Justin Beere
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Info
- SummaryI'm a Marketing and Communications veteran recently transplanted to San Francisco. Currently I do MarCom work at Hey, Neighbor! and write about startups for WIRED Digital. Interested in joining a young MarCom department at a company that makes something cool. Also interested in t-shirts, Giants baseball, and beer tasting.Specialties: Multi-media tools, Mac environment, writing, public speaking, work ethic and client rapport.Experience
- Jun 2011 - PresentMarketing/Communications / Hey, Neighbor!Hey, Neighbor! is a social networking startup that connects neighbors who may not otherwise know each other, and gives them tools to easily exchange favors, announcements, goods and services.
- Apr 2011 - PresentFreelance Contributor / Wired DigitalI curate two weekly blogs for the WIRED Insider blog initiative. My topics include startups, mobile apps, social networking, tech culture, sports technology, and cool backpacks.
•Concept story ideas, write twice-daily creative blog posts, and execute graphic design for each post.
•Collaborate with WIRED branding department on cross-promotion of online and print content.
•Twice-weekly deadlines met every Friday and Sunday.
•Topics include mobile apps, web apps, startup culture, and social media. - Jan 2005 - Dec 2010Project Manager/Apprentice / The Whitehouse•Coordinated multidisciplinary teams made up of ad agency, business affairs, and technical personnel to deliver finished TV broadcast content.
•Production credit on hundreds of award-winning national campaigns for clients such as Nike, Lexus, Land Rover, T-Mobile, McDonald’s, and Intel.
•Averaged one completed national broadcast campaign per month in a high-tempo, client-facing environment of constant surprises and frequent 60+ hour work weeks.
•Project liaison responsible for linking offsite vendors with each other and with our in-house team.
•Managed all data and shared files for our clients, and advised clients based on realtime data analysis.
•Achieved expert-level knowledge of industry software and best practices in less than 2 years. - Sept 2006 - Jun 2008Co-founder / DeviceNineSix, Inc.Co-founder, Customer Service Lead and Chief Graphics Engineer for startup laser-etching company.
•Specializing in custom artwork for Apple laptops, iPods, and iPhones.
•Featured on Gizmodo.com, Coolhunting.com, and in the book Rough Guide to the iPhone (Penguin, 2007). - Nov 2001 - Dec 2003Vault Manager/Post Producer / Tool of North AmericaCommercial Production
- Jul 2000 - Aug 2001Assistant to Vice President / American ZoetropeDevelopment Assistant
- May 1998 - Jul 2000Development Intern / New Line Cinema•Script coordinator and general intern for the development department.
•Organized weekend reads for all executives.
•Wrote coverage on incoming scripts.
•Sat in on weekly development meetings.
•Sat in on story meetings.
•Filled in for assistants on executive desks, including the President of Production.
Education-
1996 - 2000University of California, Los AngelesB.A. in Mass Communications
Activities: Men's Lacrosse Sigma Alpha Epsilon Fraternity
Additional Information-
Websites:
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Interests:Social Networking, Amateur Investing, Unusual Vacations, Nonfiction, Skiiing, Jiu Jitsu, and shopping for t-shirts.
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Tweets
- Jesus Christ. http://t.co/zwKfNYMX
- Wine tasting with @digmonster, @JoshDrinksWine, and @CollierFalls at #zinfest #FB http://t.co/FydLc13C
- In vino veritas (with Yoni, Josh, and Barry at @theZinfandelOrg) — http://t.co/c51TNifN
- Just gave @Everlane a test run with a t-shirt order. Results to come...
- Tool. Lush. Warpaint. All three bands have a song called "Undertow", and all three of those Undertows are pay-worthy.
- Insufferable (in•suf•fer•a•ble) adjective People who give advice on "how to optimize the ROI on your day." #lifehacks
- 19. That's the number of browser tabs that will fit across a full-size Safari window open on a 17-inch MBPro. #safari
- Getting sunny in a hurry today. Nice one SF!
- Absolutely chilling conclusion to this #longreads @NYTmag piece on Israel and Iran. http://t.co/faoAriEA #FB
- Enjoying today's "take the piss out of #lifehacks" twitter-bration.
- Thank you internet! —— Apple iOS Fabric (Linen) Texture http://t.co/dUBXnYHv via @ormanclark
- Alright Twitter feed, if all you've got for me is a litany of boring ways to frame Apple's earnings report, you're done for today.
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Checkins
- Mamacita2317 Chestnut St
- ZAP Grand Tasting 2012The Concourse
- Country Sky Chinese Cuisine3321 Steiner St
- Kwarter Inc.181 Fremont St
- Little Chihuahua292 Divisadero St
- Oakland International Airport (OAK)1 Airport Dr
- T.G.I. Friday'sTerminal Way
- Sherman's Deli & Bakery73-161 Country Club Dr
- Costco72-800 Dinah Shore Dr
- Ontario International Airport (ONT)2500 East Airport Dr.
