connecting*the*dots

Every few years or so I get sucked into a new multiplayer networked game and blow a ton of my free time killing things. Well, this year it happens to be Metal of Honor by Electronic Arts. Damn, this thing is addictive. With seven rotating environments and the choice between being an Ally or Nazi in World War II, my post-work | pre-gym/home time has been swallowed up by this classic shoot ‘em up.

And let me tell you, there’s nothing like sniping an English private from 100 yards to bring a smile to my face. Somebody needs to come up with an Irish Republican Army vs. England game. Or a game where the Irish peasants in 1846 strategically supply the English ruling class with rotten potatoes, making them sick and weak so they can be overrun by peasants with rakes and hoes.

I’d be all over those. So it’s not politically correct. I’d buy it. Sue me.

Click To Play (by Tao Ruspoli)

alright, i’m definitely not down on that vibe
red devil barbecue grills within the suburban tribe
manicured lawns, thirty piece china sets
garbage disposal units and non-allergic pets
two cars parked in a freshly paved drive
an overly friendly postman to keep the conversation live
neighborhood watchers to keep trespassers away
tree lined roads without a glimpse of decay
i don’t know
it all sounds too perfect to me
give me the cultured grit of urbania
that’s my living philosophy
stumbling outside on a thursday night
running into a mixed couple just might
kick off a discussion on world events
or maybe just lead the proceedings to the park with live band tents
a subway ride away live van goghs and monets
across town you can find the son seals and robert crays
straight downtown is juniors famous cheesecake
all access, all day
no matter what kind of cheese you make
ok, so i navigate around the homeless population
and sometimes the pace can cause exasperation
but when i lie down at night
and think about what will come tomorrow
i know i won’t be left bored in the dark
because the city constantly calls for me to borrow
a ride
block by block
tick tock goes the clock
neighborhoods change faces
new storefronts
new races
all in a blink of an eye
why ask why?
all you can do is gear up and hold on for the ride
there’s nothing like this man made rip tide
life in the city ain’t a pity
give me a metrocard and 24 hours
i’ll come back with found knowledge and flowers
for you

We at Datek are only a few months away (hopefully) from signing on the dotted line and merging with Ameritrade. A major result of that milestone will include a re-architecture of the two discrete sites into one new user experience; a forward-thinking trading platform. In expectation of that date, our marketing group has been doing a great job in gathering user data (video tapes of user interaction with the two existing sites, focus group feedback, etc.) and we — the user experience design team — are about to embark on the first step of the the planning process; creating the first stab of an evolving bible of Ameritrade/Datek personas.

Before I started work on designing Command Center, personas were not part of the software design process at Datek. During the initial stage of the project, I contacted a friend of mine (CCO of Onclave, Dave Reid) to borrow a persona template. After mind-melding with Dave and then internally with our marketing department, I came up with two detailed personas two reflect our active trading customer base. Sure, they’re not based on personal interviews with clients, but as stakes in the ground, the tangible reference of human personas consistantly assisted me in the design of the product and proved to be worth the effort.

The shift of our software design process, from a business centered to user centered, has grabbed huge traction over the last few months, and I feeling that the change in approach will positively affect our customers interaction with the Winter ‘03 site launch.

alright
i’m stuck
i admit i don’t know what to do
her smile tells me go
but my guilt tells me i’d be a fool
twice before i’ve fucked up
and yet she still is a friend
is that because she still digs me?
or just cause she can mend?
i really don’t know
but i really do care
she probably sees me coming and it translates to beware!
i guess all that matters
is that we can now hang out and chill
but i do want to know what she feels
morpheus, i’ll take that red pill

Come this time tomorrow, I’ll be on a flight heading to Omaha, Nebraska with Dan Saffer and Tom Alison from Datek, to meet up with the design team at Ameritrade. We’re attempting to plan the redesign of our two separate trading platforms into one, so a meet and greet is more than necessary.

Aside from football, cornfields, and frozen steaks, I know nothing about Nebraska. If anyone can point out something interesting to do in Omaha, please feel free to let me know.

First, there was theDancing Baby. Now we have an internet superhero capable of swinging (literally) from the West Village to San Francisco, as well as from criminal to criminal. I’d like to introduce (drumroll please) gay Spiderman!

