On Tuesday, I decided it was time to see a museum. After seeing virtually every museum available in San Diego, I was experiencing some withdrawal syndromes after a week here in Los Angeles. My brain was feeling unstimulated, and I hadn’t recorded my humble thoughts on an art piece in over two weeks.

On the recommendation of my sister, I decided to visit the Japanese American History Museum in Little Tokyo. This town was an abrupt shift after rounding the corner of what seemed like the industrial center of the city. When walking down Alameda Street from Union Station, the grey walls of the “detention center” can provide a convincing guise for this cultural hotspot, providing a filter for the less-than-well-researched tourists.

In Little Tokyo I discovered a very cool little Sushi place named Sushi & Teri. The restaurant had a title befitting a utilitarian restaurant with typical Japanese convention. The pricing is the best attribute of the restaurant, followed by the portions.

The typical (and usually overpriced) dinner of Sushi is often made up of standard Japanese portions, which to the American, are miniaturized. The typical “American owned” response to typical Japanese foods are to make large Sushi rolls, packed with the least healthy ingredient, white rice. The portions in this meal were more median.

For eleven US Dollars, I was able to purchase a spectacularly flavorful bowl of freshly made Miso Soup, a plate of well-seasoned teriaki chicken (prepared the correct way, not over saturated with sauce and sodium), two pieces of fried zucchini, an almost-fresh garden salad, a medium-sized drink, and four rolls of typical California Roll. Fantastic. Free food always tastes better to me.

After the long awaited meal of sushi, I was ready for some museum action. I wandered across the street and stepped inside the museum lobby.

Cold air surged through my clothing and fought to remove the warm pockets of air from my wool shirt. I shivered. It was a warm day, and the cold was very welcome.

I paid my dues ($4) and entered the museum. While making my way to the first exhibit, I tried to lecture myself “You don’t have all day here, the museum is closing in a couple of hours…you don’t need to read EVERYTHING!”. My premeditated mantra was forgotten instantly, however, when I spotted the “Audio Tour by Cell Phone” sign.

A brilliant invention, this simple idea blew me away. I was impressed. The museum had created various audio tracks, corresponding with the exhibit numbers, and made them available to anyone with a cell phone by dialing a number and entering a three-digit number.

The first exhibit, Living Flowers was created using live flowers and plants. Because of this, the displays are switched out on the Monday morning of each week. This means that anyone who visited the museum last week, would not have seen the same lovely flower arrangement I encountered.

I thought the exhibit was very well done, considering the subject matter. Not typically being one for plants, I focused my attention on various canvas art pieces which had been painted of plants and flower arrangements. My favorite of the canvased paintings was a piece called “Explosion”. In it, a beautiful explosion (literally) of roses and various flower pieces are bursting from the center of the piece. In my opinion, this painting is worth the $4 entry fee on its own.

Stepping solemnly up to the upper level of the museum, a shift is felt. The style switches from artistic flower arranging, to visual records and illustrations of the oppresive and inhumane actions of the US government during Pearl Harbor.

Artifacts and photos from the time are placed carefully on window-displays along the walls of the museum. Through a heavy glass door, faces of Japanese children and teenagers stare out at me in black and white, waiting, with hopeful smiles, in the rooms of concentration camps.

My favorite piece in the museum was a wooden replica of a Stereoscope. Stereoscopes were wooden platforms with wooden handles. On one side, built atop the platform, two magnifying lenses are placed within proximity of each other, designed to match the eyes when held to the face. On the other side is an affixed mount, designed to hold specially printed cards. When a card is placed on the stereoscope and peered at through the glass lenses, the images printed on the cards blend to create one three-dimensional images. These devices were taken quite seriously during the time before a television in every home.

Unfortunately, my mantra had failed to impact my actions, and by the time I was halfway through the museum, it was beginning to close.

I managed to see enough to get a decent understanding of the exhibits, but wish I could have stayed longer. A truly interesting museum with a perfect setting.

I’m behind on my writing this week, but at least I am going to be on-time with the photo of the week, thanks to my good friend Richard Cray.

