Connectedness, one year ago today

I wasn't sure whether I'd slept or not. I just knew I'd been tossing and turning for the past few hours, and it was far too hot and sticky to get any sleep. I'd be glad when the summer humidity gave way to the fall not-quite-so-humidity; there'd at least be some respite. It must have been somewhere around three a.m., and just lying here in the dark wondering if I would ever go to sleep or not wouldn't do me any good. Maybe I could go downstairs for a while, find something to occupy my mind. I just needed to make sure I didn't put too much weight on that creaky stair. I unplugged my little e-mail device from the wall charger, automatically, without thinking, cradled it gently in my hands like a treasured possession, and headed for the kitchen. I placed my elbows on the kitchen counter and stared at the coffee pot. I'm quite sure that was the last thing I wanted.

Right at that moment, for some reason, you sent me a message.

Somehow, this didn't seem all that unexpected, even though it made no sense. Three hours separated us; we both knew it was an ungodly hour for me; the chances were I wouldn't see that message until the morning. I've had to grapple with this ever since; I've had to recognize that my beliefs have had to change considerably since that night. This was not chance. There was something intended about it all. You wrote to me, no doubt without expecting me to read and reply. I replied, no doubt expecting you had gone on to bed. There was something more going on. You'd checked into that hotel room to escape the heat; a hotel with a pool, a room with air conditioning, a chance to get the sleep you needed to catch up on after four days of seasonal but soaring temperatures. A chance to finally get comfortable; but comfortable is far from what you were. You had an emergency to deal with; people were as usual reaching out, dependent on you, reliant on your strength, your courage, your resolve to get them out of the most difficult of situations. I thought that night, as I'd long thought; who do you turn to when you need someone? You're vulnerable, too. I'd never dared think, up to that moment, that you'd turn to me.

I sent you a reply, letting you know that yes, I was still awake, and yes, I was available to listen to what was going on, whatever use that would be to you.

Somehow, it didn't seem like enough. I wished so much, so very much, that I could do more than just offer mere words of comfort through something as impersonal as an e-mail message. Nevertheless, that was precisely the medium we had at that moment. Just words; just a connection, cold, electronic, but yet so precious; a chance for us to share words, to share messages, to communicate. Already it had been so much more than that for us; it had been the way we had met, got to know each other; became friends. Purely a vehicle for the simplest of messages, good wishes, digital hugs, moments of humor. words of encouragement. A song, a little over a month ago, a birthday present. Technology had made these things possible; but it was nothing more, simply technology. The radio waves, the wires, pumped no blood. The silicon hearts contained no warmth.

Another reply, more lengthy this time, more detailed, more impassioned, more you, making it clear what you needed most at that moment was to be hugged, to be held closely, to feel the comfort of another.

I found myself saying it, writing it, feeling it, even without as much as a thought. I'm with you, I wrote. Feel me with you. Let me hold you. I disbelieved myself as I wrote those words. What I wrote wasn't possible. What I wrote was at best comforting, at most a charming thought, but quite simply not something I could admit to. At that moment, however, I wanted nothing more than to try. I didn't try to concentrate, no scrunching up of eyelids, no clenching of fists. I had no idea what to do; how to do; whether I even could do. There was no embarrassment, nobody there to see me, as I tried, body, mind, heart, and soul, to reach out for you, across the miles, across the ether, across the universe. All I did was relaxed, and let it happen.

There you were.

I felt you with me, as real as you were here, as real as I were there. No, more than that. You were here. I was there. I held you close, and slipped my arms around you, placing your head on my chest, running my fingers through your hair. I sensed you with everything of my being, real, physical, close to me; your scent, your breath, nuzzling your soft shoulder, holding you close, gentle, warm, comforting. I had never experienced anything like this before; as I dared to think about it, I realized I could quite easily convince myself this was not happening. I let reason take a break for once, and concentrated on you, on feeling you close to me. I gently brushed your cheek, and whispered calmly, It'll be all right. I'm here. Closer, closer, as I listened to you breathe, watching over you, letting you relax, willing you to fall asleep, calm, gentle, and in my embrace for the first time that night. The next day, nothing would ever be the same again... neither of us could even predict what the next month would bring. Today, here we are. It's the next year, celebrating yet another of our anniversaries, darling. We have quite a story to share. Could anyone connect like this?

