Update: things are starting to work out here in Asheville.  I’m impatient sometimes.  Actually, I’m impatient a lot.  So it should come as no surprise that things worked out after I gave them some time.

If I were to give an exhaustive list of reasons things have gotten better, this would be a mundane and boring blog post.  I’ll summarize and just say that my job has gotten cool, I’m throwing well in the pottery studio, and I get a chance to make music periodically.  I’ve even made a couple people I’ll call friends.  And it’s the last bit that I thought was sort of interesting this evening.

A few days ago my boss asked if I would join him tonight at something called “Meet the Geeks,” which is a networking event for IT people.  I agreed.  And then my boss got an emergency call this afternoon, and I went stag.  I asked him what the event was, and he replied with a grin, “It’s like a meat market, but for programmers.”

“Sexy,” I grunted in response.

I asked why I was supposed to go with him in the first place, and it turned out to be a recruiting mission.  My company is hiring, so it seemed as good a place to go as any.

When I got there I was given a name tag and I met some recruiters, and a few pleasant-ish folks.  I also met some programmers, complete with sweat pants, food stains on the fronts of their shirts, and shifty eyes when asked about their line of work.  But I also met a couple professors from UNCA, and I hit it off with one of them right away.  He and I started talking about technical evangelism and advocacy, application architecture, and music.  We made plans to get together and get involved in something called the WNC Web Tech Network.

And as I was walking out of downtown back to my parking spot, it occurred to me that just 6 months ago I wouldn’t have guessed I’d actually be doing what I’m doing. Yeah, sure, I was talking about it, thinking about it, but it was so far away from what I was doing at the time. But then I graduated and had to face the “real world.”  And now I’m here, living this other life.

One of my new coworkers showed up at the “Meet the Geeks” thing and he said something to the effect of, “Don’t get too wrapped up in your own plans.”  A lot of good and bad stuff happens all the time, but I guess if you’re going to grow, it has to.

I wrote the following letter to my NC State Senator, Kay Hagan, regarding SOPA.  For those not in the know, the “Stop Online Piracy Act” is a thinly-veiled attempt at locking down ownership of basically anything on the web.  It was authored by Texas Congressman Lamar Smith, who ironically, violates SOPA with his own website.

Dear Senator Hagan,

I voted and canvassed for you three years ago hoping to make my new home-state a blue state.  So it is with sadness and alarm that I see you supporting such a regressive policy as SOPA.

As a programmer and technologist I know that SOPA cannot be implemented in any meaningful way, and that the only true outcome is to criminalize the every-day actions of millions of normal citizens.  Not only that, but it will stifle creativity and make it harder to innovate and communicate using the web.  The net effect will be more “criminals” and fewer “innovators.”

I understand that online “piracy” is a serious concern, but remember that billions of dollars of legitimate purchases happen LEGALLY every year.  That is to say, the web works just fine.  There are some things that need to be fixed, but SOPA is an extremely heavy-handed (and legally expensive) stick, and offers little in the way of value to the citizens of North Carolina.

I urge you vote against SOPA and explore other options to ENCOURAGE innovation and legal participation on the web.

Sincerely,

Dan Clouse

But here’s what I really think: if SOPA is to pass, it will instantly create an army of very smart, very motivated criminals.

I know a lot of opinionated people who dabble in the gray-areas of the web, just because it’s such a fun place to be creative.  For instance, our favorite website of sarcastic talking meme cats is almost entirely made up of images borrowed from someplace else.  It’s a business model built on the gray-area, and it’s become such a part of how the internet works that people take it for granted.  But if you suddenly take away the fun, the ability to create freely, people won’t just stop.  They’ll take it underground.  They will develop tools to break the law, just to keep creating.

And it’s not just LOLCats.  It’s youtube, reddit, even blogging.  Do I need permission from Nike to use the words “just do it” in a blog?  Do I need permission from a record company if I take a video on my phone and their music is playing in the background?  The answer under SOPA is yes.  I can be fined or go to jail for being normal.

But back to that army of smart, motivated people.  As I noted before, even the guy who wrote the dang thing is in violation.  We as a culture take the web so much for granted now that we don’t even know what belongs to whom.  And it’s ok: no one has died from internet memes.  But the law was written and is supported by people who by-and-large don’t know that the gray area is necessary, and don’t understand the technical requirements of enforcing a no-gray-area policy.  The people who do know the technology will simply step around the minor impediments imposed by SOPA and become “criminals.”