Another poll ahead:

While I love the Gmail interface (and have gotten very used to the key commands, threaded view, etc) it does not work offline.

As I am traveling around, I have lots of time to work on emails, etc. while offline. As I use Gmail, I can’t work during these times. If I were to use a computer-based email software (like outlook, thunderbird, etc) I could write and save emails, send them to the outbox, and when I arrived at a hotspot it would automatically send them all.

So. I am really unsure. Should I stay with Gmail’s web based interface for its ease of use, familiarity, and efficiency? Or should I use an offline client so I can use downtime to read and respond to emails?

If you don’t mind, please click on the link below to complete the poll, I would really appreciate the help:

http://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?key=p1ry4omPErSQ29FJjyvL1dg&email=true

Alright gang. Are you ready to hear a story of comedy? Of tension? Of humility? Here you go. Let’s make this quick, my cheeks are burning red.

After checking out the well-arranged Japanese American History Museum today in Little Tokyo I decided take a walk down the street to find a cafe to do some writing. As I walk past lines of sushi places with dusty signs advertizing sake brands and all-you-can eat deals, I begin to silently loose hope. This is Little Tokyo afterall. I suppose I should be thankful for the lack of Coffee Beans and Starbucks in this area. It is a rarity in this city.

To my right, a blast of color invades my feild of vision. A cafe with colorfully-painted walls is there, the sign on the outside reads “I Love Boba”.

Not sure what to expect, I decide to take a look. As I enter, a small group of Japanese teenagers stir at the far end of the counter.

“Do you have wifi?” I ask, the suspected answer already in my mind.

“Yes we do” a tall lanky boy says to me in a nearly perfect american accent.

Surprised, I look for the next item on my mental checklist: Outlets. I see one unoccupied, and a table near enough to stretch my laptop’s power cord between.

“Okay…I’ll take…ummm…” this is where I do the “classic starbucks stare”. This stare (as coined by yours truly) is what a barista at starbucks is forced to look at ALL DAY. When performing this stare, the customer tilts their head upward to view the menu above while creating an utteral “ummm…” sound in their throat. “I’ll have a Cherry Boba smoothie” I finish, without really having any idea what I was ordering.

It did say smoothie, so it must be some derivative of what I am used to - I think.

I set up my laptop and get settled. Within a few moments, my drink is delivered to the “pick up” counter by a quiet girl, who shakes it as she hands me the drink. Little pieces of…something float around inside a bright-pink icy liquid. The top is sealed by a vaccum-tight round piece of plastic, matching the circumference of the container’s top.

I marvel for a moment at this unique touch (or so I think), and begin peeling the plastic seal from the cup.

Two minutes later, I have gotten nowhere. The top is still on the cup, and doesn’t appear to be planning on letting go. I have tried tugging, pushing, peeling, and using my teeth - to no avail. What the hell…

Another customer receives his smoothy, as he rounds the corner of the counter I see he has a straw sticking into the cup, piercing THROUGH the plastic covering. Recognition dawns and I jump up to retreive a straw.

I return to my table and eagerly attempt to peirce the plastic with the rounded edge of the straw…again to no avail.

Hmm…

I push harder…nothing…harder…*CRACK*

I feel a sudden feeling of wetness in my crotch: the cup had completely exploded from the pressure.

Shocked and embarrased, I look around and marvel at the fact no one has even noticed or looked his way since hearing the crack. This is good, gives me a time to think before the looks of symphathetic “glad it isn’t me”ism begin.

I rise from the table and notice that the bright pink, sticky liquid has covered the floor around my feet. I feel cold as wet smoothie-juice penetrate the ultralight fabrics of my clothing.

I grab a napkin and begin to wipe my chair off. I half-whisper to the lanky wifi boy that the cup had broken and, though it was entirely my fault, was covering everything I had touched in the past ten minutes.

With a goodnatured look, he tells me its ok and begins to mop up the sticky liquid, spreading quickoy on the floorboards. He even makes me another one…I am assuming he wanted me to feel better (or maybe he just wanted to have a chance to educate me on the proper procedure).