Bubbalon: Social Ratings, Awful or Awesome?

Parents of kids of a certain age (and teenagers, for some strange reason) might be familiar with the Cartoon Network show Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. One of the most memorable characters - and, let's face it, when it comes to kids' shows, "memorable" quite often means incredibly obnoxious - and a firm fan favorite is Cheese, who follows the main protagonists around constantly declaring "I like chocolate milk. I like potatoes. I like cereal" over and over and over again; something which kids will quite happily imitate, over and over and over again themselves.

This connects me, eventually, to Bubbalon, a site that I learnt about earlier today from a follow on Twitter, and, being in an unusually-receptive Follow Friday mood, I decided to take a look at the site, see what it was all about, and even suggested that after checking it out I might like to write a review. Bubbalon touts itself as a "Social Rating website". Yes, I can't believe they had the nerve to say that too. Apparently you can attach the word social in front of anything these days. Now, this is nothing new. I remember being involved in the beta program for Likaholix (now called mylikes), and at the time it was apparent that sites that allowed you to express opinions on products and services were, in fact, likely to be a way of gathering free market research - an advertiser's nirvana. Now I must admit, while I'm not quite fond of the idea that things like store loyalty cards may be used to gather data about my purchasing habits, subject it to statistical analysis, throw it into some huge data mining application and, apocryphally, mean that beer gets put on the grocery store shelves near the diapers, I don't mind feeding these sorts of services if I get something in return. This, after all, is why Google is so successful; their services become such an integral part of my online activity that I don't ever dream to think what it would be like without them, so, who cares if they slip in the odd ad or two? In the Likaholix beta, one appealing thing I discovered was, the more I liked, the more it tuned its recommendations to things it expected I would like, as well. I managed to discover (and indeed, rediscover) some exceptionally good music and video games as a result. The beta was interesting, although I must admit I got very fidgety when the sponsors and advertisers moved in.

What about Bubbalon? What's their vision? Well, direct from their FAQ, we have

Imagine this: your expressed views could influence the way our current social models work. We are standing on the brink of massive cultural and social changes, and Bubbalon is there to make that leap with you. The old world is based on dictatorship, non-transparency, rigidity and social divide. The new world that we are building on Bubbalon, is a total, complete opposite of that. Each Bubbalonian stands firmly for positive evolution, good social merit, total freedom, responsibility for one's actions, transparency and balance. We are working to make your views MATTER.

Sure. Right. Truthfully, I don't think there's a single Internet user who genuinely cares about this kind of nonsense about "social models", they're interested in what's in it for them, if they take part. Bubbalon's mechanism is simple. Either through search or through a cloud of suggested objects and ideas to rate, the user can pick, with a slider an accompanying smiley, their reaction on each object in Bubbalon's database from 0 to 100. More specific comments can be added in the form of a mini-review, which, guess what, is up to 140 characters in length. As an incentive to keep rating and commenting, each rating or comment awards the user karma points, with more karma being awarded if another user finds the comment helpful. The more karma points awarded, the more that can be done on the site, such as adding new objects to the system or even modifying existing ones. In the same way Likaholix suggested, the system is somewhat self-governing, because the best quality objects and entries "bubble" to the top, hence the site's name.

So, what is the reward, for this constant rating of objects and writing micro-reviews of such concepts as Starbucks, or "Ridiculous Article Titles?". Here, essentially, is the place where things fall apart for me. Bubbalon does not use my ratings to suggest other objects to me, in the same way Likaholix did, but to suggest users. This seems, on the surface, utterly bizarre, wanting me to construct yet another follower/following network on yet another site based solely on whether we share opinions of things? Call me old-fashioned, but I have been perfectly capable of meeting people my entire life - yes, even on social networks - without agreeing with them on what I think of Shakira. The whole site is based on the idea of what opinions people have in common. This information is evidently more useful to an advertiser scanning groups and demographics, than it is to the individuals involved. Even the suggestion mechanism is flawed. For example, the "smart connect" portion of the site discovers people I may be interested in following, because I have a 100% rating match with them. After close inspection, it turns out the two of us have, in fact, only rated one object in common - a low-hanging fruit such as Google, or Twitter. That doesn't seem like a very good algorithm. If a little more evidence as to where this data is going were needed, a closer look at a more detailed ratings page might give a clue. The page gives average ratings throughout the Bubbalon world, but also categorized by user groups and, yes, by the most polarizing of all demographics, gender. I am quite suspicious about a site that is using gender as a statistic-collating process. Expect to see dating ads very shortly. And, just in case anyone was wondering, liking the same things isn't necessarily a successful basis of a relationship, either...

