Tonight marks Ignite Boulder V, an event so enormously popular that they’ve moved to the Boulder Theater and begun charging for tickets. Despite purchasing my ticket well in advance, I’m not attending in protest to the way in which my presentation was treated.
Several weeks ago, when submission and voting began, I was confident I would end up having enough of the popular vote to present. I began growing a thick beard and jew fro to conincide with my presentation and even ordered a hasidic-style wide-brimmed hat. My excitement was palpable.
Countdown, Ignition, Failure…
Not two weeks ago, as I crawled into bed after getting a speeding ticket, exhausted from an early morning, a long day, and unfortunate turn of events, I recieved a text from Andrew Hyde, the primary organizer of Ignite Boulder. Voting had closed and, despite finishing somewhere in the top 10 (I had been 5th or 6th when I had checked earlier in the day), I was disqualified. Andrew cited 3 reasons:
- 50% of my votes came from the same IP address.
- I had 19 votes for inappropriate content.
- I was the only presentation to be marked inappropriate.
There’s no doubt in my mind that the idea of circumcision makes some people uncomfortable. Despite having researched circumcision on multiple occassions, even I’m not exactly sure of its value. Those people for or opposed are as vehement about the topic as the pro-life and pro-choice camps with regards to abortion. The fact that the topic deals directly with male genitalia, a visual image still considered profane in many camps,
With this in mind, I knew there would likely be controversy. I simple never imagined how much.
In general, Andrew seems like a stand-up guy. In the aftermath which followed, he seemed generally sympathetic and kind despite being avoidant of any of my attempts to parlay. Still, the statistics he quoted didn’t seem to make sense to me, and given how quickly my presentation was deleted after voting, I never had the chance to contest. If there were 19 inappropriate votes from 19 separate individuals, I could certainly understand the hesitation.
A Modest Proposal
Though my first instinct is to argue hard any time censorship rears its ugly head, there were too many points of contention with regards to this topic.
That night, I DMed Andrew Hyde and proposed completing a rough draft of my presenation for vetting by the end of the weekend. While he didn’t express support for this option, he didn’t deter me. Rather than spend intervals of 140 characters arguing futily, I spent the next three days slapping together a rag tag first draft.
Overall I was pleased with how it came out. There were no explicit images or language. It was reasonably well cited and designed despite the utter wealth of information.
On Friday, Mr. Hyde responded, once again denying me entry. His email was showed sympthy to my plight, but I couldn’t help but have doubts that everything was above board.
Victimized
There are plenty of factors in why a presentation might not make it: lack of popularity, withdrawal by the presenter, and inappropriate content or topic are the big three. The third is the reason I was under such scrutiny and I was well-aware that my denial was a possibility. All I wanted was the semblance of a fair trial, especially given the legnth to which I had gone to allay fears and worries.
At Ignite Boulder III, Jo Seymour (@mediamum) did an excellent presentation on breast feeding under the guise of a presentation on boobs. Pandering to a mostly male tech crowd certainly helps in that regard, but the fact remains that her presentation was the best of the night and remains perhaps the best Ignite Boulder presentation so far.
So why is circumcision such a taboo topic if breast feeding isn’t considered inappropriate? After all, they’re both medical discussions. They both have heavily perpetrated myths and opinions muddying them. And they’re both centered on the treatment of genitalia.
It’s hard for me not to feel as though elements of sexism weren’t at the root of this decision.
When I pointed these arguments out to Andrew, he said, “I ran it by the planning group, which thought a ‘above the waist’ rule should be in effect for presentations.” In another email, he explained in simple mathmatics: “Boobs = legal to show in boulder. Below the waist of both sexes = sex offender list.”
That last statement utterly confuses me, as my presntation contained no imagery of genitalia. When I reminded him of that, he told me it was irrellevant to the argument, a point which has left me fuming for the last week.
No Recourse
I can’t help but feel disheartened and dejected to miss out on this Ignite. I can’t, however, in good conscience, participate given my current state of mind. I’ve given away my ticket to go along with my hope and respect, and though I know many of my friends will be in attendance, I simply don’t feel I belong there.
