Lex, Briefly

Birthdays and series finales

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 17:54:00 PST

You’re supposed to get emotional at funerals and weddings. I do, but I also get emotional at two kinds of events that I don’t quite think, logically, I ought to: series finales and my kids birthdays.

Man, I hate series finales. To be clear, I don’t give a hoot when terrible television shows like, say, Joey or Teen Mom conclude. But when I like television shows, I watch them religiously; when those shows end, I inevitably feel teary-eyed. Not because I won’t get to watch the show anymore—indeed, in the case of shows like ER or Lost, finales come as more of a relief than anything else. Rather, it’s because, for whatever reason, finales are forever linked in my mind to the passage of time and growing older.

Lost “only” ran for six years, from 2004 to 2010. When it debuted, I lived in a two-bedroom condo in Culver City, California with my wife. By the time it concluded, I lived in New Jersey with my wife and two kids. I started watching House three jobs ago, and it’s still running.

Series end. Life continues. It moves fast.

Today was my daughter Sierra’s third birthday. At the end of October, her big sister Anya turned five. Their brother Liam won’t turn one until February of next year. Lauren and I are each 31.

I don’t get too emotional on my own birthday, though I definitely appreciate that birthdays are less awesome as you get older. I mean, 31 sounds old. I don’t feel especially old, besides the fact that standing up takes more energy than I remember, I wake up tired, and I keep finding new places to grow hair.

But on my kids’ birthdays, emotions go nutty. There’s a couple different elements at play. At my kids’ ages, they still need disciplining every single day. That’s not to say we hand out punishments day in and day out, but rather that we’re actively coaching behavior all day long—eating nicely, speaking politely, acting respectfully, being patient. I’m guessing that incessant need decreases a bit as the kids get older. But I hate to talk about consequences with my kids on their birthdays; if I say that failure to talk nicely might result in your failing to earn your bedtime story, I need to mean that, and I don’t want to take away your story on your birthday. Not even a little.

That’s a minor piece of it, though. More important to me is making sure your birthday is super fun. Sierra cried once today (over something of truly no consequence, of course), and it broke my heart. I don’t ever want my kids to feel sad, of course, but especially not on their birthdays! Birthdays, especially for kids, should be special and overwhelmingly happy. Anything less is unacceptable in my book.

But, of course, the biggest piece of the birthday emotion is, unsurprisingly, the same thing that gets me about series finales. My kids keep getting older. They refuse to stop. I don’t want them to stop; each new age I’ve experienced thus far is filled with wonderment and awesome developments. My five year old reads, constantly, for pleasure. My three year old is full of love and affection, and expresses it in almost hilariously mature ways. My nine-month-old… Well, he’s nine months old. He smiles a lot. That’s nice.

And they all keep aging. Which means I keep aging. Birthdays remind me that none of us is getting any younger, and that one day they’ll move out, talk to me less often, rely on me less often. And because I’m a sick puppy, I also think about how I won’t get to know my kids for their whole lives, and how that’s just the most disappointing and depressing fact of life that I can think of.

My kids are truly some of the most wonderful people I know. They all consistently get better with age. I welcome their aging. I just dread it, too.

IM'ing How I Met Your Mother

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 17:35:00 PDT

Lauren was upstairs putting the baby to sleep. I was waiting for her to come down so that we could watch How I Met Your Mother. Then she IM'd me. Then I got nutty. Well, nuttier.

Lauren: Worst lap to bed transfer in the history of time. If I had thrown him in there like a football, I probably would have had a higher chance of success than whatever it was that I just did.

Lex: Don't you disparage the great game of football.

Lex: Here's what I'll do

Lex: I'll watch HIMYM

Lex: and I'll IM you each line.

Lex: Barney: Ted, Suit up!

Lex: Ted: What? No.

Lex: Barney: I like boobs.

Lex: Ted: I am telling my kids you said that, years from now, when I have kids.

Lex: Barney: Nice.

Lex: Barney: (cont'd) And you'll tell them I was your best friend, right?

Lex: Ted: No, Marshall's my best friend.

Lex: Marshall: I love Lily.

Lex: Robin: My part is very small.

Lex: Lily: Sounds familiar.

Lauren: Hahaha

Lex: Ba ba ba ba baaaaa ba ba ba ba baaaaaaa

Lauren: Goat?

Lex: theme song

Lauren: Ahhhh

Lex: INT. McCalren's, night

Lex: Robin: We spend a lot of time at this bar.

Lex: Lily: We are all functional alcoholics. I mean, I was, until I got pregnant.

Lex: Marshall (whispered, to Ted and Barney): She still drinks in the closet.

Lex: Marshall (cont'd, to Lily): And we love you for it, honey.

Lauren: Do you write this show?

Lex: Barney: Suit up. I like boobs. Legen, wait for it, dairy. I'm portrayed by a gay dude.

Lex: Ted: That's not really relevant.

Lex: Barney: Neither is your character or the title of this show. You're kind of the least interesting character.

Lex: Lily: Sounds familiar.

Lex: Commercial.

I married up.

Steve

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 17:44:40 PDT

When you become an Apple fan for the first time, you just know. There's a moment—it happens fast—when you realize that the Apple-designed device is on your side.

It wants you to succeed, it wants to work the way you expect it to, and it wants you to enjoy the whole damn experience.

To me, that's the Steve Jobs influence. That's "insanely great."

Steve Jobs made my life quantifiably, undeniably better. Yours, too.

I will be forever grateful.

On television

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 11:23:20 PDT

Before our first daughter was born, Lauren and I decided that we would limit our kids’ television watching. Our plan was no TV for the first two years, followed by a show a day once you hit the two-year-old mark.

To be clear, Lauren and I really like television, and we watch a lot of it. I don’t begrudge dedicated television watchers when they watch shows intentionally and devotedly, because they appreciate the story. I’m less fond of the habit of turning the TV on whenever you’re in the same room, but I digress.

While our plan evolved a bit, we’ve mostly stuck to it. We never watched our own shows with the kids in the room (save for a few times when Anya sat on her swing facing us as an infant, while we faced both her and the TV at the same time as she slept.)

When Anya was around 20 or so months old, Lauren started letting her watch shows during the dreaded Fingernail Cutting Process. But shows were merely a nail-cutting distraction, and nothing else. Come her second birthday, Anya was permitted one show per day—often Dora the Explorer.

When her younger sister Sierra came long, we stuck to the same rule. Well, I did. Some time after Sierra’s first birthday, she became aware that Anya was getting to watch TV. Eventually, Sierra—when she wasn’t napping during Anya’s video time—was permitted to join Anya for that show.

Sierra’s now 2.75 years old. With Anya approaching five, we don’t mind if she watches a second show each day; many days, she watches one while Sierra naps, and then a second after Sierra’s nap.

The girls—Anya especially—love getting to watch videos; one of the perks of going to Grandma’s house is that she lets them watch more.

* * * * * * *

A couple nights ago, we tried out a new neighborhood restaurant—one that included several large television screens on the wall. One of those TVs was tuned into Nick Jr. Anya, as she always is when there are powered-on televisions about, became excitedly transfixed.

I encouraged her repeatedly to focus on us, on her food, on anything in the restaurant besides the television. I explained to her how my own parents had warned me growing up that if I watched too much TV, my brain would turn into peanut butter, and that it was okay to watch some TV, but that limiting your TV time is good.

She agreed to try to focus on the table.

Minutes later, Anya burst into tears. It took some time to get her to explain why. She explained through sobs that she was upset because her eyes had peeked at the TV again accidentally. I told her that was okay, that I wasn’t mad, and that I liked that she was trying hard.

“But I don’t want my brain to turn into peanut butter!” she wailed.

* * * * * * *

Anya’s raw emotion was painfully sad—and we worked quickly to explain that your brain doesn’t really turn to peanut butter, that this was just an expression. Lauren will be mad at me for saying so, but she knows it’s true: Anya’s fear about the peanut butter was awful and gut-wrenching, but also hilarious.

I mean, just a little.

But, I am sorry that I put the fear of peanut butter brain into her brain, and I am glad that she is quick to forget. Now we make jokes about the peanut butter brain incident, telling her all the other foods her brain might turn into, and giggle about it. Still: Anya, I’m sorry I made you think that.

It’s all your grandparents’ fault.

