Friday, August 14, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Sir Allen Stanford Is Frank Lopez From Scarface?
I was watching Allen Stanford tearfully deny his fund was a Ponzi Scheme and any drug cartel connections (http://abcnews.go.com/Blotter/WallStreet/story?id=7270405&page=1) when I noticed that he had an uncanny resemblance to Frank Lopez from Scarface.
I put together the photo collage, you decide.
I put together the photo collage, you decide.
Monday, March 2, 2009
How Jake Tapper of ABC News Blocked Me On Twitter
Twitter, the social networking and microblogging service that once only had geeks, and technophiles as its users has recently been embraced by the political and media elites who have not wasted much time to make it part of their Washington diet. And unsurprisingly so as it, more than any other social network, enables the communication of thoughts (in 140 characters or less) and their easy broadcasting to the world.
Today you can find many politicians, and media personalities on Twitter; I personally follow Karl Rove, Missouri Senator Claire McCaskill and up until he blocked me last week, Jake Tapper.
For those who don't know it, Jake Tapper is not exactly a nobody; he's the senior White House Correspondent for ABC News, he's got fairly read political news blog and he's got the reputation for being a tough journalist who's not afraid of asking smart, incisive questions. He's also been branded the bad boy of the White House press (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-4qEz1vea0) but after reading the rest of this post, I'm not sure you should agree.
It all happened the night of the state of the union address; I was checking Twitter and reading the conservative leaning drudgereport--a very influential news aggregation website--where I saw the following somewhat snide headlines in the upper left corner:
jaketapper/status/1248047479 ) stating that Obama's toughest opponent will be himself because of all the promises he'll have to fulfill.
I twittered back http://twitter.com/declercq/status/1248114120 suggesting he'd gotten his editorial content from Drudge. No doubt, this was a bit obnoxious but all in all very innocent. In any case since he wasn't following me (your homepage only displays the updates of those you follow), and since he'd previously ignored an earlier question I asked (how is seating assigned during a joint session of congress) I wasn't expecting a response so it came as a surprise to see I'd gotten on his radar http://twitter.com/jaketapper/status/1248127775 .
Because I thought it clear I'd been implying he'd gotten inspired by what was on the drudgereport--something which is after all not uncommon in the political news world--I took his response to mean "How dare you make those allegations sir! We came to the same conclusion independently."
To shorten our exchange I wanted to acknowledge that my comment had been a bit of ribbing, that I understood that nothing might annoy a journalist as much as the suggestion that he's getting his editorial guidelines from someone else but that no harm was intended. I came up with this http://twitter.com/declercq/status/1248162198 remember, this all has to be in 140 characters are less, longer updates so there wasn't much wiggle room to express all of that.
Anyways he musn't have really liked that because soon after he went to my profile and went out of his way to block me. I definitely didn't expect him to be so thin-skinned, certainly not the something I'd expect from the "White House Bad Boy".
You could play devil's advocate and argue it was within his right to block me, and yes nothing illegal happened, but there is something awfully funny about such a high profile journalist silencing "critics", filtering feedback and in essence putting a muzzle on free speech. It also smacks of pettiness and arrogance. It is inconceivable to imagine Karl Rove, Al Gore, or Joe Trippi going out of their way to block someone, not only because they have better things to do but because it runs counter to the premise of twitter, which is broadcasting ideas, extending the reach of your thoughts.
As Twitter becomes embraced as a professional tool by politicians and news correspondents, it will be interesting to see if they shall retain the full discretionary use of their accounts or if as public figures their accounts will be viewed as a public right, something that everyone should have access to. Personally this whole episode has been very off-putting to me, and I won’t be visiting his blog anymore, and find better use of my time; like trying to break the meme density record for example.
Today you can find many politicians, and media personalities on Twitter; I personally follow Karl Rove, Missouri Senator Claire McCaskill and up until he blocked me last week, Jake Tapper.
For those who don't know it, Jake Tapper is not exactly a nobody; he's the senior White House Correspondent for ABC News, he's got fairly read political news blog and he's got the reputation for being a tough journalist who's not afraid of asking smart, incisive questions. He's also been branded the bad boy of the White House press (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-4qEz1vea0) but after reading the rest of this post, I'm not sure you should agree.
It all happened the night of the state of the union address; I was checking Twitter and reading the conservative leaning drudgereport--a very influential news aggregation website--where I saw the following somewhat snide headlines in the upper left corner:
- Obama promises to save economy..
- Obama promises to cure cancer...
- Obama promises education for all through college...
- Obama promises to end war...
I twittered back http://twitter.com/declercq/
Because I thought it clear I'd been implying he'd gotten inspired by what was on the drudgereport--something which is after all not uncommon in the political news world--I took his response to mean "How dare you make those allegations sir! We came to the same conclusion independently."
To shorten our exchange I wanted to acknowledge that my comment had been a bit of ribbing, that I understood that nothing might annoy a journalist as much as the suggestion that he's getting his editorial guidelines from someone else but that no harm was intended. I came up with this http://twitter.com/declercq/
Anyways he musn't have really liked that because soon after he went to my profile and went out of his way to block me. I definitely didn't expect him to be so thin-skinned, certainly not the something I'd expect from the "White House Bad Boy".