I had originally planned to post my presentation along with this retelling, but upon hearing of my plight, a friend suggested I might submit it to Ignite Denver. It’s possible I’ll try that, but for now, it’ll sit on the back burner.
I can only hope that the presentation at Ignite Boulder V go well and that the cabal behind such a fascinating event can learn from this ordeal. Hopefully, they’ll never need to censor a presentation, and perhaps even more, never needlessly censor one as well.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The first week of July boasts a bevy of excellent events. On July 3rd, Wilco plays Red Rocks. On the Fourth of July, I barbecue and release my CD Exchange album. And, perhaps most importantly, on July 2nd, Ignite Boulder 5 comes live to a venue near me.
By the end of Ignite 4, I knew I would be prepping for another ignite presentation, but something a little less frivolous than preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse. The plan is to present on circumcision and the various myths and truths about the practice. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve delved into this topic, but I hope to cover a lot of ground in a mere 5 minutes while getting a few laughs in the process.
Earlier this week, the inimitable Andrew Hyde opened up submission for topics. Of course, voting is still in preliminary stages, but I’m sitting solidly in 3rd as of this posting. Still any and all support would be appreciated.
To vote for “Just the Tip”, click here.
To see all the voting, click here.
I also highly recommend putting in a good word for Devin Nordson’s fascinating topic on why the environment is a socialist. There are a few other gems in the bunch, but I’ll let you try and pick them out.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The world is about to face one of the strangest and most unforeseen tragedies in history, and no one is paying attention: What happens to libraries with the rise of the eBook?
In high school, I would wander over to the Library once or twice a week, grabbing random books that struck my fancy and plowing through them in the evening when I had free time. I loved the library. It had displays where I could peruse and collections of authors I had never heard of. I could try a book and, if it wasn’t for me, exchange it for something more my style. I always felt odd in bookstores sitting down and reading to see if I wanted something. After all, if I bend the spine or the pages, I felt obligated to buy it.
In recent years, I haven’t taken advantage of the library that much. I certainly used it for research and classes in college, but it fell by the wayside for recreational use. I found myself purchasing books or reading online instead of taking advantage of the library in Boulder. In fact, except for vacations and traveling, I rarely read any books at all.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
“The Informant” by Beau Eaton, architect of the V01D.
“Seriously. Ask any of them. They’ll know about it.”
Her eyes were wide with seriousness and her voice firm with conviction. The intrigue hung in the air like a mist. As we stepped away from the counter, our world open to new possibilities, only her promise remained, everything else fading in comparison.
—
Spend enough time in Boulder and the conspiracy theorists eventually crawl out of the woodwork. There are conspiracies about 9-11 and about government regulation of marijuana. There are conspiracies related to cars and alternative fuels and the cost of public transportation. And if a real weirdo is espousing his or her views, there are conspiracies about clowns and PETA and the Illuminati designing chess as a Last Starfighter style recruitment game.
Most of these theories are the inane ramblings of quacks and people too uneducated in the ways of critical thinking to realize it. Sometimes, however, the truth floats just out of our reach because it’s simply too strange to be believed.
This was the case when a bleary eyed teen whispered the code into our ears; a code which opened up a world I never thought existed.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
A bookshelf can say a lot about a person. At the very basic level, the quality of the book—paperback or hardcover, well-kempt or well-read, old edition or new—can show how much someone reads. Beyond that, titles and authors indicate inclinations and habits, be it harlequin romances and trashy science fiction or high brow philosophy and the greats of literature.
The same is true of one’s movie collection or music collection, but they carry the same weight as books do. Books are an investment. They take time and skill just to absorb them. They spell out your interests and personality phases more than your music or movie collection. After all, it takes only 45 minutes to an hour to listen to an album and a mere hour or three to watch a movie. A book can be devoured in an afternoon or take a month or two, and every image it leaves imprinted in the mind was created by the mind, not some self-righteous artist or auteur.