This time, he demonstrated the insertion of the straw VERY carefully. He illustrates the benefits of a “light tap” technique versus an intensley pressured one.

Humbly…I sit back down and begin my work. No harm done…I don’t think.

Keeping data safe and organized while on the road is a big part of my job. Failing to retrieve a file often means redoing/recoding it, or worse, getting guilt-tripped or going unpaid by a client.

With my laptop being powered-on and plugged into outlets in a different countries almost monthly, how can I possibly be sure one of the data-loss/power-surge/theft/etc catastrophes doesn’t ruin my entire business, and, as a result, my stream of income? I’ve developed a system I think could work for any programmer (someone who deals with mostly text-based files and a few web-graphics) that keeps my data safe securely and cheaply.

CSS, HTML, and PHP files
Almost all of my programming/development is based in one of these three languages:

• HTML - The basics of the basics of web programming. This is what ultimately decides what is displayed on the page. If your HTML isn’t formatted correctly, nor will anything else.
• CSS - This is what makes most of the web look how it does. Having a stylesheet for a web project creates a consistency of look in each section.
• PHP - This is what outputs HTML (when needed). These files are server-side so all you see when you access them is the output. The output is usually Javascript or HTML. PHP lets you generate these pages dynamically.

Unless I am working on a specific part or function of a web project, I keep all of my code on an offsite server (mine happens to be in California). I edit all files LIVE on the server. I do not use revision control (not an automated system anyways).

I test (live) after each edit, if I am building a file from scratch, I will simply download the file onto my local drive, rename the current one on the server with a “.back-CURRENT TIME” extension, make my edits locally, and upload the file with its original name for testing. This way, if my testing proves I have committed an error I simply can’t find, I can replace the file, and start over.

Many shared and dedicated hosting providers offer snapshot backups (mine offers hourly, nightly, weekly, and monthly automated snapshots).

Writing

Google Docs is the order of the day when I need to write and save documents in a secure place. Some advise keeping a separate copy of each file away from Google’s servers, I do not do this: I’d trust the Google servers with my life.

With Google Docs and Google Gears (a Firefox extension allowing select Google Apps to run offline while storing data in a temp file) I can work on the file and save it offline. Next time I connect to a wifi or ethernet connection, Google Doc’s will automatically synchronize itself with the online version.

Of course, all of this is in beta, but I have used all of it for over a year without any trouble.

If I am writing for a specific blog/company, I will typically use whatever interface they provide (usually wordpress) to save what I have done, even if it has not been completed. They don’t care what it looks like until the deadline, and with this method, if one company’s server/tool goes down, everything else of mine doesn’t go down in the flamed at the same time.

If the writing is to be submitted by email and Google Docs isn’t the right option, I will create an email to myself and include the attachment when I save. This way, each draft of the document will always be available via my email in chronological, searchable format.

Photos

A single word can be used to describe the system that powers my amazing photo archiving superpowers: Flickr!

I have been a diehard flickr fan since before they were owned by Yahoo. They do everything right, their servers have the fastest throughput rates I’ve ever transferred data to, and they even log my photo’s metadata (how far extended the zoom was when you took the photo, whether the camera was on auto or manual setting, etc) which is a very cool feature for “looking back” later on and figuring out what you did right (or wrong).

Flickr uses redundant storage, so you don’t need to worry about a crash. They archive the original size of the photo (WHATEVER IT IS) as well as make sizes to be used easily in blogs (like this one) or email.

All of my photo hosting comes from flickr.

One note: Investment in the pro account for $24.95 per year is COMPLETELY worth it. This gives you UNLIMITED storage versus the 2.0gb monthly limit they impose with the free accounts. Be cheap about something else, go for pro.

So seriously…is there any other sort of file you need to worry about saving?

I don’t deal with video files. I keep a double copy of my music (one on my MP3 player and one on my laptop) so it’s redundant (by definition at least).