If I already wasn't impressed by Bubbalon, what it had craftily done during my initial signup was the final straw. It's all too common for these sorts of sites to connect with, for example, Facebook or Twitter, retrieve your friends list, and look for them on the site. That's something I have more or less gotten used to, and am quite happy to accept the OAuth disclaimer that the site is going to access my Twitter feeds, followers, and following lists. What is inexcusable, however, is the default behavior of Bubbalon after connecting is to tweet every rating as and when you declare it. It did not offer that configuration option before dropping me into the site, and it took some finding once I realized that it had already sent thirty or forty tweets on my behalf. I took a look at my Twitter timeline and I did indeed look like Cheese from the Foster's show, particularly as the site will send multiple tweets if you have a bit of a shaky mouse hand and jiggle the sliders. After a couple of concerned followers drew my attention to this apparent lapse, I was livid, and spent quite a while cleaning up the mess. Not only had, in my opinion, the site little to offer me, but it had committed what I consider a grave sin. If you do go to Bubbalon, make sure you find these options and disable them. Otherwise, you too might end up sounding just like Cheese, whose immortal words might just sum up what i thought of Bubbalon:

I pooted.

Book Review: A Spy At Home by Joseph Rinaldo

Try to put yourself in the position of a retired CIA operative, returning home to his wife and son with Down syndrome (resulting in early-onset Alzheimer's), endeavoring to do his best to look after them and ensure they are provided for. Now, just to make things a little more difficult, imagine our retired spy has managed to embezzle a little under ten million dollars from his employer. Such is the premise of A Spy at Home, the first novel by Joseph Rinaldo, already published as an eBook. Mr Rinaldo explains how he is uniquely qualified to write this book, raising a daughter with Down syndrome and witnessing the effect of Alzheimer's on a family member, and indeed cryptically states that he'd prefer not to disclose the sources of his espionage-related knowledge. This intriguing combination of plot and story sounded unique and intriguing to me, so I happily accepted the author's offer to write a review.

The juxtaposition of a "tough guy" job with the emotional concerns attached with mental disability made me immediately think of Regarding Henry, penned by writer J. J. Abrams in a dim and distant era long before Lost. It's not a common combination of subjects, and surely presents the author with some difficult challenges. The author deals with these issues very well by writing the book as our retired operative's memoirs, only to be released to be read in the event of his death. In the preface, the narrator tells us that, yes, he is dead; yes, his son was a surprise; and yes, he's the one that killed his own wife. With those revelations out of the way, the book proceeds in whydunnit style, with the narrator telling us about events as and when he remembers them, indeed apologizing for his lack of strict chronology very early in the book. It's a very stark contrast between the strict mental conditioning required for his day job, and the day-to-day stresses and strains of looking after his son, whose welfare becomes more and more of a challenge as their lives go on.

The book does not go in for large amounts of descriptive passages; it is indeed intended as a memoir rather than a flowery novel, which can at times leave a very dry delivery but does, for the most part, definitely give a realistic feel and a feeling that perhaps some of the events reported have their basis in fact, written precisely as our narrator would report them, grappling with his own emotional detachment due to his job. This does result in a couple of areas where things are ambiguous; for example, it is apparent that some time passes through the story as the child Noah grows up, gets a job and goes to work, although I never quite felt sure exactly how old he was. Likewise, exactly when the story takes place seems a little unclear, although it is evidently in a near present due to the computer hackers that form an integral part of the espionage side of the story. That part of the story was also delivered in a gritty way - there was no attempt to picture the spy business as anything glamorous as in the movies, rather a day job whose employees have the same concerns as most of us, such as whether their families are eligible for benefits. The lack of description does make it a little difficult to feel for the characters; we only get to experience their situation. There are a couple of inclusions in the book which I felt did detract from the overall story. There are a few very awkward sex scenes; nothing particularly explicit, but extremely clumsy and they do not add anything to the tale - excluding them would have left the book accessible to a young teen audience which would be just as interested in the novel's parallel subjects. There are a couple of places as well where I feel the author slipped out of character for a moment and managed to let his own political viewpoint slip out, albeit briefly. I can't help feeling it is a line an editor would have removed before going to press. Overall, the writing and copy seemed good with only a couple of minor errors. I must admit, I was somewhat surprised at the pricing of the book ($9.95) on amazon.com for a first-time author.