—
On Tuesday, I got a bookshelf. It was ten bucks at Savers and in reasonable condition. I brought it home and stared at the empty shelves. In my closet sat more books than I could fit on a single bookshelf, and I hardly have the space for another in my room. I began to think about what I could do, what people would see when looking at this canvas covered with my personality and history. What was this bookshelf going to say about me?
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The Sunday New York Times never fails to deliver fascinating writing. Rather than an in depth article on the latest outbreak of war or an insider’s guide to to the latest trend, the most interesting piece of the April 5, 2009 edition was the two paragraph conclusion tucked at the tail of A.O. Scott’s “In Praise of the American Short Story.”
Scott reviews three biographies of well-known writers of the early 20th century known more for their short prose than their novels. Despite not seeming his original intention of the piece, Scott used the opportunity to tuck his own hopes that new media might be a boon to literature instead of the detriment is so seemingly is:
The new, post-print literary media are certainly amenable to brevity. The blog post and the tweet may be ephemeral rather than lapidary, but the culture in which they thrive is fed by a craving for more narrative and a demand for pith. And just as the iPod has killed the album, so the Kindle might, in time, spur a revival of the short story. If you can buy a single song for a dollar, why wouldn’t you spend that much on a handy, compact package of character, incident and linguistic invention? Why wouldn’t you collect dozens, or hundreds, into a personal anthology, a playlist of humor, pathos, mystery and surprise?The death of the novel is yesterday’s news.
The death of print may be tomorrow’s headline. But the great American short story is still being written, and awaits its readers.
I’ve always felt that short stories are generally better written, more interesting and far more poignant than their longer brethren. This is why Ernest Hemingway will remain a great writer in my mind despite being one of the more terrible novelists I’ve read.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Sunset over the Rocky Mountains.
Image by A guy with A camera.
It was supposed to be like going to camp or to boarding school. I could come back and it would all fall into place with the same scents and comforts and, for the most part, players. But after my freshman year, it wasn’t the same.
First, the people I knew began to disappear. My friends found their own lives, and I had made new friends elsewhere. My teachers and coaches were busy teaching and coaching new students I didn’t know. My family developed new routines, ones that I awkwardly injected myself into while trying to maintain the independence I had developed far away.
Then the comforts began to flow away like water. Some evaporated into thin air, like the record stores I frequented and the restaurants I sought refuge at. Others I had bottled and shipped to my new abode two thousand miles away, small links between who I had been and who I was becoming. Still more shifted, subtly at first, still seemingly home but not quite.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The beeping of my alarm is loud enough to be heard in the living room. If my grandfather is awake, as he usually is, he knows what that means.
My computer screen flickers on as soon as I’m able to roll out of bed. It’s not to check email or read the latest news on Slashdot or Shacknews or Daily Source. It’s to check the weather. The weather is the first factor in whether or not I jog.
SIDE NOTE: What I hate about the weather is how localized the readings are. Weather.com usually shows Littleton as being 10 degrees colder than the thermometer outside the house. It also often says it’s snowing or raining when it’s not. Maybe they have their reading device sitting under a sprinkler or faucet. To get weather in Boulder, it gives me readings from Broomfield. That’s not even in the Boulder Valley! At least they could take data from NOAA, since that’s actually in Boulder.
If the weather’s ok, I’ll just wear shorts and T-shirt. I toss a hoodie on if it’s chilly. If it’s outright cold, I slide on long underwear beneath my shorts, slap a pair of gloves on, and pull up the hood on my hoodie.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Actress Eva Mendes rolls her Rs.
In the American school system, students are usually given the choice of French or Spanish when it comes time to take a language. I know in the Denver area German is an option, but not in Boston. Seeing as I had been indoctrinated to French—my mom grew up in Switzerland and has a Bachelor’s in French—it was the obvious choice. Now I kind of regret it.
I’ve learned a little bit of Spanish, but I rarely get to use my French. If I had learned Spanish, I’d be able to throw it around left and right. Instead, most of the Spanish I learned was learned from working in a kitchen.