I know some may be more paranoid than me regarding their precious data. I’ve been using these techniques for over three years, and haven’t had anything bad happen. I’ve never had to redo anything based on theft or data loss. I’ll let you know when something does happen.

When I told the girl I met on the bus that I had lost my notebook, she gasped “Oh NO!”. I was confused.

“How much was it!?” she exclaimed with the typical “glad it wasn’t me” look most strangers give others when they hear of such things.

“Um…about 12 bucks…”

Suddenly the look of realization is visible in her eyes “Oh you mean an actual NOTEBOOK! I thought you were talking about a laptop!”.

The notebook of a writer is often as ironic as what is written inside of it. The level of control and manipulative abilities the state of any of my notebooks can have over my mind is spooky. The pages of a notebook, when blank, can be inspiring or terrifying.

Before a looming deadline, for instance, the purchase of a new notebook can act as a last stand - an almost-hopeful act of defiance against the feeling of crumbling doom and lack of inspiration envelopes the self-proclaimed author.

The purchase of a new notebook out of necessity, however, following the satisfying tap of its cover to its pages as the last line is filled, can be a reassuring act of challenging oneself to write even more.

Similarly, a newly-hired writer purchasing a notebook on their way home from their successful job interview, and choosing the leather-covered model over the metal-spiraled one, saying softly - with an air of excitement and pride: “I can afford you now. I am a writer” is a demonstration of inspiration. Of hope.

My experience today was none of the above. My motivation for purchase of a new notebook was not particularly specifically inspired, nor was it guild-ridden. No, I bought a new notebook because I lost the previous one. I left it at a Starbucks in Downtown Los Angeles near to the Town Hall.

Some of you may STILL be thinking “oh no!” (while others simply doubt the value of reading this post at all). Well, not to fear, everything from the notebook is in my head. I do feel guilty, however, for not filling up the empty pages before leaving it to the mercy city. I simply hope someone who will use it as well or better than I was able to find it.

My old notebook, a large reporter’s style notebook (13×21cm) was too large to fit in my pocket, thus I had to store it in the back-pocket of my daybag. It turned out to be quite a task to pull it out, open it up, and write what I needed down (which is only usually one to two lines).

The effort expended to achieve this simple task, was almost not worth writing things down in the first place. Somehow, I feel my subconscious may have sabotaged my conscious and forgotten the notebook on purpose. Maybe it was tired of dealing with its large-ness too.

My NEW notebook, is a smaller, pocket sized (9×14cm) black model. It, like all other Moleskines has a expandable inner pocket with which I can store brochures from various attractions (for transferring data into my computer later) as well as receipts or ticket-stubs for pricing documentation.

And it turns out that when I purchased my new notebook, I felt inspired. Upon exiting the store, I perched myself on a particularly flat window ledge and began to write.

Alright so I’m officially 28 minutes late with this Photo of the Week (here in LA it just turned monday which means I missed the usual Sunday posting). I pray you guys forgive me and pretend it is Sunday anyways.

I’ll make sure to be on time next week.

At a Starbucks on the corner of Hollywood and Western in Los Angeles, a blogger sits cheerfully, tapping at a keyboard. An empty cup of Starbucks Blended Lemonade sits next to him, as it has for the past three hours.

This empty cup is his ticket stub, his proof-of-entitlement to use the oh-so familiar Starbucks facilities and wifi signal.

Often times he finds himself in this position, feeling only slightly guilty about having spent a collective five hours in various starbucks locations throughout the day, and wishing his money was going to a less corperate entity…or even better, not leaving his wallet at all.

On this occasion, it happened that a group of Germans took seats next to him. He sits silently for a long time, wondering whether to say hello. Finally, a confused outburst of frustration was heard from one of them. Obviously startled and concerned, a Starbucks employee runs over to see what could be the matter.

“I don’t know what is this VuiFui?”

The employee looks confused. The young man sitting on his laptop speaks up: “I know a little German, perhaps I can help?”

To his surprise, he is able to help. With his minimal knowledge of the German language, he manages (with a few made-up words he was simply making stabbing guesses at) to explain to them how the system works. Within minutes they are up and running. The young man returns to his work.

