Sorry for the silence and the unentertaining posts so far. I’m pretending I have a job for an entire week, and my boss (who I’d never met before) is here. I’m drinking lots of coffee not to fall asleep during meetings. So far, so good…

Luckily, rms of emacs and GNU fame showed up and gave his usual “free as in freedom” speech. He’s always entertaining on his own right, and I managed to corner him to fondle his beard and strike a pose.

But seriously… I do like to poke fun at rms, but I do owe him a debt of gratitude.  For those of you unfamiliar with Richard Stallman (or rms as he’s called among us geeks), rms has been a pivotal figure in the computing industry since the 1970’s.  His free software movement has been the basis of software the world over. The tools used to write the software in your iPhone and iPad, as well as the software running in satellites, not to mention web servers, and pretty much everything else, are in part possible by a revolution he started in the mid 80’s, and to which I have devoted my entire programming career. Part of the reason software is so prevalent and inexpensive today is due not in small part to a life of sacrifice in the pursuit of freedom.

In the early 1990’s, a young pimple faced boy from Mayaguez, Puerto Rico was welcomed by rms into his MIT office as an equal. He took the time to encourage me into a life writing free software, which in his opinion, was the only ethical way of marshaling one’s creative forces. I was amazed at his candor and his willingness to dedicate such a large portion of his time to let me sit around his office for hours, and ask him a barrage of questions, while offering the occasional advice. He followed through with me for years, through random projects, until I took the job I hold today, writing unencumbered software that is ethically aligned with what inspired me decades ago.

This year, Red Hat achieved $1 billion dollars in revenue in one year, while selling freely licensed software, and it all started with a hard headed idea of taking fate into your own hands, and not bending to the will of software companies restricting your freedoms.

Here’s to freedom!

p.s. This is the view across the street from the meetings…

Growing up I had a great fascination with computers. I spent most of my time programming, which meant that pretty much every other facet of my life suffered. Anything not tangentially related to programming took a back seat at best. I got by in school with the absolute minimum to get decent grades that would assuage my parents. It is therefore unsurprising that having taken 2 years of electronics as part of a computer science degree, I probably couldn’t unhook a car battery without seriously injuring myself and the car in the process. That is… until a lack of basic electronics kept me from properly enjoying a vacation. How hard could it be to hot wire a motorcycle? In the movies, thugs do it in 15 seconds flat, after having sprinted half way across town while dodging cars and cops.

I did what every computer savvy person would do. I spent a few hours googling everything from “Yamaha electrical diagram” and “how to hot wire a motorcycle”, to “how to steal a motorcycle”. Luckily I found the entire electrical diagram for one of the bikes. Unfortunately, I still couldn’t tell the difference between a resistor and a transistor. But I’d be damned if I couldn’t figure it out.

While Alejo slept, I came up to speed on ignition systems, starters, and spark plugs. Thankfully it wasn’t hard to figure out. All I needed was a short cable to bypass the key locking mechanism. When Alejo woke up, I brought him along for a short trek around town, asking for a “short wire to hot wire OUR motorcycles”. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best opener. No matter how we spun it, no one believed two homeless looking guys had brought two motorcycles across the state while leaving the keys behind. The local mechanic suspiciously agreed to give us a few short wires, with no advice or help whatsoever.

After only a morning of fiddling around (I never said I was a good thief!), I was able to find the right set of cables to bypass. Short cable in place, and voila– lights on, and the bike starts cranking. Unfortunately, Yano’s bike (which always gets experimented on first) takes a while to crank. While I’m cranking, I’m doing the dance of joy, which got quickly interrupted by Alejo screaming over the noise “hey smartass, if you ever get the bike to turn over, how the hell are you going to fill it up with gas without a key?”. Uhhhh… hmmm… “And if you manage to fuck up the ignition, I’ll kill you when the keys do arrive. I only get one week of vacation, unlike you nerds which work from home and seem to be in a permanent holiday every day.” Fair enough… I put the bike back together, and we drove around the park in the 4×4 pickup.

At this point I must add that Big Bend National Park is absolutely breathtaking, and is sadly one of the least visited parks in the US park system. The restaurant has been revamped to cater to a more gastronomically demanding crowd, and they’ve done away with the traditional hamburgers and chilli that plague campgrounds the world over. The food, though pricey for a state park ($10-$18/plate), is wonderfully succulent. The entrees are varied and are hands down better than most restaurants. There’s everything from fillet mignon, and smoked salmon, to grilled portabella mushrooms and peppers for the vegetarian crowd. The home-made soups are delicious, and the desserts leave you feeling as decadent as you’re used to.