- Oakland International Airport (OAK)1 Airport Dr
- Kwarter Inc.181 Fremont St
- Rocketspace181 Fremont St
- the Grove2250 Chestnut St
- Balboa Cafe3199 Fillmore St
- Candlestick Park490 Jamestown Ave.
- Paragon Restaurant & Bar701 2nd St
- Rocketspace181 Fremont St
- Street restaurant2141 Polk St
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Status
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Posts
- Sep 19, 11
Very well-kept cemetery here in Varese. Low chance of zombie catastrophe.
- Sep 15, 11
If today's flight from SFO to Amsterdam were equipped with WiFi, I would've live-tweeted the whole thing. Alas, no WiFi. Usually quick to accept defeat, I pressed on for some reason and tweeted to myself, figuring I'd just make a blog post out of it. Wham. It's a tape-delayed TweetBlog!
No WiFi onboard KLM. I'll just keep an offline tweet log and dole them out afterwards. This is jb, reporting from #KLM606, seat 15E.
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I've chosen to upgrade to "economy comfort." The benefits are as follows:
10cm extra legroom.
free drinks.
#KLM606
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My row-mate just got up. Now's my chance to steal back the middle armrest. It's my time now. #KLM606
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He heads back to seat and I immediately relinquish middle armrest territory. I'm not built for mid-air confrontation. #KLM606
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Ok, one episode of Parks n' Rec from the KLM entertainment center, then it's work time. #KLM606
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I'm forcibly making myself smaller to accommodate this glaring space deficit between us. He pretends not to notice. #KLM606
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Just as my computer comes out, the dinner cart appears on the horizon. One more episode while I eat. #KLM606
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I'll have the beef please. And another tiny bottle of that lovely sauvignon blanc you're serving. #KLM606
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This X-Men movie is just a straight-up, well-made origin story. Also, January Jones wearing outfits. #KLM606
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Flight attendants look on impotently as I'm further marginalized in this tiny chair.
#KLM606
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This guy's leg is touching my leg now. He's crossed the no-fly zone and is into Justin airspace. Do I have permission to fire? #KLM606
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Great. This idiot just shifted in his sleep and turned on his seat light. Attendant approaching to reprimand us. #KLM606
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RANDOM: Why do I always feel the need to capitalize elements of the periodic table when I'm writing them? Just seems like they deserve capitalization, no? #KLM606
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I've just been presented with a small tub of Dutch Chocolate ice cream. My plan to deal with row-mate's encroachment is on hold. #KLM606
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Is anybody else still drinking? Is it weird for me to ask for another bottle of wine while all the lights are out? #KLM606
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Either it's 9:30pm PST and I'm responsibly enjoying more wine, or it's 6:30am in Milan and I'm drinking alone in the dark.
#KLM606
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Enemy may have glanced at my screen as I typed out another armrest update. Mentally preparing for combat. #KLM606
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Armrest! Armrest! He crossed his arms while asleep and I snuck right in there! I've got dual-elbow comfort! #KLM606
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Dammit to HELL. I moved my left arm for ONE SECOND to grab my headphones and he re-took center armrest. I've never felt so demoralized. #KLM606
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Not only that, but he actually gained more ground. Elbow now all the way over into my area. He is the Israel to my Palestine. #KLM606
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Just shoved his arm over while he was asleep. Source Code feels like it's worth a re-watch. #KLM606
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Pretending not to notice that row-mate enemy just spilled his whole breakfast tray into his lap. I think he can feel me smiling inside. #KLM606
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Ladies and gentlemen as we make our final descent, please rock out to Bibio. #KLM606
- Mar 12, 11
- Feb 14, 11
One of the nice little extras that's unique to Flavors is the ability to save custom backgrounds and color palettes. Why is this good? Well, say you've designed your Flavors page with all kinds of specific colors that go with a particular background photo. It matches perfectly and everything is just the way you like it. But if you're like me, you'll get antsy and start messing around with your design again, and before long everything is scrambled into a big mess. Now you're really wishing you had your old design back the way it was. This is where saved backgrounds and color palettes can save the day.
Next time you upload a new background for your Flavors page, notice what happens in the Backgrounds panel of the Design Panel. Your new image is automatically laid out on your page, and thumbnails for both the new background and the old one are now available in the Backgrounds panel. Just click on the old thumbnail and your background image goes back the way it was. That little red "x" in the top right lets you delete a saved background from the panel should you ever decide to clean a little house.