The smart ones will hide their identities so as to not get caught (it’s not hard).  They will share their techniques with their friends. And thus is born an underground.

Yet the companies and individuals who championed the law in the first place will have to walk on egg shells because they will have created an especially observant and intelligent foe.  One who knows how to hide himself, isn’t afraid of breaking the law anymore.  The proponents of SOPA will have to live by their own black and white code, but its enemies will be free to move about in the gray area, anonymously.

I don’t want to see creativity, innovation, and “mixing” criminalized.  I don’t want to see the gray-area stamped out, owned, or regulated.  I do want to support legitimate business, commerce, and fair trade.  SOPA isn’t the way to do it.

Like most Americans, my house has heat.  I also have indoor plumbing and a refrigerator.  Like some Americans I sometimes eschew these conveniences intentionally in a ritual called camping.  Sometimes I eschew them in willful acts of stupidity.

I woke up at 4 am alarmed that the heat wasn’t on and the house was freezing.  Actually, the “freezing” part isn’t new.  The house has been cold for a couple days.  My roommate and I forgot to re-fill the heating oil tank that sits next to our house.  In general NC is not that cold, so I figured the stock we had would last a bit longer.  Anyway, we got it refilled after a couple chilly days and breathed a sigh of relief.

In the interim we borrowed space heaters from any place we could, and discovered a few things about the house.  First, it is only cozy when there is a fully functioning furnace: space heaters are not up to the task.  Second, the old wiring doesn’t support numerous electrical appliances well.  At some point I recognized that we could have heat, or we could have anything else electrical, not both.

Which is why it was both comical and understandable when I came home one night to find my roommate huddled under blankets and watching a hockey game.  Given the hierarchy of needs, I understand how hockey can outweigh comfort.  Besides, we could pretend like we were actually there in the rink.

Now, before I kick myself to hard, or give myself too much leeway, I actually did call the oil company a month and a half before.  I asked to be walked through how this whole heating oil thing works because I’ve never had it before.  I was on the line with the attendant until she told me that heating oil is priced at near $4 a gallon and the minimum order is 100 gallons.  Plus delivery charge.  I told her I’d call back after talking to my roommate.

I went home and tried to check how much oil was in the tank after that call, but was frustrated by a number of obstacles, not the least of which was a very serious-looking padlock.  I talked to the landlord and it seems that the padlock is in fact a decoy, which explains why I never got a key to it.

Anyway, frustrated by several weeks of obstacles and distracted by the holiday plans, I forgot about refilling the tank.  When I returned from my travels, the air was a balmy 57, the birds were singing, and I was tired.  Then winter kicked in and we discovered exactly how much we enjoy modern conveniences like heat.

After a few days of indoor camping, the oil company opened again and we got the tank refilled.  I heaved a sigh of relief, cooked a delicious meal, and went to bed.

Then at about 4 am my spidey-sense started tingling.  Or maybe I had to pee.  Same difference really.  But I woke up with the distinct impression that something was not right.  After my drowsiness wore off a bit I realized it was cold and I’d never actually heard the furnace run.

I adjusted the thermostat and nothing happened, so in my slippers I went to the basement to see if we had blown a breaker or something.

After futzing for a bit I realized something more was needed.  So I put on jeans, army boots, a hoodie, and a determined expression and grabbed my toolbox and the internet.  All of it.

After reading numerous explanations of how the system works, and several pointers for “bleeding” the air out of the system, I got to work.  I unscrewed the bleeder screw and waited expectantly for air and oil to “bubble and pour out” as the internet advised. I got a few drops, so I continued to unscrew until the bleeder screw fell out onto the floor. Hmm.

I returned to the internet, sacrificed a fatted calf in piety and asked again: “WHY NO HEAT?”  The internet gently whispered that I must have faith.  So I loosened the bleeder again for a second try.  This time little air bubbles started to appear!  Progress.

Then nothing.  Shuffle shuffle shuffle.  Let me rephrase that, cold shuffle.

I eventually found an article that mentioned in passing the possibility of maybe a fuel filter on the line and it might need to be bled too, maybe if you have one, maybe.  It turned out I did, and upon performing said operation I received a gratifying geyser of oil.