So all in all, bikes or not, we’ve been having a blast. The views are spectacular and the food is great. Below is a link to the pictures so far, which may spoil the rest of the story, but are well worth seeing. We’re both pleasantly surprised. Big Bend has not left us wanting.

And as you can see, we eventually get our keys!

A doctor and an engineer go on vacation…  While this is most likely the beginning of cruel joke, so far it hasn’t disappointed.

When you live in the southern most part of Texas, there are a limited amount of places you can visit if you can’t convince your fellow vacationers to visit Mexico.  I’m in the unfortunate dilemma of having a few more weeks of vacation than Yano this year, and my friend Alejo is in a similar predicament, having vacation but being restricted by his US visa status to stay within the country.

We originally planned to go on a road trip with our motorbikes, but being limited to a week, we quickly realized that Texas was far too big to get out without inflicting permanent damage to our buttocks.  Instead, we wussed out, and decided to take the bikes on the back of the pickup truck where we could drive in the comfort of a/c for longer distances.  Unfortunately, we ran into the cruel reality that is Texas geography, and realized that a day an a half would only get us to El Paso which is just like McAllen, but with less things to do (if you can imagine such a place).  So, the only logical vacation not involving airplanes, involved driving as far out within a day or two, and that turned out to be Big Bend National Park in the middle of nowhere Texas (as everything in Texas is, with the notable exceptions of Houston, Dallas, Austin, and some say San Antonio).  We’d drive with the bikes on the bed of the pickup, stay in the park, and ride on and off-road all day for a week.  Meanwhile, the women would stay behind– tending the children, or in my case, the dogs and the operating rooms of McAllen.

Everything went according to plan until mile 500, when Yano calls and asks “do you have an extra pair of keys for the bikes?”.  Alejo and I look at each other with eyes wide open, and slam on the breaks.  The bikes almost ended up in the cabin and I nervously responded “huhhh… why do you ask?”.  “Cause there are two pairs of keys on the dinner table here.”  My fault entirely, I couldn’t blame the doctor for anything more than the sad state of medicine in the south of Texas. There were various insults, mostly flowing in my direction, and numerous threats of taking my bicycle wheels (which I’d brought too), to make sure I would be under the same inflicted boredom as he would be starting tomorrow.

There was no sense driving further, so we stopped at Marathon, Texas (see previous comment about nowhere Texas, and multiply it by 500).  It turns out FedEx drops by every other day, and most popular carriers will sporadically deliver this far out.  Luckily, the Gage Hotel and Spa is a quaint hotel not unlike what you’ve seen in popular westerns: cantina, guns, and pretty girls.  I’m not really sure, but I think we are the only visitors here tonight.

12 Gage Hotel

We’ve arranged with Yano (who hasn’t stopped laughing), to ship the keys overnight. “Overnight” being an euphemism for “if you’re lucky in three days”, but hey– at least we’re not in McAllen– and there are mountains [I’m not allowed to ride on the bicycle].

p.s. Oh yeah, stay tuned for a week’s worth of insults (hopefully involving running bikes).

Hay algunos que son estilistas del lenguaje.  Son aquellos que tienen un contrato como representantes de la Real Academia Espa~nola.  Cuya mision en esta vida es preservar la lengua castellana.  Yo a cambio, bastante dificil que se me hace escribir con letras mayusculas, y mucho mas tildar cada dos palabras con acentos.

Para mi el lenguaje esta en las equivocaciones, en cada expresion que diverge del estandar y se amolda a la cultura o sub-cultura en la region donde reside.

Para mi el lenguaje del puertorrique~no documenta la cultura y nos cuenta un par de cuentos que se han perdido a lo largo de una historia de centurias.  Nos cuenta de las  hechizante Islas Canarias de donde nos trajeron cuatro locos y siete medio lenguas que nos pegaron aquel acento sin las eSes y las eRres, pero que al menos nos trajeron un amor a las playas, a los rios y cascadas.  Nos cuenta de un Taino y su Yunque, y hasta del dios aquel, El Huracan.  Nos traen palabras que sin las cuales, ni hasta el gringo pudiera describir un verano en una “hammock” o la venida de un “hurricane”.

Nos ultrajan a los indios y los trabajan a morir, pero no sin antes heredar un par de ocurrencias.  Ya no decimos molesto, ahora estamos enFOGONaos.  Tan calientes como el  fogon de una mujer taina.  Ya no te invitamos a la casa, si no al bohio de la esquina.  Y rara vez estamos sudados, ahora estamos adobaos.