I learned how to swear, how to call someone’s mother names. I spent two months calling cabbage “repollo” because I had asked one of the Latino workers what that shredded red lettuce stuff was. I learned some of the basic things, like admitting my friends are crazy or asking for a bathroom, both invaluable expressions.
But I never learned to roll my Rs properly.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
I once called it “a termite’s dream come true.” Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have been so callous.
The chair was plain and ordinary looking, barely stained and sun-bleached in its old age. Its legs creaked when someone sat down and the wooden slats of the back rattled when someone got up quickly. The seat was worn from use, smooth where butt cheeks had rubbed into the seat. There was nothing intrinsically impressive about the chair and I treated it accordingly.
It slid neatly under my desk in the back of my room, tucked next to the window overlooking the driveway. Though I didn’t treat it as such, the chair was surprisingly central to my existence in that room.
My computer perched atop the table where my friends would gather, straining to see the next level of whatever game we were playing, the current mouse commander seating in the chair while the rest of hovered or pulled up seats. I’d throw my feet up on the table, creaking back on two legs, and read in the waning light of the afternoon, and lean forward over my homework beneath the track lighting installed above. With the lights off and the shades drawn, I would sit in that chair and watch the window across the way, my fingers preening apart the slats in the blinds, hoping to catch a glimpse of our neighbor’s college age daughter slipping out of the shower.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Available for your shower now!
“Did you have a good time?” Larry inquires.
“Yeah, it was fun,” I reply, my smile quickly turning into a tiny grimace. “I must admit I was tempted to pull Captain Geek aside and introduce him to deodorant.”
“Captain Geek? We’re all geeks and gamers here.”
“Yeah,” I chuckle and nod, “but none of us exemplify the stereotype quite like the unwashed mass over there.”
—
Whatever happened to the days where bathing was the last thing we wanted to do?
I remember fighting with my parents after hours of jumping in puddles and wallowing in mud simply because I didn’t want to birthday suit up and slide into a tub. I would splash water on my toothbrush and barely scrape my teeth because I didn’t want to brush (and I hated the mint flavor of toothpaste).
Somewhere along the way, clean became the thing to be.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
“We’ve been hanging out again,” she meekly muttered, a slanted smile creeping across her face. The “we” refers to her cheating ex-boyfriend.
“That’s not smart,” I replied derisively, immediately regretting the commentary. I simply couldn’t help myself. At least not any more than I could help shaking my head and rolling my eyes with demeaning disapproval. Given that just a week or two earlier, she angrily accused me of not caring about anyone during an argument about said ex, nearly terminating our friendship, this was probably not the best response.
Perhaps she didn’t notice because her eyes were trained wistfully at the sidewalk as we strolled or perhaps she chose to accept my commentary as an extension of who I am. Either way, the moment was gone as she sighed. “I know, I know…”
—
I throw opinions around like confetti, sprinkling every conversation with them. People know when I approve or disapprove of an action, even if I don’t argue the merits.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Nearly a year ago, I went to great lengths to extricate myself from Boulder. I moved out of my house, threw all my things in storage, and went on a grand journey around the world almost exclusively to uproot myself and have a chance to go someplace else. Obviously, the traveling was worthwhile in and of itself, but the impetus was to get out of Boulder.
Boulder is an amazing town. It suffers from excellent weather while still maintaining seasonal change. The population is infested by a wealth of intelligent, interesting and beautiful, though rarely in combination, people. Days and nights are regularly filled with arts and leisure that only the rich and famous could tire of, and ski resorts, hiking trails, and the call of city (or a close facsimile thereof) are just a Hop, Skip, or a Jump away. In essence, Boulder is the only attainable paradise I’ve ever experienced.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
“More than anything else,” Tom told me, “more than any of the issues we’ve had living together or the little argument, I’m worried that he won’t be prepared when he goes back to school.”
“I hear that,” I say. “It’s freaks me out as well.”
“Going back to school?”
“No, going back to anything I’ve been away from for a while.”