I tightened everything down and hit the red button.  Seriously guys, it was a red button.  How gratifying to hit a red button on an ancient machine and see fire burst to life. FIRE!  YES!

FIRE.  HEAT!  MANLY DEEDS!  FIRE. Fire. uh.  crap.  I hastily cleaned up the oil I had dribbled around in my poking and prodding, lest I explode in a conflagration of manliness.

Happy New Year.

I’ll answer my own first question: I’m up because lately I’m always up at 3:30.  I’m not sure I call it insomnia, because I go to bed at my regular-ish time* and fall right to sleep.  And I also know that in about an hour I’ll sleep again.  But for the last few months I’ve had a tendency to wake somewhere between 2:30 and 4 am with music playing in my head and some interesting dream fresh in my consciousness.

In case you’re wondering, the dream was one in which I considered becoming a ranch foreman after grad school.  Last night I was Harry Potter, riding a bike.  The music is one I don’t know the name of, but I think is for piano and cello, contemporary, and I probably heard it on a commercial somewhere.  This despite the fact that I don’t have cable, and only got access to a TV a few weeks ago, so my likelihood of actually seeing a commercial is not great.

I’ve been thinking about blogging a lot lately, but like anyone on the holiday, I have a gazillion “important” things to do.

Also, since I spend most of my work time in front of a computer I don’t really want to use one as soon as I get home.

That being said, the nameless music from a few minutes ago is still playing in my head, and I’m happy about the new year. I spent NYE eating good cheese, stuffed olives, and other snacks, and drinking two small glasses of very good bourbon.  Then I went to bed.  Initially I thought of myself as a little lame, but if it’s an indicator of what the new year holds, I could do worse than eating well and sleeping much.

Things I have to be thankful about (and I’m going to avoid the abstract ones, like “being alive.”)

1. My job is turning out ok.  In fact, more than ok.  I got a pay raise, a 401k, insurance, and all the grown up things.  I guess every job is going to have it’s down side.  Like, say, that it’s a job.  But this is turning out ok.
2. I’m in Asheville.  I’ve been critical of this place, not in the sour grapes sort of way, but just in recognizing that it’s not a magical place.  It’s just a place, with its own unique problems and opportunities.  That said, I’m in a good place to take advantage of or fit into this place.  And it’s starting to go.
3. I’m going on dates.  I don’t mean this like I’m a playah.  Don’t hate.  But seriously, something happened to my mojo, and I feel… good looking?  I’m not sure if that’s the right description, but close enough.  I just feel like I’m the right guy for where I am.
4. My car.  Sigh.  My car is good.  Now that I have a new job I daydream a little about having a new car, but I do not daydream about having a car payment.  I put a good chunk of money into brakes, tires, and battery a couple weeks ago, and now it rides in a straight line, with minimal pogo-sticking.  It takes a lot of the adventure out of driving really.  But at 220,000 miles, it’s reliable, clean (ish), and comfortable.
5. Pottery is fun.  I could go on about this in great detail.  I won’t.  I’m making pretty things and it’s good for my soul.
6. Friends.  At the risk of veering into the abstract, 2011 was a good year for friends.  Not new ones, though I made some very good new friends.  My relationships with some of my old friends got better this year, and I can’t help but long for their presence.  I miss you.  I hope you come visit in 2012, as I’ll do my best to visit you.

_____________________________

*Going to bed at a regular time over the holidays seems to be particularly challenging.  Especially when one of those holidays kicks you in the shin an calls you old when you turn in at 10pm.

I’ve been through a lot of school.  One of the things colleges promise these days is to give the student skills for the “real world” but that hasn’t been my experience at all.  And I’m not saying that college should provide real world experience, since college isn’t the real world.  College has a different purpose: it’s purpose is to stop and ask why.

Regular readers of my blog know that I’m a jack of all trades, and I’m pretty comfortable operating at a professional level in many of those skills.  Currently I’m a software engineer, and I’m asked periodically what I studied in school to become a software engineer, and I usually give the short answer, “I didn’t. I just liked doing it.”  The slightly longer answer is that I took some entry level programming classes, shrugged about the strange things the professor was asking us to do, and got on with the business of graduating.  When I graduated I saw all the exciting things happening with DotComs and wanted in, so I taught myself.