Despues nos traen al africano con su vudu y su danza, y otro par de palabritas.  Que si vudu, tun-tun, y hasta a veces griferia.  Y como siempre, un giro de palabras, y otro giro en una historia que se cuenta con palabras y ademanes al cantar.  Ya no te invitamos a la fiesta de Pepito, sino al bayu en casa ‘e Pepo.  Y si en el patio de su casa te caes en el lodo,  ahora te chavaste’ porque te caistes en el bache.

Despues vienen los gringos queriendo suplantar a Cervantes con aquel loco Chaquespior.  Pero no hay problema, porque ahora nos robamos mas palabras.  Extraviamos el bote  de basura, en favor en un “safacon”, que algunos dicen se asemeja al “Save-A-Can” inscrito en los envases que nos traen para botar su apreciado “bobol gom”.  Los chicos del barrio, ya no se reunen para hablar, sino se sientan a jangear (“hang out”).  Ya no te relajan, ahora te tripean (tripping).

Con el tiempo nos cansamos de cambiar tanto de gobierno y nos conformamos con pelear entre nosotros por la utopia del estatus.  Nos pusimos a mirar telenovelas y adoptar un  par de frases.  Ya no son mujeres lindas sino un par de mamices alli.  Ya no estoy sin dinero sino “no tengo un chavo prieto”.  No heredamos un problema; lo que hay es una chavienda.  El borracho de la esquina ya no es borracho, sino un atomico.  Y Pablo con A.D.D, no es mas que un chapucero.

Y hasta los 80 y los 90 nos traen mas enredos, pues reflejan a Nirvana, a Guns ‘n Roses, y Arjona.  El sobrino de Do~na Estevez ya no es mas que un roquero malo, que se la pasa “de pary en pary”.  Y las papitas de McDonalds estan como tu cuando molesto: un poco crispi.

De era en era, de a~no en a~no, robando y asimilando palabras para adornar un lenguaje y contar una historia.  Asi que cuando te manden pal carajo o te manden a buscar a Do~na Juana con sus pollos, recuerda que hay historia que se pierde atraves de los papeles.  No es que somos medio lenguas, si no que contamos una historia de 2500 a~nos, y estamos apurados.  No es que nos faltan letras, si no que nos falta tiempo.  Hay tanto que contar y el espa~nol no nos da a basto.

Todo esta cool.

Aldy el de Puejlto Jico

1997

Birthday girl is 30 something today, so I decided I would make my own presents this year.  Unsurprisingly, this turned out to be a bit harder than envisioned.

The reason I’m always inclined to self-made presents, crayon painted birthday cards, and homemade pies is not only because I’m cheap, but because it takes a lot more effort to make something, than it does to go online and click “buy now”.

Ancient Japanese legend promises that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish such as long life, or an eternal marriage.  There is even a wedding tradition among the truly bored known as sembazuru, where a couple will fold 1000 origami cranes in order to be granted a happy and prosperous marriage.  It is thought that the time and energy put into folding a thousand orgami cranes symbolizes the patience and trust necessary to sustain a happy marriage.

My goal today was to learn how to fold the paper creatures, and give Yanory a 100 of them.  Throughout the next 10 years I could give her 100 cranes at either birthdays or anniversaries, and I’d be up to 1000 cranes in no time.  Yeah, well… easier said than done.

I started my day at 6am, shortly after Yanory left for work.  Papers in hand, and the determination of a young samurai, I typed y-o-u-t-u-b-e-.-c-o-m.

What the frik?  How do they get from step 3 all the way to a flapping paper crane is beyond me.  I looked for step by step instructions… same thing: the easy steps are shown and you’re somehow supposed to divine how to get from a folded square to a flying bird.

After 2 reams of papers, Aldy-scissor-hands was up to a mildly decapitated and mostly unrecognizable crane.  I was beginning to panic.  No amount of “tailoring” with actual scissors could make my cranes looked like the cranes from the small handed Japanese anime instructors on-line.  Luckily, after about 3 hours, I managed to make a recognizable crane that could actually flap its wings like the instructor’s.  Quickly, I pulled out the stop watch and folded 3 more.  Average time per crane?  5 minutes.

Now, you don’t have to be a math geek to realize that to finish 100 cranes, I would fold the remaining cranes in 480 minutes (8 hours).  And that’s assuming I make no mistakes, don’t get any paper cuts, and Yanory doesn’t come home commonly early (did I mention anesthesia was the residency to get into?).  Realizing this is an impossible task, I am hoping she’ll be impressed with 4 beautiful origami cranes, a long blog entry in her honor, and a mountain bike ride through trails this afternoon.

Meanwhile… I’m heading out to the super market to buy ingredients to bake a key lime pie from scratch.  Provided no distractions, I’m sure I can pull this off with no scorching before she gets home!

Here’s to a thousand more years with the same beautiful wife.