Same thing goes for the Colors panel. Next time you're configuring a new color scheme for your site, make sure to click the "Save your palette" button there at the bottom of the panel. A text box will pop up prompting you to name your saved palette. Once that's entered, your new palette will now be displayed at the top of the list under the "Palettes" tab in the Color panel. Check out the short demo below to see those features in action, I promise it'll make sense.
With custom backgrounds and palettes, you can experiment with a Flavors design until your heart's content, without worrying about losing your original masterpiece.
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- Jan 27, 11
One nice thing about taking a break from work is being able to say yes to anything with little or no notice. This morning a couple of guys I train with decided to go to Denny's when we were done and asked me to come along. Over breakfast I learned that one of them is an army Ranger who'd spent more than three years in Afghanistan. We were talking about the different ways soldiers cope with such a long tour, and it turns out one of the ways is drugs. "Oh yeah, there's tons of people who are, like, addicts over there," he said. In response, I said something incredibly stupid: "where the hell do you buy drugs when you're out in the middle of Afghanistan?" Even as I was finishing the sentence it dawned on me that there's enough opium and marijuana there to fuel a year-long Woodstock festival attended by, say, Texas. Anyway, I happened to come across these photographs tonight as I was thinking about this morning's breakfast.
http://www.dazeddigital.com/photography/article/9462/1/the-best-view-of-heave...
- Dec 20, 10
On the desktop of my computer lies a folder called "time for a change". This folder contains the materials for my websites, several résumés, and the latest version of my cover letter, which you're now reading. The cleverly-titled "time for a change" folder was born late one evening when I abruptly decided to shake up my life a little bit because — well, just because. Because working a job that was good enough was no longer good enough. It was time, finally, to stop doing what I know and start doing what I love. It was time for a change.
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I'll spare you the rest of that cover letter, since you aren't here to evaluate my qualifications. I wrote the opening paragraph almost eight months ago. It was to be my first step towards a new life in San Francisco. I didn't get very far. Summer came and went and nothing had changed. How come? Because things got in the way. Trips, work, Angry Birds, re-runs of The Office and countless other stupid excuses. What was I waiting for? Well, I wanted to show up in San Francisco with everything already figured out. Dream job, great apartment, new car, new life. I was waiting for everything to line up perfectly. Never one to make things easy on myself — I'm the same guy who vacations in Iran and roots for the San Francisco Giants — I spent most of the year stressing out about this change I wanted to make, going through something akin to the 12 stages of grief before finally accepting what everybody else in the world already knows: there is no perfect time. You just have to close your eyes, take a deep breath, and jump. And so with that in mind, this is my last week at the Whitehouse. I quit my job. I'm moving to San Francisco to do something else.Did I really just write that? Up until now this whole scheme was just an idea, a fantasy I kept safely at arms length. But with a short walk down a hallway and one spoken sentence, the hazy fantasy has been firmly replaced with cold hard reality. Wow — when you're truly ready to set the charge and demolish your whole life, it's astonishingly simple to set in motion. I walked into my boss' office as a long-time employee on the verge of another year with the company, and walked out a few minutes later a short-timer on the verge of a completely different existence. No wonder people who do this are always talking about "making the leap" or "jumping off a cliff". It's an abrupt jolt of exhilaration, followed by a duller more sustained rush, followed by a creeping dread as you notice the ground hurtling towards your face, followed again by the sustained rush of freedom.
So that's it. I'm now mid-air, and am going to enjoy this freedom for a bit before I start figuring out how and where I'm going to land. I have no plan. I have no timetable. I just know that I'm ready for a change, and this is the first step. A couple months ago I was discussing my life-change fantasy with a friend of mine and his dad. I launched into my well-rehearsed list of pros and cons, but was quickly interrupted by the dad: "So basically you're jumping out of a plane." Well yeah, I said, noting yet another free-falling metaphor. "Do you have a parachute?" Yes, I told him. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled: "Well, then jump!" - Nov 24, 10
Happy Thanksgiving Travel Day. At lunch yesterday we were talking about the only thing everyone else is talking about: getting home for Turkey Day. I myself am driving to San Diego this year, but that's not going to stop me from using this occasion to break out an unpublished column about Virgin America that I wrote last month. I knew I'd eventually figure out a way to wedge this in here during a slow week.