—
Tom has a point. Nick is intelligent and talented, but he’s got a crappy day job that doesn’t challenge him. When he returns to school, who knows what he will have lost or gained in the year off. From here, though, it doesn’t look promising.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The economy will fix itself eventually. It’s a foregone conclusion. How long it will take, however, isn’t clear.
In my eyes, there’s one way that President Barack Obama and the current government can create jobs, cut costs, earn money and give the economy a major boost in one easy move: Legalize marijuana.
Those of you who know me know I have, for a long time, been a proponent of marijuana decriminalization and legalization. After visiting Amsterdam last fall, I began to rethink that position (see previous link). The utter comercialism of the pot industry disgusted me, but it’s clear that as a business it could thrive.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Image by Matthew Olyphant.
“That fucker,” I muttered under my breath, stuffing the signed credit card slip in with the others and pocketing the $0.43 tip.
Mr. Felcher was a regular at BD’s Mongolian Barbecue. He often came in at lunch with his wife, ordering the beer and a bowl special (which got you a beer and one trip through for eight bucks, which is a pretty sweet deal) and left the paltriest of tips if he chose to tip at all. He was surly, rude and demanding and every waiter who worked a day shift got his table at least once. And all of us hated it.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
It took me a while to catch that it was up, as I’ve been off cavorting for the last two weeks, but the awesome Craig Kendall posted the video of my Ignite Boulder presentation. The slides aren’t quite timed as well in the video as they were in real life (as they’re not live video) and the music at the beginning was not my doing, but it does a good enough job.
So if you missed the event and the live stream, or if you merely want to relive the mayhem, here it is:
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The huffing and snuffling had roused me a few minutes earlier, but wrapped in the soft down comforter, I had chosen to ignore it, rolling over and descending into dreamland once more. This time, however, the sounds of my canine companions dragged me into a slouched position like a marionette pulled up by the strings.
The three dogs bounced and spun by the door, the old one teetering back and forth on her arthritic legs. I stumbled from bed, sleep still stuck in the corners of my eyes, fully intent on letting the trio out into the backyard and then crawling back toward slumber. Little did I know that the fates had conspired and my simplistic desire were already thwarted.
—
Last week, I was house-sitting for my aunt and uncle north of Denver. It might be more apt to say dog-sitting as I was watching their two old beagles and their little fox-like dog. Despite being married for thirteen years, they’ve either chosen or been unable to have kids and have supplemented their household with beagles, the latest addition being a sweet but poorly trained 8-year old named Coco whom they found through Beagle rescue. Kelsey, whom they’ve had for as long as I can remember, is the senior of the group. She suffers from coughing fits, waddles at her fastest speed, is partially blind and deaf, and is going gray, which I’ve never seen in a dog before.
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
Image found here.
My junior year of high school, Dodi came back to visit.
My friend Oolij told me Dodi had been a good friend before his family had disappeared down the East coast to Maryland. As is usual with kids, the reasons for his family’s move were muddled with elements of rumor and gossip.
“Dodi totally got a raw deal,” Oolij explained. “He had a crush on this girl and would walk by her house on the way home each day. But it was on the way.”
“Dodi was a stalker,” Staniel told me. “He lived in the opposite direction and was following her around. It was kind of creepy. She got a restraining order against him.”
“His family moved for work reasons after Freshman year,” Montserrat claimed. “I mean, sure, she was happy he was gone and it was probably good for him, but it had nothing to do with the restraining order.”
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
The card read:
You still owe me the story of the snowflake.
Ben - [phone number]
http://worldwide.aceharmon.com
I’m sure she thought it was some sort of pickup. This random guy who passed her a card with his number? Please. How transparent could someone be?
But I really just wanted the story of the snowflake.
—
It certainly didn’t feel as awkward as it probably looked: fourteen people, thirteen of them well into their retirement and me, the 20-something in the black shirt wearing Mardi Gras beads and a rubber skeleton jester. If I had seen such a sight, I’d have guessed that the 20-something was someone’s nurse. After all, why else would he be there?
Originally published at Worldwide Ace. You can comment here or there.
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