Don’t ask me who created this, but whoever they are, they’re my new heroes. Brilliant! It answers all my questions about Peter Parker after sitting through Spiderman and watching him turn down Kirsten Dunst — he was probably holding out for the Green Goblin.

as i passed by her spirit
i made it to the other side
the rocks told my soul to rest
when i sat down
leaning against the ancient formation
a hawk glided by
wings spread wide
floating on the breeze brought by the rotation of the earth
there was no longer a "she" with me
i had laid her image to rest
and lept onto the back of the hawk
determined to see into the distance
into the future
to recognize the path laid before me
one that can handle the obsticles of my desires
and the pitfalls of my best laid plans

riding on the back of the hawk
i can see myself below
moving on
she is no longer with me
and i’m alright with that
like a cut on your hand
we heal in time
as have i
it’s a pretty amazing process
this coagulation of the heart

looking up i watch the hawk cut through the air
circling it’s prey far below
preparing to move in for the kill

North Carolina was, well… interesting to say the least.

My brother moved from Greensboro to a small rural town 45 minutes outside of the city, where the entire population lives off of one textile factory. God forbid it closes down; the town would disappear. After a few days of playing ball and watching baseball on the tube, we were finally introduced to some NC culture.

On a mild afternoon, we hiked to the top of a rocky overhang in a nearby state park — a good mile straight up steep rock strewn steps. I huffed and puffed like a smoker on a treadmill, but it was well worth it, as the view from the summit was amazing. Sitting on a rock, with my legs draping over a 1,000ft drop, looking out over Carolina, watching hawk after hawk glide by, I was moved to write some post-breakup poetry.

Stop laughing.

So, after pulling myself out of Nirvana, we made our way down the mountain and back to civilization to check out… an Arena Football League game.

Those guys are terrible — the best they could muster was a decent spiral. We sat on the equivalent of the 50-yard line — the 25(?) — with 300 other people, watching drunken fans, one after the other, chanting and screaming like idiots for the Prowlers to score.

It felt like a tailgate warm-up for NASCAR.

Following the game, we continued the journey of the stereotype and headed out to a country bar — in the middle of nowhere — to watch my brother’s girlfriend perform in her cover band. Now, don’t get me wrong, I had a great time watching her sing (she’s got a mad set of lungs), but the bar they played was too funny. As my friend Darren put it:

I’m embarrassed to be white.

I practically rolled on the ground laughing as people line danced to a cover of Montel Jordan’s, This Is How We Do It. Darren then compared the festivities to a wacky Bar Mitzvah, noting that no one in the joint would get that reference.

As the night rolled on, Brooklyn seemed like a distant planet; I caught an 85 year old couple dirty dancing, a set of middle aged people humping each other in a group and one young, attractive woman dancing a jig, alone, fending off every approaching male in sight.

Baseball caps weren’t allowed; cowboy hats were.

We were in the inner sanctum; I was truly amazed that they let us live after witnessing their ritual behavior.

So now I’m back and New York City doesn’t seem quite as crazy anymore.

one step down
the next is quick to follow
soon comes a pace
my shins feel brittle and hollow
as i turn the corner
wading in deeper and deeper
i can feel my heartbeat sharply rise
and get closer to the reaper
or was that him i left in the dust
as i passed that parked el durado?
yo no se mi amigo
no era probablemente nada
as my spanglish slips into overdrive
while the corner homies sip on their tequila
my thoughts begin to jump around
from my work to mi familia
my passion is found in both
as they push against one another
never meeting at the cusp
my keyboard or my brother
but spinning round and round
like the bikers wheels who just cut me off
give us time and give us a chance
and we could make a doctor’s nads go *cough*
breathing hard
i start to glide
over broken glass
out of overdrive
into neutral
i find my flow
keeping a rythym
only one way to know
if i’ll be able to keep up
this crazy notion
of a long term commitment
of my legs in motion
i’ve got years to go
in this pace against time
so down comes my left foot again
ending this zoned-out rhyme

hittin’ the snooze ’til a quarter past seven
dreaming my ass off
felt like heaven
looking down on the bk masses
watching the chicas
class is in session
sitting in the back
tossing the hack
walking a thin line
steppin’ around cracks
in his armour
as i take the ball to him
posting up, leaning in,
spinning down
rolling in
an old school release
with a modern, sharpened elbow
room for rent
on the other side of town
closer to comfortable digs
i just have to get up to get down..
GET UP!
it’s eight in the morning and work’s on the other side of town