Why I read every 9/11-related article I see

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Sat, 10 Sep 2011 09:12:22 PDT

It seems like this year it’s a bit hipper than ever to poo-poo the media’s numerous maudlin remembrances of 9/11. We lived it, we remember it, and we don’t need to read endless stories about it.

I don’t know. I kind of do. I have, since that 2001 Tuesday, felt an unhealthy obsession with the attacks, one that for whatever reason motivates me to read every 9/11-related article I come across. I was a senior in college in 2001, and that was the first day of the school year when I turned on CNN right after my shower; I was (and am!) a news junkie, but hadn’t gotten into the news-watching habit yet that school year.

I saw the first report on CNN of a plane hitting the tower. I sat on the futon that was my bed all day watching that 13” TV, taking notes—for whatever reason—on each report that CNN issued. (A car bomb at the State Department! The Mall is on fire! A fifth plane! A sixth plane!) I watched as AIM Away Messages (the Twitter of the day) were updated throughout the day: “Nothing will ever be the same.” “This means war.” “What is going on?!” “TURN ON YOUR TV RIGHT NOW.

I read the 9/11 Report, twice. I kept the post-9/11 issues of Newsweek.

I fear death. I have kids, and I want to see them—and their kids—grow old, and the knowledge that we’ll all die some day depresses me if I think about it too much. I want to die of old age. I want to die and understand, at least on a pragmatic level, why it’s happening.

Most of the folks who died on 9/11 had no idea what the hell was going on. The passengers on United 93 knew that the nation was under attack, and took action—but still, they didn’t really know what was happening. They didn’t know how many more attacks were coming.

I object to every one of the victims’ deaths, of course, but I object even more strongly because they simply didn’t know what killed them, who killed them, and why.

So I read the endless 9/11 tributes, individual stories of survivors and the dead alike, endlessly. It’s a sick addiction. I know—again, pragmatically at least—why they died, and who did it, and what the hell was going on. So I read about them, for them.

I don’t think it helps them, of course. But it helps me a bit.

* * * * * *

I skipped very, very few classes in college. Before Brandeis shut down, I called in to the professor of my next class and said I wasn’t coming in. The class? “War and the Possibilities of Peace.”

* * * * * *

My wife gets anxious on September 11th. I don’t. We’re close to New York, but not super close. Dirty bombs are actually far less dangerous than people think, because they don’t really spread lethal amounts of radiation.

One key goal of terrorism is to cause terror. I decline to be afraid on 9/11 anniversaries, on airplanes, or in Times Square. I definitely don’t want to get killed by a terrorist’s act, but there’s no way in hell that I’m going to give them the courtesy of worrying about it.

* * * * * *

I say, keep the 9/11 tributes coming. It’s no fun to read about the professional and amateur heroes, the dead, and the guilt-ridded living. It’s work. It strengthens my resolve that doesn’t need strengthening, and it somehow inspires me to keep working each day to give my own kids as much hope and optimism and love for life and people as I can.

One Angry Lex

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Wed, 03 Aug 2011 19:21:30 PDT

After thirteen days of service, I have completed my civic responsibility to the state of New Jersey: My jury duty is over.

Folks tend to dread getting summoned for jury duty. I’ve been called twice now; once in LA, and once here in Jersey. Both times, I was selected to serve on a trial. I don’t appreciate the interruption to my work life, but I’m not on board with the notion of getting out of jury duty when it’s not absolutely necessary, just because it’s an annoyance. Were I ever wrongfully accused of a crime, I’d want bright, astute jurors to sit in the box to judge me—not just the folks too dopey to find a way to get dismissed.

In other words, I don’t force my way out of jury duty. I answer voir dire questions openly and honestly. If I’m booted, that’s fine; if I’m seated, that’s okay, too.

* * *

On this case, many potential jurors—dozens—sought to get dismissed. That’s partially because the trial was expected to take six days, and it’s partially because of the charges alleged: sexual molestation of young girls. Objecting to the case based on its focus was a “Get Out of Jury Duty Free” card, and many folks played it. I understand why.

Ironically, even before I knew what the charges would be in the case, before the judge had spoken a word, I noted one skeevy looking fellow potential juror in the courtroom. I pointed him out to a new friend seated next to me in the galley. We joked that this juror was the guiltiest looking dude in the courtroom because he kinda looked like a pedophile. Oops.

The judge in this case was a good guy, and he tried hard to set reasonable expectations for time—what time we’d start or resume hearing testimony, how long breaks would be, how long the trial itself would take after certain changes occurred, and so on. He failed miserably at these predictions.

I’ll admit that I felt frustrated early in the case when, after the opening witness’s testimony and our lunch break, we were never brought back into the courtroom. (Instead, we sat in the jury lounge from lunch through 4pm, at which point we were dismissed.) The following day, we returned to the courthouse, only to get dismissed (without hearing any testimony) around 10:30. The wheels of justice were turning slowly, and we weren’t even in the car.

The judge frequently apologized for these delays, which I appreciated. He more clearly apologized for them today, after the trial’s conclusion, assuring us that they (he and the lawyers on each side) were steadily working on the case even in our absence. I believe it. That doesn’t make it suck less if you’re the juror whose time is getting wasted.

* * *

There were two alleged victims in this case. They’re sisters. They claim that the defendant, Mom’s then-boyfriend, touched them inappropriately in the places you’d imagine, and that he did so regularly over the course of four years.

One of the two alleged victims sandbagged her case from the get-go. She changed her story—first reported to detectives a year ago—the week before the trial began, while the jury was being seated. In the witness box, she testified that she further corrected some of her earlier reports to a woman from the Child Advocacy Center, a division of the state prosecutor’s office. That woman sat in the galley throughout almost all of the trial.

She later testified, when called by the defense, that in fact the alleged victim had never called her.

Quite frankly, I believe the defendant molested the older girl. But by sullying her testimony with lies past and present, and since the only evidence of her molestation could come from her own testimony, the witness made it impossible for the jury to find proof beyond a reasonable doubt on the charges that concerned whether she was molested.

* * *

The younger alleged victim didn’t impugn her own testimony. Nor did anyone else. She spoke emotionally yet stoically. She testified about which acts the defendant performed upon her, when, how, and with what frequency. On cross examination, her story similarly remained consistent—even with the statement she had given the police more than a year ago. During the case, this witness turned 13. It’s alleged that the sexual assaults occurred while she was between ages 4 and 8.

Though he tried valiantly, the defense attorney could not trip up this alleged victim or catch her in any lies or misstatements. There was no woman from the Advocacy Center to contradict this witness’s testimony. She was believable, moving, and compelling on the stand.

Put another way, the witness was clearly credible and quite clearly telling the truth.

* * *

We were warned before the case began that there would be no evidence save for witness testimony. During voir dire, we had to answer questions about whether we could fairly judge cases—including rendering a guilty verdict—when the only evidence would be testimony: no DNA, no photographs, etc. We also had to answer a question about whether we could convict someone based on the word of a child, if we believed that child was telling the truth.

Over time, the jurors reached consensus on the charges that related solely to the older daughter. While some (not all) of us thought her testimony contained some truth—i.e., that she had been molested—we all agreed that because of the lies she’d been caught in, we couldn’t be convinced of her story beyond a reasonable doubt.

When we took our first votes on the charges that related exclusively to the younger alleged victim, three of us voted guilty, seven not guilty, and two were undecided.

* * *

The defendant took the stand in his own defense.

A man’s freedom is on the line; horrible crimes are alleged. You don’t want to contribute to getting a man thrown in jail, and you don’t want to believe that someone could do these unspeakable things to these young girls.

You want him to defend himself. You are thrilled—and surprised—that he takes the stand. You want him to tell you how he loved the kids, took great care of them, and is flabbergasted by these accusations.

“Did you molest these kids?”

“No.”

That’s when he should have sat down. He didn’t.

Were you ever home alone with the kids? No, never.

Never, not once? Well, if I came home and I was the only adult there, I would leave and go visit my other kids.

So as soon as you got home, if no other adults were there, you’d leave right away? You were never alone in the house with the kids? Maybe a few times.

A few times? Sometimes.

Okay then.

The defendant also denied that he ever acted as a parent to the kids (several charges carried more serious consequences if we found him guilty while acting as a caregiver or in loco parentis). He claimed that he never—not once—asked the kids to pick up a toy, put something way, or get something for him. He also claimed that he’d never told the kids to call him “Daddy.”

