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A hairy congratulations to my friend and office mate Michael for not only digging up this wonderfully disturbing image of himself, but submitting it for consideration in the mattLandia MUSTACHE HALL OF FAME. Michael, I salute thee!
PS - If you are interested in being considered for a place in the MHOF, send your pic to matt at mattlandia dot com for consideration. By sending me your pic, you agree to having it posted on this site.
Sweaty Knee Pits. Curly Hair. Steamy Sunglasses. Melting Candles.
Yup.
It's summer in Dixie. It couldn't have come at a better time. This past holiday weekend was beautiful, blue bonnet skies, humidity not quite at that 'MAXIMUM HELL' level, and bugs not at invasion strength. The highlights:
1) If you own a motorcycle, you must, must, must take 316 east just past the Gwinnett Airport (more like a long, long driveway with planes on the lawn) and take a left on Winder Hwy (aka Hwy 8). If you're lucky, and I was lucky, you'll have blue skies, virtually no traffic, and 30 miles of easy riding. You'll pass through towns called Carl, Winder, Auburn, Dacula before finally ending up at Bogart (you're last stop before reaching Athens). You'll pass long stretches of railroad, abandoned motels, farmland, and small-town Dixie. Don't forget to stop for BBQ at 'Fresh Air BBQ'. A plate of tasty swine is about a $5.
2) The Rennaissance Festival. Turkey Legs. Leggings. Men in pantaloons. Medieval garb by the chalice-full. I always wondered what would have happened if I had let my D&D fascination grow unchecked. Now I know.
3) Edible Horticulture. I have a fairly large post brewing that will cover the saga of the GARDEN. More on this later.
4) mattLandia redesign. I've changed the layout a bit and will continue to tweak it over the next few days. I've added a new link to my stream of photos at Flickr.com at the top of the right column. Click on a photo to see more...
Saw X-Men III last night. Overall, I'd give it 7 out of 10 claws. Without giving away too much, here's the skinny:
GOOD:
- Visual effects were great. The Phoenix was stunning. Wolverines forest skirmish was great.
- They had no qualms killing off mutants and humans alike.
- Famke Janssen. C'mon. Is she ever really bad? Ok maybe she was bad in 'I Spy', but I'll give her a pass.
BAD:
- The writing/dialogue. Every cliched line in the book. It was painful.
- Overall, they tried to do too much in a short period of time.
- Could Pyro be a worse actor?
Still, worth my $8 bucks to see it in the theatre. Snickety Snick.
This June, Turner Classic Movies is doing a really cool 'Leading Ladies' film festival of sorts. Zoe booked the commercial and spent the better part of two nights shooting it. She told me it was shooting some sexy (but tasteful) stock footage they could intercut with scenes featuring the leading actresses of the past 50 years.
I finally saw the footage. It's one part commercial, another part music video. To Goldfrapp no less. 'Sexy' is an understatement. I think 'slow heat dripping in velvet syrup' or 'long stemmed glimpses of white cool incandescence' would be better descriptions. Her footage is intercut with Garbo, Monroe, Davis -- all the diva heavyweights -- and she more than holds her own. I couldn't be more proud of my girl.
Take a look see for yourself: HERE.
Recruiting really good people is tough. Some look great, but when you throw them into an environment of overachievers, well, you get a really quick sense of can 'do' and who 'says they can do'. And let me tell you, there are a ton (A TON) of one-eyed, half-assed technologists out there in employment land selling themselves as the 'good ones'. To be fair, some just aren't a good fit for what we're looking for and that's OK. Makes no sense to recruit a chess player for a rugby team. But it's the chess players in rugby team clothing that are the worst.
Today we interviewed someone who wasn't as good as his resume led on. I should have known he was doomed. He brought a 1 liter bottle of Club Soda to drink during the interview (who brings a whole liter of ANYTHING to an interview). Apparently he thought he may get really, really thirsty. Unfortunately for him, he didn't realize his plastic bottle of carbonated had become an explosive device after having been adequately jostled during his walk to our office.
He sat down, pulled out the bottle, opened it up with the confidence of one-eyed king in blind country. BLOOSH. A fizzy geyser of Club Soda blew up into his face, shirt and tie, spilling all over the table. He sat there, dumbfounded, dripping wet. Poor soul. I don't know if I could imagine a worse start to an interview.
After an hour of fielding technical questions from our resident smart guys, he left quietly, wet, and a bit worse for the wear. He called me later to see how he did. I said, "well, I don't think you'll be a fit for this position".
He said, "Yeah I know" and hung up. Welcome to the land of the sighted buddy.
This is a photo of my uncle Jimbo circa early 70's. My earliest memory of Jimbo is in San Diego. He rode up with some biker buddies, "borrowed" me from the grip of his sister (my mom) and took me for a ride around the block. I don't think I was older than 4 or 5 at the time, but that one trip around the block, pipes growling, with the wind in my young face was enough to hook me for life.
It wasn't until 87 that I would get my first bike, a little Yamaha or Suzuki 250 I think. Dad let me whip around the base we were living on at the time. I pushed that little 250 for every little piece of speed I could get. If the wind was right, I could get it all the way up to 60 I think.
My second bike was a 1979 Yamaha 750 Special II. I bought it in 92 and it was my primary means to get around Utah Valley. It wasn't the nicest bike, but it was black, old, and loud enough to make me feel one rung higher on the transportation food chain. I ran that Yamaha up Provo canyon more times than I can remember. I had the clutch cable break on me while going 65. I pulled over on the shoulder of a dirt road up the canyon to let a truck pass, and the shoulder gave out beneath the bike, sending my bike sliding down about 10 ft into a gulley. Eventually, I traded it in for my first car, a 1977 Canary Yellow Datsun 280 Z. Turns out that is was more a Lemon than a Canary, but that's a story for another day.
I've wanted a new bike every since, but life has a way of conspiring against oneself, so year after year has passed by with no bike. I have wandered in and out of showrooms, swap meets, bike shows and such for over a decade, but could never get enough scratch together to buy anything worthwhile. It shouldn't surprise you then, when I tell you that I 'window' shop at dealerships at least every 4 or 5 months, just for fun. And it shouldn't surprise you that I took Zoe with me to go look at bikes for fun this past saturday. We ended up at our nearest Harley dealership, and started talking to Nathan (a totally likeable, very helpful salesguy). It will surprise you, as much as it did me, that both my credit score and my 'fun-money' savings finally got into agreement, and I realized I had the means to get a bike.
So I did. I got my first Harley Davidson. Me. Myself. and I. Got a Harley. I couldn't be more excited! The power. The sound. It feels as good as I thought it would.
To be precise, I got a used 2002 H-D® XLH Sportster® 1200, but it was a good deal for a bike big enough to take Zoe and I on a long afternoon ride. And it's under 2 yr. warranty, so I can sleep better at night. It's not on par with that righteous chopper in the photo with Jimbo, BUT, it's a huge step forward for me. I had an itch I finally get to scratch. Can I get a "HELL YEAH!"
PS - Yep, I know that riding a motorcycle has it's dangers. I've laid down a motorcyle before. So if you're reading this and feeling nervous, just know that I'll be as safe as I know how. I promise.