Likewise, I’m a potter.  It’s something I had wanted to do since the first time I saw someone wheel-throwing.  And even though I’ve taken “classes” in pottery, it was mostly showing up and working at it until one day someone offered me money.

But probably the most demanding “real world” I’ve ever worked in is as a professional musician.  I play tuba with a number of chamber groups and sub regularly with some regional orchestras.  The transition from awkward amateur to seasoned professional was something that happened during college, but not because of college.  My college experience opened the door, and I stepped through.

Performing is a yes or no proposition: either the listener is happy with what you did, or they aren’t.  And hopefully, the person who writes the check is happy with your work and calls you again.  It’s a very clear barometer of your skill and professionalism; one that doesn’t really exist in college, where an A is passing, but so is a B and a C, and D too.

I write about this world of college vs “real world” because my eyes are focusing on arts administration: as a volunteer, as a passionate participant, as an experienced professional, and aspiring outsider, and as an educator.  My college studies in arts administration seemed a good bit like a puppet show, like many of my college classes.  We pretended to go through various steps as if we were in the real world.  The problem is that the real world doesn’t have a text book, and it’s pass or fail, like getting a call back on a gig.  And I have some criticisms of the textbooks I read, as they seem to exist in a space in between the philosophical “why” of college, and the practical “how” of the real world.

With that said, I’m going to be reviewing some of the books on arts administration I’ve come across in my studies.  These reviews are not meant as criticisms in their own right, but to open a discussion about the void between theory and practice, the observed and the experienced.

I was inspired by reading my dear friend Britt’s blog post today.  I’ve had the old house bug for years.  Maybe my entire life actually.  But I haven’t given any real consideration to owning a home for a while.  Since I lived in Knoxville in fact.

But reading her post made me  think.  I’m in no shape to buy a house right now, but if I put my mind to it I can do it.  It wasn’t something I had time or energy (or enough denial) to worry about over the past 5 years.  And yet, the old house bug has been itching, periodically chirping to remind me it’s there.

I’m really good at planning: I’ve always had a 5-years plan for what I’m going to do with my life.  It sort of ended after grad school, but I think I’m going to adjust my focus.  Instead of planning on what I’ll be doing, I’ll plan other more concrete things, like savings goals, home ownership, replacing my aging car (that’s a blog post for another day).  I just finished grad school and it’s going to take a little while still to make my finances mine, but in the mean time I can plan for something.  And even though I don’t know exactly where I’m going to be in a couple years, I can plan to be somewhere.  With a house.

So let me paint a picture: in an older neighborhood at what used to be the edge of town sits an empty bungalow with peeling paint, an unkept yard, a leaning porch and vines covering the stack of the chimney.  But just a year later it is straight and square with fresh paint, a little garden in the back, and polished hardwood floors inside.

Or perhaps a Queen Anne, stately in her day, but chopped into two apartments in the 70s, broken down and undesirable.  But with a little love and more than a little elbow grease, she is again framed with her wrap-around porch, her eyes are bright, and her steep roof indicates poise instead of obsolescence.

This is what I think about when I look at old houses.  I actually have a whole book of architectural styles of American homes.  I leaf through it periodically and daydream.  But silly me, it wasn’t until today that I realized, “I’m free to do that now.  Duh.”

I know that rehabbing a house is a lot of work, but I’ve never been afraid of work.  And also, I love the idea of it being mine by way of “I made that.”  I like to make things.

Don’t take things personally.

I’ve been going to the McNeely family thanksgiving for so many years now that, as far as they are concerned, my name is Thanksgiving Dan.  This Thanksgiving was special though, because I’m not in school.  I’m not working for a school.  I don’t set foot on the campus of a school.  And I have to say, it’s been over 8 years since I could say that, and I’m starting to recall why I was so happy living and working in Cincinnati- not in school.

Now, before I get ahead of myself, I want to take the time to properly express what Thanksgiving is about: being alive and being ok.  I’m really glad to have completed my doctorate.  I can’t imagine going anywhere else or doing anything else.  Dennis AsKew was a tremendous mentor, and remains so as I unpack my head from the long haul of finishing a terminal arts degree in an economy that holds little promise of actually using that degree.   I’m thankful to Barbara Murphy at UT for getting me through my MM there as well, and I can’t imagine what my life would be without that experience.  The friends I made there are still my best friends, even though I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like.