Not even once? No. It made their mother mad if I told them what to do.

Okay, but if you say that it made their mother mad if you told the kids to do something, wouldn’t that imply that you did so at least once for her to get mad at you in the first place? I don’t recall.

The state’s prosecutor also asked the defendant why the kids would make these false allegations. “I have no idea,” he said.

The prosecutor then asked if the defendant remembered speaking to the detectives who’d interviewed him a year ago. The defendant couldn’t remember whom he’d spoken to. He claimed that he couldn’t remember the detective—who had testified immediately prior—as being one of the detectives involved. He couldn’t remember what he’d told the detectives when they’d asked why the kids might make these allegations. He even claimed he couldn’t understand the questions. His attorney objected all the while.

The jurors were again dismissed from the courtroom. The defendant watched a portion of his interview on DVD; for whatever reason, the interview wasn’t admitted into evidence for us to watch ourselves. When we returned, the defendant begrudgingly admitted that he’d told the detectives in the case about The Dog Incident as an explanation for why the girls might make these allegations.

The girls, as the defendant described it to us, were asleep. The puppy was sleeping between them. He wanted to remove the puppy from their room, and may have accidentally touched them inappropriately—while they slept—in his attempt to get the dog.

And this incident, to which neither girl testified, and which the defendant alleges they slept through, apparently could explain their false allegations.

Oh, by the way: The girls actually slept in a bunk bed; the older girl got the top bunk. How the dog could be between them, and how he could make contact with both of them, and how they would remember it if they were asleep, is all beyond me.

So is how the defendant would recall such a non-incident from his perspective when talking to the detectives.

He says the kids never liked him, he never took care of them, never made them meals, never was alone with them, never was in the room with either girl alone, never bathed them, never helped them on the toilet, never helped them dress.

Just that pesky Dog Incident.

* * *

As we discuss the case in the deliberation room, there are three folks ready to convict the defendant on the charges relating to her unassailed testimony about the sexual assaults she says she suffered at the hands (and, less often, mouth) of the defendant. The three folks attempt to convince the other nine jurors to see the case there way.

I am one of the three.

Over two days, we convince six more jurors to see things our way. We now sit at nine guilty votes to three not guilty votes. The not guilty voters tell us their opinions cannot be moved.

On day three—not through browbeating or harassment, I might add—one of the not guilty voters experiences an epiphany. Another follows almost immediately. We’re now 11 to 1.

The eleven of us are ready to convict the defendant on two charges that relate to the younger girl. One of us isn’t. I’ll call him Asshole Juror, or Asshole for short.

Asshole is in his late 40s. He’s single, never married, no kids. He tells us he thinks that we’re falling for the younger girl’s lies hook, line, and sinker. He tells us that our interpretations of “proof beyond a reasonable doubt” are ridiculous. We ask him to define his. He says he needs 99.5 percent certainty.

Asshole tells us that just because the girl wasn’t caught in any lies doesn’t mean she’s not lying. On this, we agree. He also tells us that he’s not convinced the defendant lied under oath, even though the defendant a) provided different, changing answers to the same repeated question (from “never” home alone with the kids, to “a few times,” to “sometimes”), and not all of those answers could be true, and b) claimed to never once have told the kids to clean something up, put something away, or anything in that realm.

Thus the girl with the testimony into which even the defense attorney could insert no wedges or uncertainty, Asshole says, is lying. And the defendant who acted cagey and disingenuous? He was telling the truth, apparently.

What makes you doubt the girl’s veracity, we ask Asshole. “Well, the defendant said he didn’t do it,” comes the reply.

“What’s her motivation?” we ask Asshole. “I think there’s a conspiracy afoot between the mother and the daughters. I think the defendant said he was going to stop paying child support [for another sibling, one he fathered], and they got mad and set him up,” Asshole explains.

No explanation is given for why the defendant didn’t testify to the child support part of the equation. Nor is any offered for how a then-11-year-old could create a lie in a matter of hours (during which Asshole alleges the conspiracy was created), memorize it, recite it perfectly to the detectives, and never waver once or differ from that statement on the stand a year later.

Nor is an explanation provided for why, if the whole story is bogus and manufactured, they didn’t go the extra step of having someone—Mom, Sister, Third Party—”witness” the molestation and thus be able to further testify to it. In other words, why create such a shitty lie?

Asshole eventually acknowledges that he’s not sure his self-manufactured conspiracy theory works, but it’s enough for him to develop reasonable doubt, he says. He’s only 70 percent convinced of the defendant’s guilt, he says. He could convict—and would!—if some other witness could have SEEN the molestation happen. Or if the victim were older and thus somehow more credible to him.

I pressed Asshole on this. He eventually acknowledged, plainly and simply, that barring any other evidence, if the only testimony was the girl’s with no defense presented, he still wouldn’t vote guilty. He can’t convict a man based solely on the testimony of a child. And in, as Asshole described it, a he-said/she-said case, one person’s word against another’s isn’t enough; he’d need at least two folks to testify to the “she-said’s” side. He needed not another victim—which we sort of had, though one with credibility issues—but another witness.

* * *

At one point in our deliberations, Asshole came to us with a proposal. He suggested that he could vote “guilty” on a lesser alternate charge related to the lesser of the two charges concerning the victim, if we would agree to vote “not guilty”—not “undecided” or “hung”—on all the other charges. We unanimously rejected his offer.

Over the next several hours, Asshole continued to stress that we could say whatever we wanted, but he wasn’t going to change his mind. He was firmly entrenched in his view, and no debate, no reheard testimony, no anything would have any impact.

We pointed out that many jurors had changed their minds over the course of the deliberations, that two of the three longest-standing “not guilty” voters had changed to “guilty,” and surely hadn’t expected that they would do so 24—or even two—hours before.

Asshole didn’t care.

* * *

Eventually, another juror and I sent a note to the judge stating that we felt a fellow juror hadn’t answered all of the voir dire questions completely honestly. That led to a bit of a hullabaloo. Our note was read to all the jurors in open court. The judge questioned me in open court, on the record, with counsel present—advising me to ensure that my answers didn’t reveal anything about the nature of our deliberations.

He then questioned the other juror who reported the concern with me. Eventually, Asshole was called out. I wasn’t witness to what he told the judge. I imagine it went something like this:

Judge: Some jurors allege that your answer during voir dire regarding how you would interpret a child’s testimony hasn’t held up during your deliberations. Would you like to change your answer?

Asshole: Judge, for crying out loud, my name is Asshole. Of course I will like about the fact that I lied during voir dire.

We were eventually instructed to continue our deliberations with no juror changes.

* * *

We didn’t.

Instead, 3 days and five and a half hours after we began our deliberation, we gave up. Asshole couldn’t be moved.

We returned verdicts of not guilty on some counts, and hung on others. Most of the eleven of us reported these verdicts—we were polled on each count—with tears in our eyes and on our faces. Asshole, unsurprisingly, smiled wide the whole time.

* * *

This is our criminal justice system, and this is how it works. It’s not always a jury of your peers. It’s a jury of peers, plus people much smarter and much stupider than you. People better and worse than you. People well-equipped mentally to handle the process, and people who aren’t.

I’m crushed by this verdict and fearful that the state won’t retry its case on the undecided charges. I’m very concerned that a man I’m certain abused at least one girl will go free. Asshole was worried that he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if we wrongly sent an innocent man to jail. I, of course, will be haunted that we wrongly let a guilty one stay out.

I’m as convinced of the defendant’s guilt as I am that we’d never convince Asshole to vote guilty.

It’s surely meaningless, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t point it out. That creepy potential juror I spotted before the jury selection process began?

None other than trusty old Asshole.

The true story of my meeting with President Barack Obama

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 19:26:05 PDT

I was selected to be a part of the first-ever Twitter Town Hall. According to The White House, the event marked the first time that "random" members of the public—the 50 tweeters, in this case—came to that building specifically to see the president speak.

It was awesome. We got to explore (and take normally-verboten photographs!) outside the East Room, and inside the East Room and the State Dining Room.

When President Obama entered the room, the audience stood. Obama walked directly along the aisle adjacent the Tweeters. I saw that folks at the edge of the aisle—on instinct, I suppose—immediately began thrusting their arms out towards the president, in hopes of shaking his hand. He obliged.