People rave about Virgin America. They love the hip terminal decor, the in-flight mood lighting, the in-seat entertainment units, and the a la carte touch-screen food service. I'd like to join you, People Who Rave About Virgin America. I'd like to be in the club. But as many times as I've been on-board, I can't quite get on board. I've flown Virgin from LAX to Seattle, San Francisco, and New York, and have yet to walk away feeling like I've found my new favorite airline. The reason is that a lot of the time, stuff on the plane just doesn't work. In my life I've never watched a full TV program from beginning to end on a Virgin flight. No matter which channel I choose, it's inevitable that I'll get a maximum 20 minutes of uninterrupted programming before the dreaded "service not available" pops up right as I get sucked into whichever insipid reality show I've stumbled upon. Then it becomes a desperate search around the dial for signs of life from the satellite, which itself is a clunky process thanks to the semi-responsive touch-screen and the Intel 486 processor they've got under the hood of that thing. This scenario has unfolded on every Virgin flight I've ever flown — most recently from SF to LA, where I tried and failed to watch highlights of the first World Series game I'd ever been to with my dad.Like the TV thing, the food system they've got going is great — in theory. In reality, I think it's way overpriced for what it is. And also like the TV thing, I've had shaky success using it. The whole checkout system is rather cumbersome and a couple times my order never showed. Or I'll order something and they're out of it. If it all worked like I assume it probably can, I'd get on a Southwest flight and think "man, this feels like the stone ages. I'll bet this plane still has a smoking section." But actually I don't miss the Virgin trappings at all. In the time I spent trying to find a reliable TV signal I could've just watched a whole show on my laptop. In half the time I spent waiting for my digital Coke to arrive, I could've just flagged down a flight attendant and gotten one in analog.
Exacerbating my misadventures on these planes is the interior design. On last month's flight I turned away from my blue screen of death and really began to consider my surroundings. The black leather seats with gleaming white plastic backs look like stormtroopers that have been temporarily put to sleep and stacked up along the floor for later unleashing on rebel forces. The purple lighting and black floors take their cues from silly LA clubs that set a scene meant to distract you from the $150 bar tab you're quickly running up. Which is actually what happened to me even before I got on the plane. Seduced by the terminal atmosphere, I made a deal with an automated check in machine to pay $35 for something called "main cabin select", which translated in my brain to "bottle service on the flying nightclub you're about to board." The actual Main Cabin Select? The exit row. I repeat, I paid money to be responsible for my fellow passengers' well being in the event of a water landing. Although I suppose it was just about a wash, since skipping Main Cabin Select would've put me in steerage and cost me $25 for checking my bag. So now I know this going in with Virgin. When you get to the airport you're going to give them more money, it's just a matter of whether or not you'd like to pay $10 extra to sit in an exit row.
Now that I've been roped in to Virgin's "Elevate" frequent flyer program (my fourth and hopefully last reward-based affiliation with an airline), I'll probably give 'em a few more chances. I just need to remember to not check a bag, bring my own entertainment, and feel neither hunger nor thirst along the way lest I'm fooled again by this flashy upstart and their fleet of airborne junior prom hummer limos.
UPDATE: Here's quick tip of actual value. If you're flying from SFO to LAX and you're checking a couple of bags, it's going to cost you $50 extra. It's $70 extra to fly first class, and you can check bags for free. The moral? If you're ever going from SFO to LAX or vice versa, and you're checking a couple of bags, just give 'em an extra $20 and that way you get to fly first class and drink for free. See? Sometimes I help.
- Nov 17, 10There's a piece of everyday wisdom that's been stuck in my head lately: say yes to everything. I'm not sure if I saw it on someone's Twitter feed or in a fortune cookie or both, but it's been consciously influencing my decision-making the last couple of weeks. So when my friend and colleague Dan stopped me in the hallway the other day with a mad look on his face and asked "are you in for the fight?!", I said "yes" first and asked questions, well, immediately. Because I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. Turns out our friend Chris P., an amateur muay thai practitioner, was fighting on the undercard of a low-level MMA promotion this weekend. Low-level or not, when you get the opportunity to go to a fight where you actually know one of the participants, you've gotta go. Those are the rules.So on Sunday afternoon I meet up with Dan and two other friends, Chris S. and Jeff, and we set course for the city of Buena Park. You've been there right? Of course you haven't. Nobody has. Here's the list of freeways we took to get there: 105 East, 605 South, 91 East. I thought the 105 only went to LAX and was closed most of the time for movie shoots. Turns out you can take it East, all the way out to an area I'm now calling "Traffic Report Kingdom". I've been living in LA since I was 18. Over the years I've listened to hundreds of traffic reports mentioning cities like Downey, Norwalk, Cerritos, and Bellflower. Where are these places? How could these distant cities I've never even driven through be a part of LA's traffic ecosystem? An accident on the 605 in Lakewood has about as much chance of affecting my Santa Monica commute as an overturned big rig on the Mass Pike. Conversely, I'm sure the good people of Downey are sick of hearing about the slow-going Sepulveda Pass every morning. I have no point here, except that maybe it's time for separate news stations for LA and the Traffic Report Kingdom. I announce to our car that I'm officially driving on roads I've never seen in nearly fifteen years of SoCal residency. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be able to find my way to Buena Park again if my life depended on it.Thanks to the woman inside my GPS computer, we arrive on time and on budget to our destination: the Knott's Berry Farm Hotel. You wouldn't think an amusement park that's home to the world's largest Snoopy inflatable would play host to an afternoon of bloodsport, but here we are anyway. As we walk across the vast parking lot toward the hotel, we notice that the number of "Affliction" t-shirts we see is directly proportional to the distance we are from the entrance. We must be in the right place, onward gentlemen! On our way in, the parking attendant asks us if we already had tickets, because the event was sold out and if we didn't we should turn back. "Of course we have tickets!" we tell her. We don't have tickets. We walk into the hotel lobby and notice a rather large line forming at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main ballroom. Hmm. Jeff notices a banner hanging above us with a web address for the event, and immediately goes to his iPhone. Twenty minutes later he's secured tickets online and we're headed upstairs to the arena.Ok so it's not exactly an arena. This being a fight promotion several notches below the UFC, the event's being held in a hotel ballroom instead of the Staples Center. For me, it's perfect. Even the last row of this place is closer to the ring than I'd ever be able to afford at Staples. It's packed to standing room only capacity and there's already a fight about to start when we walk in. The room is about the size of a small wedding reception hall, with the ring situated right in the middle surrounded by chairs. Outside in the lobby there's a full bar and snacks for sale, as well as t-shirts and other souvenirs. To sum up our current situation: it's 4 o'clock on Sunday afternoon and we're in a packed hotel in Buena Park drinking beer and watching live combat sports. I'll be 33 next month.We make our way towards the front of the room and find a little spot to stand about 5 rows back. The first fight is a pro muay thai contest between two cruiser weights (205 lbs). I rush through some of the basics about what to expect for Dan, who's never seen a live fight before today. After a rather slow start to the first round, the fighters settle in and have a couple of exchanges…then one guy makes enough space for himself to unfurl a perfect right-legged high kick that lands squarely to the side of his opponent's head. It hits with the sound of a cedar plank cracking, and the guy's out cold well before he crashes onto the canvas. The crowd reaction went like this: "OOOHHH!!….then….audible gasps…then…oooooohhhhhh" (followed by concerned murmurs throughout the room). Medical staff immediately rush into the ring to tend to the fallen fighter. A guy behind us, shaking his head: "God damn, he should've taken off his horseshoes for that mule kick!" I look over at Dan, who's completely shocked. I'm not kidding; the guy's never seen anyone get knocked unconscious before, and his first one was brutal. He looks like he's just witnessed a horrible accident. Check out the photo in the gallery below for proof — you'll know it when you see it.All of the excitement and anticipation for that first fight is ancient history. Now everyone's soberly watching the paramedics secure this guy's head and neck so they can get him on the stretcher. We make ourselves feel better with comments like "at least he's moving his arms" and "I guess that could've been worse." Now what do we do? All that energy built up and now it's all over. This, really, is what separates the combat sports family from every other kind of competition out there. The contest you're watching could end at any moment. What if making a half-court shot in basketball ended the game immediately? Or if two home runs in a row won meant a baseball game was over? Watching a live fight is like watching the last 10 seconds of a tied basketball game, except those 10 seconds can last 15 minutes. Or 90 seconds in this case. You're constantly in sudden-death overtime (truly no pun intended; deaths in MMA are very rare).We need to shake this off. The four of us find the line for the bar and happily purchase four beers in the hopes that the alcohol will numb our frazzled senses. Once equipped, we head back to our area and settle in for the afternoon as we wait for our pal Chris' bout to arrive. While we wait for the next round of combatants to be introduced, we take the opportunity to assess our fellow spectators. I once went to a NASCAR race at the California Speedway. I'll never forget how utterly stereotypical that crowd turned out to be. On the way in we witnessed people speeding down the freeway shoulder, doing break-stands in the