Three lines and fifteen minutes later on the brown-backed clock on the wall, the Starbucks employee returns, but this time, speaks to the young man.

“Thank you for helping me, I wanted you to have this…”

It was, at first glance not what he would have expected someone to hand him in an act of grattitude.

“A cup should never be half-empty.” is printed on its front.

Upon opening it, more pleasant words are found:

“The next time we see you, please enjoy a beverage, on us.”

“SWEET! Free frappucino!” he thinks, smiling greatfully at the Starbucks employee/angel.

“Thank you. This means alot to me.”

This review is sponsored by Ryan of 14Giants.com - a site of mass-distraction. This site is digital backpacker certified as a great time-waster for random readings throughout the week. He even recently did a feature on me!

“The COOLEST MUSEUM in San Diego!” I was touting, loudly, matter-of-factly around the hostel.

I had just returned from a five-hour journey through the USS Midway Museum in San Diego, California and was genuinely excited about hearing the reaction of others after recommending them to do the same.

The USS Midway is a decommissioned aircraft carrier which served as a major military tool for over 47 years. It was a crown-jewel of the US Navy, capable of porting an entire military division overseas and into enemy waters.

The museum’s entrance is straightforward. Tickets are purchased and the guest is directed to walk up the ramp to the museum’s lobby. Once aboard, FREE audio-tour devices are hung around the guest’s neck, and earphones placed on their ears.

For those traveling to this museum alone, an audio tour can be both relieving and entertaining: Walking through catacombs of museum displays can be ruthlessly boring without some backstory, and those who are attending alone tend to rush through.

For those visiting the museum with a friend, I recommend synchronising your audio-playback at each checkpoint: “Hmm”s and “Wow!”s are then experienced together, and each person can comment on what they just heard. Do not pass up this audio tour, it is amazingly useful and informative. If something is boring you, move on and press “pause”, your bound to find something you like.

Sharp-turning hallways create an authentic experience inside the ship. It takes only minutes to sink into an understanding of the systems used on and how they felt to be a part of.

As your electronic friend guides you through the sleeping quarters of the officers. Take a moment and have a lie-down (if your bodily condition will allow) in a typical navy bed. Staring up at the top of the next bunk just three inches from your nose is, for some, a humilitous experience. The scent of sweat is still poignant in the air of these dorms. Take it in.

What I found to be most interesting in the museum was the laundry system. Not being a particularly war-oriented person, I found solace for my conscience in focusing on the systems: How they worked, how they were assembled, how many pieces needed to be in check in order for the system to succeed and be effective.

Countless audio-clips and displays are available to pause at and fully experience in this floating city of nearly three miles length. The three minutes of flight simulation in the lobby costs over $20 and is not worth the price, considering similar graphics can be experienced on a typical home videogame-system. I would avoid these attractions at all cost.

While walking around the ship, take care to save some energy for the “flight deck” the huge deck forming the top of the ship. This deck creates an enormous, spacious staging ground for the takeoff and landing of warplanes. The affixed “aircraft elevator” can lift a plane from the hanger to the flight deck in under 15 seconds. Considering this is at least 100 feet in distance, I was impressed. Unfortunately, the elevators operation is not on display on the museum…no matter how much you beg to see it!

The USS Midway costs only $12 for an adult ticket, and $9 for a student ticket. Considering the expansive and well-prepared displays, as well as the included top-notch audio tour, any guest to this museum should consider admission quite a deal.

Definitely recommended. I should add: Each of the people I recommended to see the ship and actually did so reported very highly on the quality of the museum. Trust me on this one.

Check out their site here.

The crowds, the gridlock, the miles of wannabes and wouldbes and arebes. A city who’s portrait is unanimously painted as a “golden city” littered with self-proclaimed glamor and powder-covered skin: Los Angeles and Hollywood are interchangeable in the minds of the media and its followers.

The question du jour: Does the city live up to its hype? Is it worth giving of yourself and falling in love with the city with the hope of being fallen for in return? My answer is out of character, unexpected, and may shock readers comfortable with my standard reiteration:

I say it is.