In seconds, I made a few conclusions in my mind, as we humans are wont to do. I realized that—given the speed of President Obama's strides to the stage, and the fact that I was the third person in my row, with the other two guys already extending their hands towards the president—I wasn't going to get the opportunity to shake the man's hand. I made peace with it.

Within a second or two, he approached my section. He shook my two compatriots' hands. As he did so, he and I made eye contact.

With my eyes, I swear to you, I communicated my situation to Obama. As I smiled and nodded, I told him—silently—that I knew that logistics would prevent our shaking hands, and I was accepting it and moving on, and we would always have this cheerful mutual nodding to look back on.

I'm not suggesting that there was telepathy. But I assure you that the man knew exactly what my eyes were saying.

At that moment, the president of the United States winked at me. And as he did, he extended his hand to me for a shake. We shook. I believe I am now also a member of his cabinet.

(You can see me make peace with not shaking his hand at 1:32; you can see him go in for the shake at 1:36.)

You're older than you've ever been, and now you're even older

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 17:13:24 PDT

I haven’t known quite what to do with this blog since starting my Macworld job. Macworld owns first dibs on my tech writing, and I haven’t yet come up with anything I want to write that wouldn’t make more sense on Macworld than it would here.

But I have some non-tech thoughts to share today. My two daughters both had their year-end shows at school today. The older one—Anya—graduated from pre-school, and starts kindergarten in the fall. The thought of it makes my head hurt.

For a couple weeks, Anya’s been rehearsing her big song-and-dance number for us at home. The girls sang the (awful) Katy Perry song Firework, with delightful “dance” moves to go along with it. I hate the song, but I love Anya’s rendition of it.

Anya’s not the loudest kid in her class, or the biggest ham on stage. (That award went to a boy who belted every song they sang, except for when he forgot the words.) But she did great during her graduation show, singing—even if quietly—and nailing all the moves.

I got misty-eyed during her performance of Firework. I don’t know if I would have had I not seen her practicing at home, but I knew how hard she was working to nail the number, how wide her arms got as they pointed up to the sky at one moment, and how massive her grin was when she started the arm-shaking chorus dance. And she did awesomely today, and it struck a chord with me.

I thought about the girls’ shows today for the rest of the day. I thought about how excited I used to be on the last day of school growing up—though certainly not at Anya or Sierra’s ages, when it means a lot less. I thought about how excited I felt about my high school graduation, and how excited/scared shitless I felt at my college graduation. I thought about how my graduation from college was more than nine years ago.

I thought about how if Anya’s 4.5 now, and we multiply our time with Anya to date by four, she’s 18 already and going to college and moving out and holy Moses where does the time go. And when that happens I’ll be in my mid-40s. If they’re getting older, I’m getting older. As promised, it’s going by fast. We try our hardest to enjoy every minute of it, but there are always days where we can’t wait for the kids’ bedtimes, or days where we feel like we’re doing nothing but reprimanding.

Those days suck. The good days, though… The good days are just terrific.

But my newborn son Liam is now my 3.5-month-old. Anya is headed to kindergarten, and Sierra’s going to be in the 3-year-old class next year. Time is flying like an arrow.

All of which is my lead-in to say this: I’m absolutely delighted that I started working for Macworld at the end of April. The decision was a scary and difficult one; my last job paid quite handsomely and included some unique upsides. But I wasn’t passionate about what I was working on, and I kept on doing it anyway because of the paycheck. And, frankly, because Macworld hadn’t hired me yet.

When Macworld finally made an offer, I’d like to say that I jumped at it. But I didn’t. I wanted to jump at it, but I sweated it like crazy. Lauren and I discussed what it would mean for me to take a big pay cut (more than 50 percent), change careers, and start back near the bottom of the totem pole.

We decided we could probably make it work financially. And the biggest factor for me was simple: Beyond the idea of doing something I love, I wanted to be the right kind of role model for my kids. I wanted to be able to show my kids that it’s more important to find something you love doing than to make the biggest paycheck. (Sure, if you can find both at once, more power to you!)

They’re too young to appreciate the lesson now, but I can’t wait until I can ~~bore them with it~~ talk to them about it one day.

So as I thought about how fast my kids are growing up, and how quickly we’re all growing up, I appreciated my Macworld jump even more. If life really is going to live up to the cliché and be so frustratingly short, it’s imperative that I spend it doing things that I love.

Congratulations, girls. I’m super proud of you.

Just… slow down a little, okay? Stay little a little while longer. Love, Daddy.

Ignoring my iPhone, engaging more with my kids, and becoming a better dad: It's all Glenn Fleishman's fault.

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 18:36:32 PDT

Freaking Glenn Fleishman.

If you read about the kind of things that I write about, then you’ve undoubtedly read Glenn Fleishman. (That’s because you either like the Apple beat, about which Glenn writes with great frequency, or you are my father, in which case you’ve at least read Glenn’s comments on my Facebook Wall.)

Glenn is great. In addition to being a great writer, he’s my own personal advice columnist and a good friend. So you know I love him.

But despite my affection for Glenn, I am still angry at him. Because today he had to go and tweet something that now makes me want to go and change my life for the better. What a jerk, right!?

Here’s the tweet:

Multitasking 2.0: doing stuff on your smartphone while talking to people in front of you. Also doesn’t work. http://nyti.ms/dKRcuE

I knew what the article was going to be about, and I clicked it anyway. It was advice I didn’t want to read, because I knew how seriously I needed to read it.

In the New York Times article Glenn linked, David Carr discusses the sad truth of our smartphones. They keep us better connected than humans have ever been—at the expense of our ability to connect to the folks directly in front of us. Carr relates numerous too-familiar scenes: Friends spend time together, until someone checks a phone, and then all the phones come out.

Carr’s analysis is, of course, spot on. The lure of that phone in your pocket—with the chance for new emails! and text messages! and headlines! and tweets! it brings—is strong. New emails makes us feel good. More accurately, the idea of new emails—of folks reaching out to us and somehow validating our self-worth—makes us feel good. In reality, those new emails are often little more than announcements about sales at Target.com or alerts from Netflix.

But when someone writes to you directly—whether via email or Twitter mention or SMS—it’s delightfully ego-stroking.

So we check. I’ve been in meetings where every attendee thumbs an iPhone or Blackberry the entire time. I’ve been at Guys Night Out dinners where the same thing happens. We’re there, but barely.

And the worst part is that the addictiveness itself is addicting. We get so accustomed to checking our email during certain lulls that we do it automatically, without thinking.

When Glenn tweeted his link to Carr’s article, I knew what the article would say. And I clicked it, either despite or because of what I would read.

The cause of my hesitancy, of course, is that I’m guilty of all the crappy behavior Carr describes. Only my way is worse, because I reach for the iPhone (or iPad) when I’m with my kids.

I’m responsible for breakfast. That means feeding a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old, while keeping the 7-week-old either asleep or content. The older two can be delightful conversationalists. They can also be less interesting.

I’ve grown accustomed to catching up on news feeds and email and tweets during those (admittedly grand) moments at breakfast when everyone is quietly eating or paci-suckling. But freaking Glenn Fleishman had to go tweet that link at a time I was feeling vulnerable, and I had to go read it, and now I’m attempting a life change.

So the iPad stays upstairs during breakfast. And the laptop doesn’t come to the kitchen table. Breakfast time is talking time. Already we’re having more interesting conversations, at least some of the time.

All those devices now officially sit out dinner, too.

My kids are, quite frankly, more important than all of you. I can admit that sometimes you are all more interesting than they are at certain times, like when they want to tell the same knock-knock joke again and again, or when they want to play the “I one the sandbox game” over and over, or when they want to pretend that we’re all named Dave again.

Even when they skew a bit ~~boring~~ repetitive, my kids are still awfully cute (most of the time). And I want them to know that I’d rather talk to them than read check in online. And it’s true, too.

This past weekend I took the oldest one to a birthday party. When she was in the middle of the fun, doing her own thing, I reached for my phone without feeling guilty (to tweet, of course. But during mealtimes, I’ve kept the electronics away. (To the dismay of the girls, ironically, who’ve been requesting “The Bloodmobile,” and aren’t happy with my answer that I’m no longer toting devices that could play that song during meals.)

It’s tough, though. When the girls are slowly chewing bananas, and the baby is rocking out to white noise, my first instinct is to read last night’s tweets. I remember that I’m not going to do that, and right now my second instinct is to reach for the small “to deal with” mail pile at the far side of the kitchen table. But distractions are distractions.