On the thankful-train, I’m also glad my parents have been so cool along the way.  It’s not every parent who can be supportive as they watch their kid quit a good-paying job he likes to go back to school for something that pays not much.  I’m also thankful for the time I had with Heather during those years.  I’m not sure a blog is a great place to put that last sentence, but it’s true: I wouldn’t be the man I am without those experiences, and I’m better for it.

On a less sentimental note, I’m thankful for couches.  COUCHES RULE.  Rather, they rule when I have one to sit on.  I have one to sit on as of last night.

Also, roommates rule.  I have one of those as of a couple weeks ago too.  Which is part of the reason I could afford a couch (see that Scott, I appreciate you already! Keep paying your half of the rent and I’ll be your BFF).

Between the couch, the roommate, and the new kitchen table, the house is starting to look like someone lives here.  I guess I could say I’m thankful for that, but the feeling is more a sigh of relief: I am starting to feel like a human again.

And that brings me back to the ride to McNeelyfest 2011: I’m out of school, making ok money, and a lot of the instability of the last most-of-a-decade is behind me, and it’s made a profound impact on how I interact with the world.  I was more relaxed, social, happy all weekend than I’ve noticed in years.  And I guess it’s important because I noticed it.  Perhaps my state of progressive relaxation has been kicking in for a while, but it’s nice to have holidays to mark the time and remind us of where we were and where we are.

I’m looking forward to seeing my family over Christmas.  And the best part is that I can afford gifts this year.  I can even afford to repair my brakes before I drive fifteen-hunnert miles for the holidays.  Basically, not being poor puts me in a better mood.  Fancy that.

But really, it’s not the money, it’s the people I’m thankful for.  I just have the time to notice now.  I’m thankful for you all.  Please be in touch.

I’m being a nerd and rebuilding my computer this evening.  In the backing-up and saving-off of files I stumbled upon something I have been looking for since windoze update ate my blog: the backup.  I’m a fastidious computer nerd.  I do all those things you’re “supposed” to do, like change passwords.  Now I’m faced with the question, what “should” I do.

In the year and a half since I restarted my blog, I’ve graduated, moved to Asheville, gone back into IT full time.  I’ve worked another summer at Brevard, started a band, cut an album, become a pretty competent potter.  I’ve purchased some new clothes but remained the same underneath.  And that begs the question: should I restore the backup?

The tech-guy in me says one thing, and one thing only: duh- yes.  The forward-mover in me thinks otherwise.  There’s a lot of history in those blog posts.  Things that don’t matter anymore, but maybe matter more than I’d like to admit.

If I had found the backup and gotten it working right after the crash, it would be an easy choice.  But now, a year and a half, or 400 lifetimes later I wonder.

As a web designer and programmer I’ve long known how internet companies think: sure, some offer great services to get at your money or your info, but really, if they had the technology, they would write a site that once you click on their home page it sucks the money out of your wallet.

But I’m reminded in some subtle and interesting ways how advertising works.  This morning is a case in point.  I logged into my trusty gmail account, saw that I had nothing (nobody loves me…), and checked my spam folder for the first time in a week or so.  I’ve lost some interview opportunities to the spam folder in the past, so I make a habit of checking it now.  Here’s how it’s supposed to work: the google ad bot is a little program that runs on the page and “reads” the words there and finds corresponding ads that match.

You can see the problem with this approach.  Start at the search box with the words “in:spam” and look down about an inch to see what google ads thinks a foodie like me auto to be doing with spam.  Hurray- four servings!

You’ll also notice that the wonderful folks at “Max Gentleman” have made me a very enticing offer.  I hope the google ad bot doesn’t read that too.  It’ll start thinking I’m some sort of perv.

It’s a little alarming to think that “someone” is reading your email, but the advertising companies are clever.  They don’t really read your web browser for content, just for key words.  And no human (in theory) ever sees it.  That way they can get around the whole privacy thing.  Because it’s not a machine, it doesn’t care about content, and it’s just stuff on a screen, you can’t say that “they” are “reading” your “email.”  It’s a slippery slope, and one I’m sure we’ll see change in the coming years as people figure out that google isn’t free.

Finally, I wonder to myself if women get the same kinds of offers to enlarge their “gentleman.”