You could play devil's advocate and argue it was within his right to block me, and yes nothing illegal happened, but there is something awfully funny about such a high profile journalist silencing "critics", filtering feedback and in essence putting a muzzle on free speech. It also smacks of pettiness and arrogance. It is inconceivable to imagine Karl Rove, Al Gore, or Joe Trippi going out of their way to block someone, not only because they have better things to do but because it runs counter to the premise of twitter, which is broadcasting ideas, extending the reach of your thoughts.
As Twitter becomes embraced as a professional tool by politicians and news correspondents, it will be interesting to see if they shall retain the full discretionary use of their accounts or if as public figures their accounts will be viewed as a public right, something that everyone should have access to. Personally this whole episode has been very off-putting to me, and I won’t be visiting his blog anymore, and find better use of my time; like trying to break the meme density record for example.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Program I'll Never Forget
Four years ago during college, I did technical gigs to pay the bills.
It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss.
What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I had classes and homework, I programmed at night; my computer became a compiling confessional. Clients would email me, sheltered by the anonymity of the internet and tell me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, enobled me and made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman who emailed me late one November night. I was responding to a craigslist ad from a quiet part of town. I assumed I was going to do somebody's homework or implement the new hybrid search-engine-online-auction-house-community-social-network.
But when I got the specifications at 2:30am, the document was sparse except for a single diagram and a few notes.
Under these circumstances many freelance programmers would just send one or two emails asking for clarifications, wait a minute and move on.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on freelance programmers as their only means of getting things done.
Unless a situation smelled of danger or illegal activities, I always tried to call my clients. This client might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I dialed the number and somebody picked up. "Just a minute" answered a frail elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, I heard the phone being picked up again. And an elderly woman started talking to me and sounded like somebody out of a 1940s movie. She excused herself for making me hold as she had had to get a chair because she couldn't stay standing up.
"It’s nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my clients the way I would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you’re such a good boy", she said. When she was settled in her chair, she gave me a list of requirements and specifications, then asked, "Could you walk me through your solution? I used to work with computers during the war..."
"It’s not the fastest way to finish this project," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don’t mind," she said. "I’m in no hurry..."
I listened. Her voice was choking.
"I don’t have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don’t have very long."
I quietly reached over and turned off the timer to keep track of the time spent working on a gig. "Shall we start?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we went over the project and over computer science. She told me how back when she was "just a girl" output was done to IBM punch cards which could be used to produce printed output offline. She talked about the history of computing hardware and I told her about design patterns, turing completeness, Moore's law, algorithmic complexities, and the different kinds of datatypes. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow down and explain a concept once more while she must have been sitting staring into the darkness.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I’m tired. I like what you came up with."
"How much do I owe you?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other clients".
Almost without thinking, I told her it was great talking to her.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I said goodbye, then walked out of my room and into the dim morning light. I was reliving the click noise of her hanging up; it was the sound of the closing of a life.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. I didn’t do anymore gigs that week. I browsed the internet aimlessly, lost in thought. What if that woman had gotten an angry programmer, or one who was impatient and only looking to get paid? What if I had refused to wait for her email and not called her?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss.
What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.
Because I had classes and homework, I programmed at night; my computer became a compiling confessional. Clients would email me, sheltered by the anonymity of the internet and tell me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, enobled me and made me laugh and weep.
But none touched me more than a woman who emailed me late one November night. I was responding to a craigslist ad from a quiet part of town. I assumed I was going to do somebody's homework or implement the new hybrid search-engine-online-auction-house-community-social-network.
But when I got the specifications at 2:30am, the document was sparse except for a single diagram and a few notes.
Under these circumstances many freelance programmers would just send one or two emails asking for clarifications, wait a minute and move on.
But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on freelance programmers as their only means of getting things done.
Unless a situation smelled of danger or illegal activities, I always tried to call my clients. This client might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.
So I dialed the number and somebody picked up. "Just a minute" answered a frail elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
After a long pause, I heard the phone being picked up again. And an elderly woman started talking to me and sounded like somebody out of a 1940s movie. She excused herself for making me hold as she had had to get a chair because she couldn't stay standing up.
"It’s nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my clients the way I would want my mother treated."
"Oh, you’re such a good boy", she said. When she was settled in her chair, she gave me a list of requirements and specifications, then asked, "Could you walk me through your solution? I used to work with computers during the war..."
"It’s not the fastest way to finish this project," I answered quickly.
"Oh, I don’t mind," she said. "I’m in no hurry..."
I listened. Her voice was choking.
"I don’t have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don’t have very long."
I quietly reached over and turned off the timer to keep track of the time spent working on a gig. "Shall we start?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we went over the project and over computer science. She told me how back when she was "just a girl" output was done to IBM punch cards which could be used to produce printed output offline. She talked about the history of computing hardware and I told her about design patterns, turing completeness, Moore's law, algorithmic complexities, and the different kinds of datatypes. Sometimes she’d ask me to slow down and explain a concept once more while she must have been sitting staring into the darkness.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I’m tired. I like what you came up with."
"How much do I owe you?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said.
"You have to make a living," she answered.
"There are other clients".
Almost without thinking, I told her it was great talking to her.
"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."
I said goodbye, then walked out of my room and into the dim morning light. I was reliving the click noise of her hanging up; it was the sound of the closing of a life.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. I didn’t do anymore gigs that week. I browsed the internet aimlessly, lost in thought. What if that woman had gotten an angry programmer, or one who was impatient and only looking to get paid? What if I had refused to wait for her email and not called her?
On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
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