So I ignore the mail, too. And I nudge the girls back into conversation again.

I’m changing myself. It’s hard. Just a couple days in, it's already extremely rewarding. And it’s all Glenn Fleishman’s fault.

Reinstalling Flash: Why I caved and rejected Gruber's advice

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 06:13:57 PDT

When John Gruber talks, I listen. I’m far from the only Gruber fan on the Apple block, as his website’s eleventy billion monthly unique visitors prove.

So when Gruber wrote Going Flash-Free on Mac OS X, and How to Cheat When You Need It last November, I took his lesson to heart. I uninstalled Flash, and launched Chrome (which embeds its own copy of Flash) on those occasions that I really needed to use Flash.

John’s post explains the appeal of this approach. Flash hogs processor time, decimates battery life, and is used far more often to share content I don’t care about (chiefly, ads and horrid website intros). A lot of Apple guys whose opinion you should trust complain about Flash’s obvious weaknesses. I was delighted to remove it almost completely from my system.

Until I wasn’t.

John’s solution makes good sense. The major alternative for savvy Mac users—and one which John himself has highlighted numerous times—is ClickToFlash. ClickToFlash blocks Flash content from loading until you click on it. It makes webpages look like this:

In his November post, John wrote:

To me this is better, and in some way more honest, than using ClickToFlash. Without Flash installed, Safari effectively tells websites you visit, “Hey, I don’t have Flash installed”, which allows the sites to send alternative content. Static images instead of Flash for ads, for example. With ClickToFlash, Safari is effectively telling websites you visit, “Yes, sure, I have Flash installed,” but then not actually loading Flash content. I see far fewer “Flash missing” boxes in web pages now than I did with ClickToFlash.

I’m not sure I completely buy John’s “honesty” argument. He’s referencing the notion that more capable websites — ones which smarty detect whether you support Flash — can show you image ads only if they know you don’t have Flash installed; they’ll attempt (and fail) to show you Flash ads with ClickToFlash.

But if those websites want to be certain that I can see their ads in 2011, then, they simply must use those image alternatives. Short of detecting ClickToFlash, that’s their only option to guarantee Flash blockers see ads, since John’s right that folks who use ClickToFlash (and its ilk) appear to web servers as having Flash installed.

And I suppose it’s not entirely honest for John to tell websites that he doesn’t have Flash installed, right? Because he does, via his Chrome installation. If websites are attempting to measure how many folks have Flash available, John’s Safari stats are deceptive, since he can indeed view Flash over in Chrome. (Similarly, when John and I fire up Chrome to load Flash, we inflate webpage’s view counts loading them an extra time, and confuse the issue even further about who does and doesn’t have Flash.)

That’s not my primary reason for abandoning the Flash-free approach and reverting to ClickToFlash, though.

My issue is that it’s just a little too hard.

It’s easy enough to open a URL from Safari in Chrome; John’s post now points to an AppleScript by TJ Luoma that does precisely that. But I use NetNewsWire, too, so now I need another AppleScript to open its frontmost Flash-necessitating URL in Chrome. I use Google Voice’s Flash-based VoIP service through Gmail for calls; that requires Flash, too. If I want to use Mailplane or Fluid for Gmail, then, I’m stuck without that feature if I leave Flash uninstalled.

And I’m a Safari guy, not a Chrome guy. I don’t want to keep going back to Chrome on those occasions I do need Flash. I want to live in a single web browser, and still avoid the pain that Flash entails.

So I’m back to ClickToFlash. It’s painless to install, and it works like magic. As I write these words, I’ve got a couple dozen tabs open, along with Mailplane. Mailplane’s the only one where Flash is allowed (for Google Voice); the browser tabs are adorned with numerous ClickToFlash boxes. And my Mac Book Pro’s CPU is pegged at 88% idle.

I’d love to go back to being completely Flash-free, as God, Jobs, and Gruber intended. But until the web makes a little more progress, ClickToFlash is the next best thing.

Perhaps I can describe just why I'm so excited about joining Macworld

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 17:41:34 PDT

Whenever a writer says something like “words can’t describe how excited I am,” you know one of several things is true:

a) said writer has chosen the wrong vocation, b) said writer was feeling lazy, or c) said writer is really freaking excited, and thus incapable of finding the right words.

So I’m not going to tell you that words can’t describe how excited I am to be joining Macworld as Staff Writer at the end of April. Instead, I’m going to try to tell you precisely how excited I am, and explain why.

To the first part—how excited is he?—the answer is: exceedingly so.

The short explanation for why I’m very excited to be joining Macworld is simply that I love writing, I love Apple products, and I love the people already at Macworld.

Here’s the longer version:

I’ve considered myself a writer for almost as long as I can remember. I would create family newspapers in WordPerfect on our Mac LC, eventually graduating to PageMaker for fancier layouts, and to fictional stories for more entertaining prose. I recall writing fiction. And I unfortunately remember, with appropriate shame, an instance when I used “murdered” as a stronger form of “robbed,” in writing that a wealthy character “was murdered many times.”

* * * * * * * * *

I remember when Bruce Coville came to my school. He led an exercise where each student in turn would contribute one quality to the alien we were describing. Mr. Coville prompted the first kid with “color”; the response was “green.” The next kid was asked for “height” and provided “tall.” When he got to me, my prompt was “eyes.”

I responded: “Three.”

I don’t know that this response was as impressive as Mr. Coville treated it that day. He did a literal double-take, and then stopped the exercise for a moment. No one had ever answered the eye question with a number, he said; the answer was always a color. He praised my creativity, in view of the entire class. I felt like a million bucks. And then later, even though he was only signing one book per kid, he signed all of my “Teacher is An Alien” books.

Bruce Coville didn’t hook me on flexing my creative muscle, but he definitely made me think that doing so was nothing short of awesome.

* * * * * * * * *

I wrote for the weekly newspaper at summer camp. And not just because the newspaper counselor ten years my senior was super hot, but also because writing for the paper was a delight. My friend Seth Brown and I eventually co-wrote many pieces, most of them ridiculous. We thought them hilarious. Whenever I reread them now, I still do.

When the summer camp I’d been attending for a couple years merged with another, I wrote an editorial for the newspaper, attempting to describe the change in the camp’s feel now that two communities were becoming one. Many new folks—the Island Lakers—hated the editorial. Many “original” NE2 campers agreed with it. Representatives from both sides sought me out to tell me their feelings. The camp director did, too.

People read the stuff that I wrote. And it affected them. Enough to cheer or jeer me.

Again, this was awesome.

* * * * * * * * *

I began writing a weekly column for the school newspaper, The Chariot. It was a called “A Different Perspective,” with the word “Perspective” printed upside down. This was a humor column, and I relished writing it even more than I relished the positive responses the better columns could generate. I became the Chariot’s Layout Editor when the layout process moved online, and the Editor in Chief my senior year.

At Brandeis University, I wrote a weekly column called “The Lex Files” for The Justice, which I loved doing. It was the same thing as A Different Perspective, only slightly better written.

* * * * * * * * *

In September of 2001, like plenty of other people, I started my first blog. (It, too, was called The Lex Files, which proves that creativity has its limits. Or at least, mine does.)

In June 2002, after graduation, my then-fiancée Lauren and I moved to Los Angeles together. I immediately scored a horrid job working as a Hollywood agent’s assistant at Paradigm. I didn’t last long, and left for a job doing customer support for a web hosting company. Less than two years later, I went to work for a small web advertising company, and eventually left them for Intermix, the parent company of MySpace.

And I wrote a lot less. I continued blogging, but only sporadically, and with posts I wasn’t as proud of as the generally more polished columns I’d churned out for The Justice.

I left Intermix, joined a startup, moved to New Jersey, had kids, and joined Demand Media. Aside from intermittent, inadequate blogging, plus a few fun songs and music videos here and there, I wrote almost nothing.

* * * * * * * * *

Then, in February 2009, I saw a tweet. Actually, I saw the tweet a few times as various Macworld editors reposted it independently. Which was good, because I ignored it the first couple times I saw it.

The gist of the tweet was that Macworld was looking for freelance iPhone app reviewers, and that interested parties should email the address provided. I wrote in. I started writing.

Early on, it was short reviews for—forgive me—a mere pittance. It barely seemed worth it, but I submitted a few on a whim. But after I’d written a handful of those, my editor asked me to instead write longer reviews, for distinctly more money.