parking lot, and even warming up their tires just like the bootlegging buffoons they so admired. Confederate flags, beer cozies and all other manner of redneckery abounded. And that was in California. You might expect the clientele at a local MMA promotion to belong to the same genus as our NASCAR friends. A bloodthirsty rabble clamoring for barbarity, never resting their voices until a victor is crowned — hopefully in the fiercest manner possible. Not so, as it turns out. We're pleasantly surprised at how friendly and respectful everyone is. Despite appearances (huge dudes, tattoos, t-shirts festooned with gothic logos like "affliction", "warrior" and "dethrone") people are polite and refrain from staging their own bouts in the seats during the event. Dan wonders aloud what the median per capita income of the room is, but he's not taking an elitist jab. It really is a fun mix of people from all walks of life, most of whom are knowledgeable about the sport they're watching and probably even know one of the fighters — at the decision of one particularly hard-fought muay thai match, a girl near us stands up on her chair, points to the winner and exclaims "that's my BOYFRIEND!!". Maybe at a UFC event, where more casual fans are in attendance, you'd see a less polished crowed. But casual fans don't generally roll down to a Buena Park hotel on Sunday afternoon to stand around and watch up-and-comers battle for supremacy. When a fight's decided, people cheer warmly for both the winner and loser, saluting each for brave performances no matter what the outcome.In between matches I eavesdrop as members of the SoCal MMA community mingle amongst one another and swap stories. The lulls are kept to a minimum by our jovial ring announcer, a short fellow in a blazer and ratty straw cowboy hat who reminds me of Les Claypool. During an intermission, he picks us up with an announcement that there will be a re-match of the "that's my BOYFRIEND!" fight at next year's IFS Showdown. "Forget Pacquiao/Margarito, let's hear it again for Sevak Ohanjanian and Jason Gonzalez! Folks, Christmas comes early in March 2011 for a rematch of this amazing contest you've just seen! What do you say fight fans? Do you want to see these guys go at it again???!!" Raucous applause from the audience confirms our suspicion that yes, yes they would like to see these guys go at it again. Time for another beer.We've now watched at least six fights, several ending in knockouts, and we're all feeling a bit shell-shocked. Just as we start to wonder how much longer we can last, Chris' fight is upon us. He walks to the ring accompanied by a hip-hop track, but that soon gives way to the sarama music that's traditionally played throughout muay thai fights. Jeff, a former practitioner himself, has been explaining the finer points of the style all night. Once in the ring, Chris goes through a series of bows, kneels, salutes and dips that Jeff says are performed before all muay thai fights. It's called the Ram Muay, and it's pretty awesome to see in person. At the conclusion of the ceremony Chris approaches his opponent, draws some imaginary characters on the canvas with his toe, and slams his foot down, sending a thunderous echo throughout the room that gets everyone's attention. Since this is an amateur bout, the fighters don headgear and wear heavy padding on their shins that the pros do without. (Side note: Jeff tells us that serious muay thai fighters will often deaden the nerves in their shins on purpose so that they can strike without feeling it. "They'll sit and work their shins with wooden rollers while they watch TV and stuff." Dan, Chris S. and I tacitly agree that we don't have what it takes for muay thai.)The bell rings and the two men immediately begin trading flurries of kicks and punches. It's a wild first few moments as they each try to establish a rhythm, at one point almost carrying each other through the ropes on the side closest to us. A blur of punches is exchanged in a blink, and before we know what's happening Chris is stung with a short, somewhat wild right hand that sends him to the canvas. He gets up almost immediately, but the referee has already made up his mind to end the fight. The whole thing is literally over almost before it's begun. How could they just stop it like that?? We just look at each other speechless, filled with potential energy that suddenly has no outlet. We reckon that amateur fighters probably aren't allowed to keep pummeling each other the way pro guys are, otherwise this fight would definitely still be on. We're bummed out, but what can you say? Even some of the best fighters ever have been caught before. It happens. Part of the game. Happily, Chris is perfectly fine and comes out to say hello just a few minutes after the fight. We've already forgotten about the outcome and are simply overcome with admiration that a guy we've all worked with found the time, energy, and nerve to do something that none of us are capable of. He heads back to the locker room, and we head back to the parking lot, having wrung all we could from the experience. We're worn out from several hours of beer, crowds, and sanctioned violence, but it's the good kind of worn out; that satisfied post-accomplishment tired. On the way out I walk past a girl who's arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, who I recognize as the winner from one of the earlier fights. In her hand she holds a sign she made for the fight that's been written in glitter: "Jay-sin! Keep your face pretty!"Say yes to everything.
