate the beautiful design inherent in a $1000 Mont Blanc, yet know my chicken-scratching would doubtless make short work of an 18 karat nib.

Back in January, appalled by the steady downhill slide of my handwriting, and increasingly unable to read my own notes just hours after I'd written them, I decided it was time to take action. So, aided by an online copy of Arrighi's Operina, I set out to learn how to write in Italics, a beautiful 16th century hybrid of cursive and print I'd long admired in Da Vinci's notebooks.

It turns out, in fact, that Italic handwriting isn't difficult to learn at all, and, once mastered, it's remarkably easy to write legibly at high speeds. The Moleskine journal I tote with me daily marks my progress - a slow transition from my prior cramped scrawl to the new smooth chirography that has become nearly habit. For the first time in my life, I have good handwriting.

So, when I stopped at a stationers last week to replace my filled Moleskine, I looked at the fountain pens a bit differently. By the register, I noticed a $15 Pelikano, and impulsively tossed it in alongside the notebook, figuring it was cheap enough to give a shot.

Sitting down at the coffee shop next door, I pulled out the new pen, pressed in an ink cartridge, and wrote my way through a first few paragraphs.

By the end of the page, I was hooked. Aqueous ink flowed effortlessly from the point, at even the slightest touch, leaving a slowly drying trail like a brush of water color paint.

And it occurred to me, dangerously, that while learning to drive manual didn't leave me jonesing for a 911 Turbo, my new handwriting - and the discovery of how well it flows from a nib - did make the Meisterstuck 149 perched in the window next door strangely appealing.

As far as my bank account is concerned, this likely doesn't end well.

gloating
Filed February 27, 2005 6:07 PM.

About three years back, on a whim, I bought a record player and started collecting LP's.

And while, for two and three quarters of those years, I enjoyed record listening immensely, it all came to an abrupt and painful end two months back, when the movers dropped my trusty Sony spinner on the way into the new apartment. Even after my best attempts at stereophonic surgery, I couldn't get the thing up and running. Which left me with a decent pile of vinyl, and absolutely no way to play it.

Though I looked briefly for a replacement, I was disappointed to discover that the record player market (small as it likely is) seems to have completely bifurcated: on one end, sub-$100 pieces of crap, on the other, $1000+ DJ specials, with pretty much nothing in between. Ah, the pain of the excluded middle!

On clever recommendation of recent house-guest Josh L., however, I today headed onto eBay in search of old Bang & Olufsen Beogram players. Bang & Olufsen! For years, I was obsessed with that company, with their beautifully designed speakers and stereo components, each one a near-perfect estimation of Danish neo-minimalism's Platonic ideal. Throughout high school, I'd walk their store in the Stanford Shopping Center, swearing that, if I ever had the cash, I'd undoubtedly buy one of their systems.

And then, amazingly, one day I did have the cash. At the high point of my dot-com swing (before the money I made turned back from actual money to paper 'money' that I'll quite plausibly never again see as actual money), I decided to buy one extravagant thing for myself, one object on which I would spend waaaaaay more than justified and not feel guilty and simply enjoy for years to come. As a musician, music lover, and aspirant audiophile, a stereo system - or, more pointedly, a B&O stereo system - seemed the only way to go.

But, wisely, my father suggested that, before I buy, I at least compare similarly priced components from other vendors. And so, with sheath of CDs in tow, I trekked from high-end audio shop to high-end audio shop, listening to speaker after speaker after speaker, trying to make sense of what made Miles Davis or Mahler or Sonic Youth sound richer or purer or kickier or whatever. By the end, I'd realized that B&O's stuff was really, really good. But some of the other vendors were putting out speakers that were leagues past 'really, really good', all the way in 'truly, astoundingly remarkable' territory.

Despite my initial Danish-driven intentions, I instead ended up detouring slightly westward in product origin, picking up a load of stuff from Irish boutique audio design company Linn. In most respects, it was one of the greatest decisions I've ever made. To this day, just dropping in a CD and hearing the first perfectly-rendered strains from those Linn speakers literally brings a smile to my face. But, at some level, I've always felt disloyal to my initial B&O intentions, have always secretly wished I could find some way to buy at least a little bit of B&O cool, if for no other reason than to impress whatever remnants of the 15-year old me still float in the dark corners of my own subconscious.

Which brings me back to today, to eBay, to searching for Bang & Olufsen Beograms, and to discovering and subsequently winning a restored Beogram 3404, for $86. For eighty-six dollars!!!! I mean, this is a record player that retailed for slightly less than $1200 of today's dollars back in 1980. Hello, 93% mark-down!

Once again, Internet, I am humbled by your power. Without you, there's no way vinyl vindication could be had so cheap.

laying off
Filed July 7, 2004 6:05 PM.

There is a tradition in Jewish households that, at Shabbat dinner on Friday night, the challah - the braided bread blessed at the start of the meal - remains covered until just before it is blessed. A centuries old story explains a possible reason: On all other nights of the week, the bread is blessed first, while on Friday night, the wine and candles take first position; the cover, then, is to prevent the challah from becoming jealous.

Previously, I always took that explanation as purely symbolic, commentary on how we should give thought to the feelings of people in our lives. But, over the last few days, I've begun to suspect the intention is more concrete - literally an attempt to keep the challah from choking us to death in spite by stopping itself partway down our gullets.

I say this because, since I mentioned in passing that I was thinking of trading in my Dell for a new Powerbook, my laptop has been deteriorating at a rather alarming clip. Outlook suddenly refuses to check email automatically. At random intervals, Windows puts itself to sleep for no reason at all. The hinge holding the screen has loosened to the point that the screen itself swings precariously as I type.

And yet, I can't be angry with my trusty C400. Not just because of the two years of solid service it's put in thus far, but also because I understand what it's trying to do. It sees the breakup coming, and it's preemptively dumping me. Or, if I'm downsizing the Windows part of my life, it's saying back, "Fire me? You can't fire me. Because I quit!"

Re-disc-overy Filed January 28, 2007 6:08 PM.

Hooked on Crack(Berry) Filed October 23, 2006 8:28 PM.

Do It Yourself Filed December 15, 2005 5:17 PM.

Consumer Whore Week: Wet Wipes Filed October 14, 2005 8:26 AM.

Consumer Whore Week: The Hip Flask Filed October 12, 2005 3:10 PM.

Consumer Whore Week: Shure e2c and e4c Filed October 11, 2005 3:20 PM.

Consumer Whore Week: Mr. Clean Magic Eraser Filed October 10, 2005 11:36 PM.

And how! Filed October 10, 2005 10:51 PM.

Adjudication Filed September 19, 2005 9:12 PM.

Soothes the Savage Beast, Redux Filed June 6, 2005 5:08 PM.

Geek Out Filed April 30, 2005 4:57 PM.

Inked Filed April 12, 2005 4:58 PM.

gloating Filed February 27, 2005 6:07 PM.

laying off Filed July 7, 2004 6:05 PM.