This was to be the start of a beautiful relationship.

I was writing again, and I was loving it. It was a fun side gig, a pleasant nights-and-weekends activity outside of my day job, and a few months into it, it started paying my mortgage.

The key part, of course, was the “loving it.” I didn’t just love it because I was writing, though that was certainly a big piece of it. But the fact was, I was writing about Apple products.

* * * * * * * * *

The first computers I remember using are my family’s Commodore 64 and our Kaypro. I learned to program (BASIC) on those computers; the Commodore booted into BASIC if you didn’t stick in a floppy disk when you turned it on.

After I’d exhausted my mom’s programming know-how, my parents hired a tutor from Radio Shack to teach me more about coding. To me, coding felt a lot like writing. I don’t know that many people share that sentiment, but I felt similar creative juices flowing with either process.

We eventually got an Apple IIc. It was Mom’s first and foremost, but I was afforded plenty of time to play on it. It was, of course, great.

* * * * * * * * *

Mom asked what kind of summer camp I’d like to attend. An athlete I wasn’t; a nerd I was. I told her I wanted to go to a camp that taught movie making, computer programming, and magic. She found one.

It was the same camp where I wrote for the newspaper. And indeed, made ridiculous movies, learned more card tricks and sleight-of-hand than anyone should know, and learned a lot more about computer programming.

Oh, and half the computers were Macs.

Glorious, glorious Macs. I still remember being awed that I could code painting programs on black and white maps, and the colors would really work and show up on the one color Mac in the lab when we tested it there.

The Macs at camps were tremendously more advanced than the Apple at home, and I quickly became hooked. I learned plenty about programming, but I was also learning a ton about Macs themselves. I thought The Chooser was awesome. These computers were all networked together, and it was so painlessly done.

* * * * * * * * *

Mom and Dad were planning on buying a new computer for the house, and they asked my sisters and me whether we’d like a Mac or an IBM. To me, there was no question.

We got a Mac LC. The one with the 40 MB hard drive. I installed so many damn AfterDark screensavers on that poor computer. We later got the Quadra 610, and then a Performa, and then I got a G3 tower to take to college. And I got to take our Personal LaswerWriter LS with me.

I remember when I unintentionally set an AfterDark password—and had no idea what the password was when prompted. When I learned that holding down Shift on startup could disable extensions, bypassing the password, I was a hero. (Of course, I was also in trouble for having set up the password in the first place.)

I’ve loved every Mac I’ve ever owned. Even the PowerBook that got stolen during a summer internship in LA. Especially that PowerBook, actually.

I lived through the Mac vs. Windows holy wars of the early 90s. I wasn’t swayed by arguments that the PCs had more games, more software, more whatever.

Macs were better. That’s what mattered. To me, anyway.

* * * * * * * * *

Like other Apple fans, I read oodles of rumors leading up to the release of the initial iPhone. But the day of the Steve Jobs-led event to announce the device, I was flying to LA to visit Demand’s main office. When I landed and got to the office I IM’d a friend to ask if I’d missed anything cool. He sent me a link to Macworld’s coverage of the event. I read everything. I watched the video of the keynote, and even when I knew what was coming, I still got goosebumps when Steve said that today Apple was unveiling three products (a widescreen iPod with touch controls, a revolutionary mobile phone, and a breakthrough Internet communications device)—and that it was actually just one device.

I didn’t get an iPhone in 2007. When the iPhone 3G was introduced the following year, on its launch day, I got my first iOS device—an iPod touch. For a year, I took my personal cell phone, my work Blackberry, and my iPod touch everywhere. I wore pants with big pockets.

I felt the same affection for my iPod touch that I did for all my Macs. Eventually, I got an iPhone 3GS and switched to just a single phone, cutting my pocket clutter from three devices to one.

And I’ve now maintained very close relationships with two iPads.

* * * * * * * * *

I hate terms like “Apple fanboys,” because they wrongly imply that we love Apple blindly, and will worship/praise/buy whatever the company comes out with. Not so.

I’m a fan of the company, and awed by its greatness. I love many of its products, and my life is better for them. I think the company can (and does) do wrong, and that it can (and does) make missteps.

But when Apple nails it, damn. There’s nothing like it.

* * * * * * * * *

And so, as I said at the outset: Writing for Macworld means getting to combine two loves—writing, and Apple. I can’t believe they pay people for this.

I’m joining a team of people whose bylines I’ve read for years, and for whom my respect has only grown as I got to know them. I’m ecstatic to be joining the team.

And 10,000 words later, I’m not convinced that words can adequately describe just how excited I am.

I'm Hungry: The first track from my upcoming, iPad-recorded children's album

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 10:03:37 PDT

Man, I love GarageBand for iPad. It's got a list of flaws, weaknesses, and annoyances that could fill a novella, yet remains unquestionably awesome: it's a very natural way to create and edit music.

Anyway, something about GarageBand on the iPad and the three kids under age 5 in my house made me conclude that I want to create a children's album on the iPad. So here's the first track from that ridiculous endeavor.

It's called "I'm Hungry."

Mac OS X Lion, and how it showed me that I am an idiot

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Wed, 16 Mar 2011 07:44:04 PDT

So, I was an idiot.

I got so excited about the Mac OS X Lion features that Apple was touting that I downloaded and installed the developer preview of the new OS. That’s not idiotic. What was idiotic, though, was that I installed the Lion preview on my main machine. On its sole partition.

Stupid, stupid Lex.

Don’t get me wrong: Lion is awesome. Or, more accurately, Lion clearly shows indications that it will be all kinds of awesome. But right now, it’s still a developer preview. Which means, it's not yet an officially released Apple product.

After some time with Lion as my primary OS, it was time for me to go back to an officially released and supported operating system instead. Again, let me stress—there’s plenty to love in Lion. The features that Apple has touted for Lion work great. But as befits an unreleased product, it’s not ready for primetime, and I’d given it the 8pm Thursday slot on my Mac. It was negatively impacting my ability to work and get things done.

Ugh.

I was ready to admit defeat, by which I meant downgrading back to sweet, stable Snow Leopard (and then potentially reinstalling Lion on a separate partition, like I should have done in the first place).

I grabbed my Snow Leopard install disc and prepared to begin anew.

And then my MacBook Pro told me that I couldn’t install Snow Leopard anymore. You can’t install it on top of Lion. I uttered various profanities, but quietly enough that my kids couldn’t hear.

But I knew there had to be a solution.

I launched Disk Utility and created a second partition on my Mac, upon which I then installed Snow Leopard. When Snow Leopard booted up, it asked if I wanted to run the Migration Assistant. I said yes; I should have said no. My Mac copied oodles of stuff from one partition to the other. But then when Snow Leopard finally started up completely, it wouldn’t let me into my account. I had to restart from the Snow Leopard disc again and run its Reset Password utility. That worked.

Then, since I trusted my backups, and since I had just (mostly needlessly) copied all of my files from one partition to the other anyway, I decided to play with fire. While booted into Snow Leopard on the new partition, I went to the main Lion partition and deleted the System folder. More accurately, I just dragged it to the trash. I wanted to rename it instead, but permissions issues were making that a challenge.

I rebooted from the Snow Leopard disc again and attempted to install that OS on my Lion partition. The installer ran! It no longer complained that it couldn’t install Snow Leopard on top of Lion, which was good news.

Finally, it was time to reboot on my main partition.

Instant kernel panic.

More profanities. Still quietly uttered, of course.

I could still boot up to the secondary Snow Leopard partition, which I did. I poked around the main partition and saw that everything looked right, even though things were clearly amiss. Then I decided to try installing Snow Leopard on the main partition a second time.

When that process completed, the Mac restarted, and this time it indeed booted into Snow Leopard successfully on the main partition! Hooray!

At the login screen, though, it rejected my password for my account. I rebooted again from the install disc, and again ran the Password Reset utility, and again restarted the Mac on its main partition. And again, for some reason, it rejected my password. After another reboot from the Snow Leopard install disc, I ran the Password Reset utility another time, and reset the password for the root account too.

For whatever reason, while resetting my main account’s password continued to prove ineffective, I managed to log in as root, and Snow Leopard worked on my main partition. Mostly. Enough that I went ahead and removed the secondary partition and gave that space back to my main (and now sole) partition again.