- Nov 04, 10"Was that a dream last night or did we really win the world series?"This was the first email I read this morning, courtesy of my mom. I lingered over the words for a second and let it sink in a little further that yes, yes, finally yes my Giants were the best team in baseball. I had to work during the game last night, so there was no celebrating the win unfortunately (and I have no fellow SF fans at work anyway). I wearily walked through the front door to my apartment at 1am and headed straight for my bed. Wait. "No way," I thought to myself. "You've gotta do something." So I kicked off my shoes, grabbed a beer out of our empty fridge, and plopped down on the couch. Luckily my pal Josh got my message about recording the game, so I loaded it up and cracked open the celebratory bottle. There in the dark, I watched the last three innings as if for the first time, my fist in the air as I watched Renteria's ball sail over the fence. Watching the final strikeout and celebration, I took the last sip of Sam Adams and raised the bottle to those bunch of misfits who did it for all of us.This morning on the way to work I couldn't stop thinking about how everything came together just right; about all the little things that broke our way for this to finally happen. When you think about it we owe a debt of gratitude to the guy who seemed to make all the right moves at all the right times. He knew when to change things up, and he wasn't afraid to try something new even if it meant benching one of the guys who got them there. I'm talking of course, about me.Bruce and the boys deserve all the credit, sure. But my management of baseball karma, superstition, and apparel during this season really was something to behold. Come with me, if you will, all the way back to Spring Training. My dad and I are standing in the front entrance of Don & Charlie's in Scottsdale, an old baseball steakhouse-slash-hangout. In walk the following people: Robby Thompson, Dusty Baker, Jon Miller, Bruce Bochy, and Brian Sabean. "Hey Bruce, good luck! We're looking forward to the season." He says thanks and heads on in to his table (apparently he doesn't have to wait for a table like Dad and I). Same thing to Mr. Sabean, who says a quick thanks and hello and heads in as well. Dad even says a quick "hello" to Jon Miller, congratulating him on his HOF induction. So right off the bat (sorry) we're on the scene creating some good mojo for us and the team.I live in LA, so I usually only make it up for one or two home games per year. This season I decide I'm not going to let that keep me from following the team, so I shell out for two things: 1) a subscription to MLB.TV so I can watch and/or listen to the games on my computer or iPhone. 2) an authentic Tim Lincecum away jersey that I can wear to games here in LA and in San Diego. If I wasn't going to be a season ticket holder, I was at least going to make any effort I could to be a part of the 2010 season. And between the games I listened to on KNBR, along with the ones I made it to in SD and LA, I really felt like I was. It's amazing how well you can get to know a team by listening to games on the radio every day. The announcers have to describe everything you're not seeing yourself, so you get sense of the players' individual quirks and tendencies in a way you may not by watching them on TV. Kind of a fun way to follow a club.If you didn't already know, I was in Iran for a lot of the postseason. You can read about my experience following the team from over there, over HERE. So I'll skip ahead to the part where they made it to the World Series. I was in North Carolina during the clinching game 6 of the NLCS, so I watched it in a hotel bar. When they pulled that one out, I thought to myself "you and your father are going to game 1 of the World Series." I'd already planned on being in town anyway, so I decided we were meant to be at that game. It was our duty. So I called a ticket broker buddy and begged for two tickets anywhere in the park. The day before game 1, he came through.The next morning I got dressed for the game and picked out the following: a lucky pair of boxers in the spirit of Aubrey Huff's rally thong. The same Giants hat and pair of shoes that I'd worn during a particularly successful round of golf with my mom the previous day. Finally, I put on an orange wristwatch that I'd worn during the entire postseason while I was in Iran. I checked to make sure I wasn't wearing any Ranger colors and we headed to AT&T to take it all in. Let me tell you, there's nothing that can compare to walking around your home baseball stadium, especially one like AT&T Park, when your team's about to take the field for Game 1 of the World Series. I thought to myself "You know what? This is magic. No matter what happens tonight against Cliff Lee, at least Dad and I got to be here for the very beginning to see our guys take the field with everyone watching." We did a lap around the whole park and looked at buying some souvenirs, but thought better of it. Would we want a souvenir of a game 1 loss? Probably not. Let's just wait and see. And this, sports fans, was genius managerial (fanagerial? no that's dumb, do not write that) move number one. Don't tempt fate by loading up with a bunch of crap that may end up reminding you of something terrible. Just wait and see. Be humble.As you'll recall, things did not start off well. From where we were sitting (upper reserved, way out in right), Cliff Lee was pitching like Cliff Lee and Tim Lincecum was pitching like he was nervous. They were down two runs heading into the third. Just then my buddy