Los Angeles surpassed its hype. I came expecting little, and have been mirrored gifts beyond what I will admit to in person.

First, a little story:

Two years ago, at the dawn of my struggle for financial independance, I was working thirteen-hour days at a cable access television station on Maui, Hawaii. Though the organization was small, and its duties even smaller, the staff and its producers never ceased to act as though it were a subsidiary of Universal Pictures or Paramount.

The game of overinflated egomaniacism soon became so integrated into who we were, we would work hours we didn’t have to; worry about ratings that didn’t exist, and create overall drama for ourselves as a group.

Paralleling this phenomenon, was a show traveling across the airwaves of NBC and iTunes called Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Written primarily by Aaron Sorkin.

“Studio 60″ as it was lovingly referred to around the station was a suculent addition to our mental syringe of ego boosts.

The show followed the cast and crew of a variety show guiltily similar to Saturday Night Life or “SNL” (a now 33-season hit variety show also created by NBC) behind its stages and through its wings. The quick-witted dialogue of the lead characters always seemed a notch too smart to be human, even for a movie producer on speed (which was the well-played character of Mathew Perry, coincidentally paralleling his real-life drug addictions).

The show was ours. Many of the conflicts and communication mishaps which occured mirrored similar situations occuring in our office. It was a weekly, hour-long passive ego-stroke. We each pretended, in our minds, we were the cast-members, spouting out quick-witted snarky remarks which left our coworkers speechless.

It was a dream, but a real one nonetheless. It was something we all cared about and enjoyed. It was a bonding point for our staff. Wednesday mornings, after the show’s airing the night prior, we would all discuss (while pretending to work) the events of the show.

Before we knew what was happening, the show was slated to be cancelled. The show was lacking in popularity in the southern states. Its highest-enumerated demographic was the West-coast. Coincidentally, this is also the demographic with the least amount of regular television viewers.

Following NBC’s announcement, an uprise formed online. SaveStudio60.Com was formed as an online petition, trying desperately to communicate with the executives in charge. Their efforts were to no avail, however, and the show was cancelled.

This brings us back to the current day: What is the dramatic event responsible for turning my soured, bitter opinion of Los Angeles around?

Last night, I agreed to see a “reading”, performed by a friend of my sister. Her name, Amy Turner, was one I was familiar with only vaguly. Even as my sister’s best friend, we hadn’t met before.

The show was in a hipster dramatic-arts facility with a miniature stage and 40 seats set up for viewing. As the lights dimmed in the theater I queried my sister with a whispered “What does Amy do for a living?”.

“She is a writer. She used to write for Studio 60.”

…what now? My brain had stopped. I had only in my dreams considered the thought of meeting so much as a facility janitor on the payroll of Studio 60, let alone a writer who had trudged through the “trenches” of the writer’s room, stuck through late-night cast-parties, shaken the surpisingly-small hands of Aaron Sorkin. This had not been on my agenda for the night.

I sat through the show, watching various performers, thinking about what my sister had mentioned so offhandedly.

Is this the way people felt when they saw Johnny Depp buying an ice cream? Or Mary-Kate Ashley at Starbucks?

Is it possible to be starstruck when the person you’re meeting isn’t classified as a star?

Can I simply classify it as an inspiring point of contact? My pop-culture loathing, alt side would feel better that way.

This was LA for me. Going out for drinks and “tapas” with a writer for a prominent magazine (who just returned from a comissioned wine-tasting expedition in France), my awesome sister, and a lead writer who had served time on the books of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip . This placed the city in a new perspective for me.

This city is hard to navigate, the pollution clogs the lungs with an unejectable cloud of tar, and people are, as a whole, are mean to each other - BUT: The inspiration acheived from a concentration of dreams; a city in a state of constant transience, a common goal for productivity can provide a boost for even the most self-stimulating among us.

My impressions of Los Angeles continue to shift and mutate: But the entirely down-to-earth experience of dinner, with an entirely unassuming set of talent has created an indelible impression sure not to fade.