But every time OS X wanted me to authenticate, it continued to reject my main account’s username and password, even when I reset and verified them in System Preferences. I’d instead need to type in a username (root) and my root password. Which sucked, and meant lots of extra authenticating.

Eventually, I turned off my main account’s administrative rights, and then turned them back on and restarted. Ta-da!

That restored my ability to log in as my Lex Friedman account. So now my Mac is 99% back to normal, running from a nice fresh Snow Leopard install with a freshly-applied combo updater to boot. The only residual weirdness is that it doesn’t seem to remember to rejoin my Airport network upon wake from sleep, but that’s a problem for another day.

The moral of the story, in case I haven’t made this abundantly clear, is don’t be an idiot: install pre-release versions of operating systems on unimportant computers or unimportant partitions.

In other words: Yes, Dan Moren. I should have listened to you.

RIP, Apple iPad Keyboard Dock, you miserable bastard

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Fri, 11 Mar 2011 07:26:55 PST

I support and agree with Apple's decision to make the iPad 2 thinner and sleeker than its predecessor.

I am deeply frustrated, however, that it renders my $70 iPad Keyboard Dock useless. I bought the base model iPad last year knowing that I would want to upgrade to the iPad's sequel. But I figured that iPad accessories—headphones, adapters, chargers, and that Keyboard Dock would work with that hypothetical new model.

I was wrong about the Keyboard Dock.

I don't mind when I need a new case for a new product; Apple changes form factors reliably, and cases genearlly aren't too pricey. But a $70 keyboard that will now only ever have worked with a single Apple device seems a bit different.

I can't think of another example of an Apple-branded accessory with such a short shelf-life and lack of future-proofing. There are kludgey workarounds—you could run a cable from the Keyboard Dock to your indepedently propped-up iPad 2—but I wish Apple offered a cheap (or free!) adapter for folks like me. An early adopter adapter, if you will.

I've ordered Apple's slim Bluetooth keyboard now. As I wrote a little less than a year ago, if I'd had it to do over again, I would have gone that way first. But Apple created the Keyboard Dock, and it will only ever have worked with the iPad 1. I bought it. And I regret it.

The iPad 2 reviews are exactly what you'd expect, and that's a good thing

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 06:25:23 PST

When last night’s Apple-imposed embargo on iPad 2 reviews lifted, all the lucky folk to whom the company provided pre-release units posted their reviews. I read Jason Snell’s at Macworld, and John Gruber’s at Daring Fireball to start.

Again and again, I was struck by one interesting observation. Nothing in these reviews will shock or surprise you. You could have written an exceedingly accurate iPad 2 review based solely on the Steve Jobs-led Apple media event where the device was initially unveiled.

Don’t get me wrong: These were excellently-crafted reviews, full of thoughtful analysis and drawing cogent conclusions. But the meat of the reviews-what Jason and John reported, that is—was exactly what you’d expect if you saw (and were wowed by) the iPad 2’s unveiling. In other words, the iPad 2 celebrated by Apple at its press and PR event matches pretty precisely the iPad 2 in the hand of consumers, or at least reviewers. (Too often at PR events, the goods on display pale in comparison when reviewers and customers actually get their hands on them.)

If you trust Snell and Gruber—and if you don’t, shame on you—the iPad 2 is like the original iPad, only better in all the expected ways: the new form factor is better, the performance is better, the Apple-made case is better, and nothing is worse.

This is, of course, a massive achievement for Apple. To create the iPad’s sequel and have it meet (faster, thinner, bicameral) or exceed (Smart Case) expectations is quite impressive.

Both Jason and John made similar points in their conclusions. If you already own an iPad, you don’t need the iPad 2; your original device remains excellent, and the new model is an iterative improvement, not a wholesale revolution. If you held off to let others work out the kinks (there were none), now’s the time to buy, they write.

If you don’t have an iPad, and you want one, now’s the time to get one. If your first goal is to save money, buy one of the original iPads before Apple’s stock runs out. If your first goal is to get the best iPad money can currently buy, then obviously, you should get the new one.

Apple’s done a great job of convincing people that they want or need the iPad—that’s why the company’s sold millions of the original version. But I still encounter many people who say that they don’t see the need for the iPad, or that they simply don’t want one. They have their laptops (often but not always a MacBook Air), and they have iPhones or iPods touch, and they don’t see the place for a third device in their lives.

I understand that position.

I love my iPad, and I’m thrilled that within a few days I’ll have my hands on an iPad 2. But both before my iPad arrived a year ago, and for weeks afterwards, I wondered exactly where it fit in my computing lifestyle.

For work, I need a Mac. No question; I need multiple windows visible at a time, a real keyboard, and keyboard shortcuts. When I’m out, I rely on the iPhone to stay connected; it fits in my pocket and has the apps I need.

The iPad has evolved to become my “play” computer—not specifically for games, but for non-work computing. I prefer to browse the web, RSS, and Twitter from my iPad, vs. from my dekstop. When I’m writing pieces that don’t require much simultaneous web research (like this one), the iPad’s a great writing environment. It’s also a great travel computer; it’s super light, and it offers enough functionality to get everything done, even if some tasks feel far less efficient than they would on a Mac.

Browsing the web on an iPhone often feels a bit frustrating; it’s great for what it is, but what it is is a cramped window on the web. The iPad is an awesome web browser—except for its lack of tabs, and “open this link in a new tab/window behind the current one.” But it’s much more enjoyable to surf the web on the iPad than on my Mac, even though the Mac offers far more powerful tools for doing so.

In my life, then, the iPad is quite clearly a luxury item. It’s a non-necessary but entirely delightful device that I don’t always use all day, but that I always enjoy the act of using.

Apple could get more potential customers to see the usefulness of—and pleasure derived from—the iPad as a third device and sell more. I imagine that as the iPad evolves, it will follow a path much like the iPhone’s. Further iterations on its form won’t be overly significant, but a much better screen is surely in its future. Perhaps one day Apple will integrate elements of its cases into an iPad itself; cameras will surely improve, and the thing will only get faster. But where Apple will best be able to convince folks that the iPad is a worthy third device—or in rarer cases, an acceptable second device that can replace a laptop all together—will be on the OS side.

I’ll always be excited about future iPad releases. But I’ll always be more excited about future iOS releases.

Where Apple still has work to do—if it wants to, it clearly doesn’t need to—is convincing more folks that the iPad’s a useful third device.

Liam Brandeis

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Tue, 08 Mar 2011 14:03:49 PST

On February 26th, 2011, my son Liam Brandeis Friedman was born.

He is, like his siblings before him, an incredibly awesome joy.

I am resisting the urge to buy him this.

I wish Amazon offered a Netflix-like plan for Kindle books

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Fri, 18 Feb 2011 06:13:46 PST

Oh, how I wish that Amazon offered a Netflix streaming model—for Kindle books.

Netflix lets me pay about $10 per month to stream as many movies from its catalog as I can watch. There’s obviously a ton of bandwidth involved—on both ends of the deal—but the value proposition is awesome: I can watch whatever I want (from its catalog), whenever I want.

For Kindle books, my only option is to buy the books I want. I can’t donate my read books to a library, I can’t give them to friends; they simply sit, either on my Kindle or in my Amazon digital locker. (I can lend some books, one time, to one person, and then never again.) Customer rights for e-books are, in a word, pathetic.

But what if I could pay Amazon some fee to have unfettered access to its Kindle book library—but just one book at a time? This wouldn’t work for those times when you want to load up before a 24-hour, Internetless plane ride, but it would satisfy my e-reading needs almost all of the time.

If you want a book, you download and start reading. If you want another book, you lose the first book and start reading the new one. But you can always go back again.

I’m not holding my breath for such a plan, of course. It’s great for customers, but less great for publishers.

So how does Netflix pull it off with movies, movies that cost many millions of dollars to make? Even if Amazon could make “only” a fraction of its book catalog available for such a service, I think it would be impressively compelling. One tenth of a million books is still 100,000 books.

Buy the book: Apple's latest policy change is developer and customer hostile

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Tue, 15 Feb 2011 07:20:09 PST

“In addition, publishers may no longer provide links in their apps (to a web site, for example) which allow the customer to purchase content or subscriptions outside of the app.”

That sentence is tucked four paragraphs into Apple’s press release announcing the formal launch of subscriptions for iOS.