Nick texted to say he was just a couple sections down. Let's meet for a beer. Perfect. He and I had been going to games together since high school and it was only right we share a brew at the World Series. Turns out that's just what this team needed. As soon as Nick and I peeled ourselves out of our seats and got the blood flowing, the Giants bats relaxed and touched up Lee for two in the bottom of the third. We were back to even, suddenly the whole crowd felt like Cliff Lee wasn't 10 feet tall and could be beat. So why not us? I went back up to sit with my dad and two innings later they blew it wide open and went on to win that crucial first game. I gave my dad a huge hug and thought to myself "we're gonna do it." Now we can get a souvenir. We both walked away with pre-game World Series warmups, high-fiving strangers all the way back to the car.For the rest of the series I tinkered with my wardrobe lineup the way Bochy did with his batting order. I had to head back to LA the day of game two, but I went right back to the lucky boxers, shoes, and cap, throwing in the Lincecum jersey for good measure. The Rangers weren't used to seeing a Lincecum jersey the day after he pitched, and were confounded at the plate. Matt Cain kept his postseason ERA at 0.00 as the G's took the second one at home. When the series resumed on Saturday, I was at work and the Giants were in Texas. I decided to go with my more is more approach, donning all the same stuff as the first two games, but this time topping it all off with the World Series pullover from game 1. This obviously turned out to be hubris and I got what I deserved: the series was now 2-1 with another two games to go in Arlington. Dammit. I looked at Bochy's lineup for game 4 on Sunday afternoon: Schierholtz was in for Burrell and Huff was DH'ing in place of Pandoval with Ishikawa over at first base. I followed suit, stripping down my lineup to the bare necessities: The giants cap and the watch that started it all. Lose the stuff that's not working and go with your workhorses.It worked. The next day, facing the great Cliff Lee once again, I decided to go all the way back to my philosophy for the first Cliff Lee game: humility. All I brought to work on Monday was my pro-style Giants cap and a week-old beard. Play it cool. The less attention, the less people asking me if I thought the Giants were going to win it all tonight, and the less opportunities to jinx it. I'd finally lost it. The long season, the one-run games, the TV pundit predictions, it had all finally driven me crazy to the point that I was talking to my clothes and avoiding phone calls from friends just to make sure we didn't accidentally say the wrong thing to each other and live to regret it forever. In the end — well you already know the end. The dream came true and I ended up sitting on my couch in the middle of the night drinking a cold beer and re-watching the Giants win the last game of the season.What did I learn from all this? Well, nothing of course. Except that baseball's a crazy sport that can turn you and your whole family into irrational, unhinged obsessives who wear the same underwear everyday. And that's if your team's playing well. But at least now I know what if feels like to have the Giants win it all. Even better than I imagined.[Pictured: Game 1]
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Posts
I just bought some shares in an index fund that tracks the Wilshire 5000, which means I just bought shares in the 5000 largest American companies. I did this because I wish to take substantive action against Standard & Poor’s downgrade of US credit. Standard & Poor’s, and to a lesser degree, Fitch…
- My Cover Graphic for Google Exec Communications
Captain America WW2 propaganda posters (+variants) for Mondo in conjunction with Paramount Pictures.
Technology made it easy for us to stay in touch while keeping a distance,
’til we just stayed distant and never touched. Now all we do is text too much- Sage Francis (via milocavida)Do you all know what an N.I.E. is? The National Intelligence Estimate is the ground truth of the American Government hammered out on the anvil of the Lord.
W. Patrick Lang (retired Army intelligence officer), during a talk at UVA regarding Iran’s nuclear program.
From Seymour Hersh’s recent New Yorker piece on Iran nukes.
Once upon a time a prince asked a beautiful princess *
copy source: the web (tweaked by me)
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Photos
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Map
- Phoenix, AZ, March 2012Mar 22, 12 - Mar 22, 12
- Oakland, CA, March 2012Mar 25, 12 - Mar 25, 12
- Ontario, CA, January 2012Jan 19, 12 - Jan 22, 12
- San Francisco, CA, December 2011Dec 17, 11 - Dec 17, 11
- Los Angeles, CA, December 2011Dec 14, 11 - Dec 14, 11
- San Diego, CA, November 2011Nov 24, 11 - Nov 24, 11
- Milan, Italy, September 2011Sep 14, 11 - Oct 19, 11
- San Diego, CA, June 2011Jun 28, 11 - Jun 28, 11
- Chicago, IL, June 2011Jun 09, 11 - Jun 12, 11
- San Diego, CA, April 2011Apr 20, 11 - Apr 25, 11
- Los Angeles, CA, March 2011Mar 20, 11 - Mar 20, 11
- Phoenix, AZ, March 2011Mar 10, 11 - Mar 13, 11
- Los Angeles, CA, February 2011Feb 20, 11 - Feb 20, 11
- Oakland, CA, February 2011Feb 17, 11 - Feb 17, 11
- Portland, OR, January 2011Jan 07, 11 - Jan 09, 11
- Los Angeles, CA, October 2010Oct 28, 10 - Oct 28, 10
- Oakland, CA, October 2010Oct 24, 10 - Oct 24, 10
- Iran 2010Oct 06, 10 - Oct 22, 10
- San Francisco, CA, September 2010Sep 12, 10 - Sep 18, 10
- Las Vegas, NV, August 2010Aug 27, 10 - Aug 29, 10
- San Francisco, CA, August 2010Aug 11, 10 - Aug 20, 10