Subscriptions are great, and I think Apple’s implementation (you keep 100% of revenue for subscriptions registered outside of the app, we take our 30% cut on subscriptions started within the app) is fair. What I think is far less fair, however—and what to me sticks out in the release—is the line that addresses separate, non-subscription content purchases.

“Publishers may no longer provide links in their apps (to a web site, for example) which allow the customer to purchase content or subscriptions outside of the app.”

It’s the Kindle clause. Note that this change doesn’t kill the Kindle app. Apple is distinctly not banning the concept of selling content outside the App Store to use within apps, and thus Kindle (and other e-readers, and other apps) can keep doing it.

The key clause is the one I’ve bolded here:

“Publishers may no longer provide links in their apps which allow the customer to purchase content… outside of the app.”

In other words, Amazon can no longer provide a button that takes you to the Kindle Bookstore. In theory, as the rules are written in the press release—which is obviously not the guiding document for Apple/developer agreements, but still—Amazon could provide plain text that read: “To buy more books, go to amazon.com/kindlebookstore in the Safari browser.”

Many times, when Apple makes and enforces “controversial” decisions, there’s some customer-based justification. Apple reviews apps before they go into the App Store, and says that it does so to keep customers’ cell phones safe. Apple didn’t offer copy and paste on the iPhone initially because it couldn’t find the way to do it right, and didn’t want to offer customers a kludgey solution. With many Apple moves that are unpopular with the Apple Punditry Crowd, the company can at least make the case that its decision is for the benefit of the customer.

Not this time.

Preventing e-book apps from providing easy, immediate access to their e-bookstores doesn’t help customers, it doesn’t help e-book sellers. It helps only Apple. If it’s easier to get books from within the iBooks app with its built-in iBookstore—a clear advantage for Apple—e-book devourers may make the switch.

I own Apple stock. I could cheer this move from a business perspective. But it seems like a vindictive rule enforcement change, and not a necessary one. Are Apple’s profits hurting? Will this change really provide measurable benefit to Apple’s profitability?

Amazon and other e-book retailers really can’t sell their books as in-app purchases; the profit margins just wouldn’t work. Generally speaking, e-book sellers keep about 30% of the purchase price of your e-books. If they need to start giving Apple the in-app purchase 30% cut, that obviously causes issues.

Thus, it seems that Apple has needlessly handicapped iOS apps with content stores that eschew the App Store model, in a move that is openly hostile to both those apps’ developers, and the customers who use them.

Friedman's Razor

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Sun, 13 Feb 2011 12:40:45 PST

Earlier today, I submitted this letter to the makers of the Gillette Fusion razor:

Let me be honest: I hate shaving.

I've tried numerous razors, both electric and acoustic, over the past 15 years of shaving. A year and a half ago, I switched to the Fusion Power, and I was very happy with it. I never get a perfect shave, but the Fusion afforded me a better (and less painful) one that most other options.

One real pleasure with the Fusion was that my blades lasted for a long, long time. I could use the same blade for a dozen or more shaves—sometimes double that!—and that was awesome.

More recently, the Fusion blades I'm buying are, in a word, terrible. I don't know whether you've declared war on my face, my wallet, or both, but the last two packages of Fusion blades I purchased (from Amazon.com) stank on ice. The blades lasted at most three shaves, with the lubricating strip nearly erased by day two.

And shaving with them hurts, which it never used to do. I thought I'd bought one bad pack and was willing to write it off, but the follow-up pack had the same problem.

Did you guys change your blade-making formula? No other ingredient of my shaving ritual has changed—not my shaving cream, not my face, not my water temperature.

This is 100% true: I found a single, old, unused blade from my initial purchase of the Fusion and started shaving with it last week. Like the blades of old that are now but a fond memory, it's been working great. The lubricating strip remains fresh after 7 or 8 shaves, the feel is good, and I'm as happy with shaving as I can be.

But I know that when I pick up the next blade from my open pack, it's going to feel lousy.

What changed? What can I do to go back to my preferred shaving experience from yesteryear?

My face and I thank you for any advice.

Sincerely,
Lex Friedman

You can please some of the people some of the time

lb@lexfriedman.com (Lex Friedman) — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 14:28:23 PST

I wrote up a brief piece for Macworld regarding AT&T's new Unlimited Mobile to Any Mobile plan. In it, as is my wont, I made a joke or two at AT&T's expense.

I received an email from a reader who did not approve.

I'll start by saying, you aren't the first or the last to be completely biased when reporting a story. Maybe I'm naive to think journalist should report facts instead of opinions, but I still find it disgusting none-the-less. How is it that you could take something good, like free mobile to mobile calling and turn it into something bad? It is my hope that you did not attend journalism school. This would have been both a waste of time and money. You clearly missed the part about objective reporting. It also speaks poorly of the institution you received your degree from.

I have had both Verizon and AT&T and I have to say I like the service from AT&T more. The only time I've had problems with excessive dropped calls is when I had an iPhone. I had thought by now it was common knowledge that the iPhone is one of the worst phones for voice calls. Never has this been an issue with RIM devices for me or even with the captivate I used.

Don't get me wrong, I really liked my iPhone, but it was below par when it came to calling. I highly doubt this will change when on a CDMA network.

You should be applauded though. It takes practice I'm sure, to be able to turn good news into slander. Its unfortunate there is such of lack of responsible reporting. It is even more unfortunate you will likely delete this without a second thought. You seem to be pretty good at ignoring things you do not want to hear.

A last suggestion, maybe go into marketing or advertising. You seem to be better at that sort of thing.

I replied as follows:

Dear [Redacted],

Thank you very much for your unbiased email. I am most appreciative.

As you may have realized, Macworld—particularly in its MacUser and iOS Central blogs—aims to inject a bit of humor into its stories.

I looked at some of the stories published on the site in the past 24 hours:

http://www.macworld.com/article/157771/2011/02/ftc.html

The conclusion on this one makes a joke about missing a mortgage payment because of in-app charges. This is hyperbole for humorous effect.

http://www.macworld.com/article/157759/2011/02/ihome_ipad_speakers.html

This one makes two jokes about awkward product names. Though, to be fair, I wrote it, so it may simply be another example of my being disgusting.

http://www.macworld.com/article/157764/2011/02/mint_iphone_app.html

Joel mentions that the updated Mint app will "free users from the tyranny" of desktop computers. In fact, desktop computers aren't tyrants. Joel was using that turn of phrase to be funny.

http://www.macworld.com/article/157751/2011/02/remains_020811.html

This post is full of very excellent jokes.

In fact, [Redacted], my AT&T service is excellent where I live. I included jokes about AT&T's network in my piece not because I wanted to share a personal bias, but because it's the most common knock against the company. As to why I included the jokes about AT&T's service, particularly when my service here is nothing short of excellent?

That answer's easy: it makes my editors happy. Our style guide calls for injecting lightheartedness and humor when possible. In a post about Steve Job's health, we won't crack wise. In reviews of software, or news about new releases, and the like, we'll gladly insert a joke or three when we feel they don't negatively impact the story.

There's the rub, of course. You felt my snark did indeed impact my story negatively. I am happy to agree to disagree with you on whether that's true.

Not all of your email made sense to me, though:

You should be applauded though. It takes practice I'm sure, to be able to turn good news into slander.

First, I believe you're accusing me of libel, and not slander. Slander generally refers to spoken (or even gestured) defamation; libel is used for the written word.

That said, I don't believe I've libeled AT&T. It has notoriously lousy service in certain areas. In fact, that's the crux of Verizon's first ads about the iPhone coming to its network.

Its unfortunate there is such of lack of responsible reporting. It is even more unfortunate you will likely delete this without a second thought.

Were I tasked with ranking them, I'd consider a "lack of responsible reporting" more unfortunate than what I do with my email, but we can again agree to disagree. I do believe that I reported the facts—that AT&T has this new unlimited plan for mobile-to-mobile calls, that it requires you have an unlimited texting plan, and that it requires you have an as-yet-unspecified voice plan—accurately and completely.

You seem to be pretty good at ignoring things you do not want to hear.

I don't know what that's based on. Your email argued that I'm a lousy journalist, so I'm not sure upon what you're basing that (potentially libelous) assertion. But let's just agree to disagree on this point, too.

A last suggestion, maybe go into marketing or advertising. You seem to be better at that sort of thing.

I appreciate the counsel, [Redacted], and wish you all the best.

Sincerely yours ,

Lex