The book does indeed raise some difficult ethical questions; we find ourselves wondering whether any amount of money would make a difference in this situation, and we are sympathizing very much with a father who, while he may be used to overthrowing foreign regimes and all sorts of covert operations, finds it ever more difficult to look after a son who recognizes him less and less and is constantly worried exactly how he will be cared for once the father passes on. Watching the story unfold as one tragedy follows another, all against the backdrop of possible discovery of the theft of the money and trying to find ways to put the money to work without raising suspicions, one feels the greatest sympathy for the characters, although curiously it is not so much for Noah and his condition, but for his father, for whom no amount of training could prepare him for the trials and tribulations he is to face as a spy, at home. It's a good story whose major strength to me is the realism of the characters dealing with very real lives without expecting the plot to magically resolve itself in the closing chapters. Mr Rinaldo's own experiences evidently do show through in the writing here.

A Spy at Home is available from amazon.com in eBook format. Mr Rinaldo has plans to release several more eBooks in the near future.

(The author offered a free copy of the book in return for this review)

Getting serious about fitness... this time

Image via Wikipedia

Whatever you do, don't tell my Mom. She'll have an apoplexy. I've just purchased a gym membership. For the two of us, of course. There's no way I'd be going to the gym alone, and a big part of the reason why I'm there is moral support for C, as well. So far, it's not doing too badly. We've been there three days in a row. This is the biggest commitment to fitness I've made in my entire life.

The two of us have known each other for quite a while now, and seen each other in quite a selection of states of fitness. I grimace when I think of the first photograph C ever saw of me. I was packing on the pounds quite ridiculously back then, with a kisser that was more reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock than anyone else. I managed, not through design, but through the sheer stress of living, to shed a little bit here and there. By the time C and I met, I was one pants size down from that; by the time I moved out to California, well, better make that two. A few months of sustenance living on bachelor chow while going through stressful situations will do that to you. Gleefully, I can remember not even bothering to pack my fat pants. I'd never need those again.

And then, well, California... joys such as that raspberry pudding at Phil's Fish Market that made our eyes roll into the back of our head, the fruits I'd never even heard of, let alone eaten (a pluot? What on earth is a pluot?), the wonderfully sweet produce that's all around us in this valley, and of course, that Central Coast region specialty, the tri-tip. I bragged at one point that I'd never had a poor meal all the time I'd been here. I think that still holds true. But all of this comes with a price. Those two sizes smaller pants that I delighted in getting myself in? Well, I can't get in them any more; the next size up is hardly comfortable, either. By rights I ought to be back in the fat pants size; and, once upon a time, I would have simply gone out and bought me some more that fit. Not this time. This time, we've got the mutual support system to get it right. It's in both of our best interests to make sure each other stays as healthy as possible.

We've done a couple of pair excursions on the stationary bikes before now; odd days, here and there, where our schedules permitted it. I remember, several months ago, promising to deliver the motivation for us to get each other going; to get each other exercising; to look after those recurring issues we each have with our knees, to provide strength as a partnership - to be a team. You know exactly where good intentions always end up leading. We did have plenty of fun; ironically, one of the big draws for these outings was the wonderful fish restaurant on our way home, and - yes! - I did finally experience the euphoria, the adrenalin rush of the aftermath of exercising, when I bit into a Subway tuna sandwich after exercising and discovered it was quite simply ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. We both felt better for it; we knew it, and we both knew we needed to keep it up, regularly continue to pursue it. There's a stationary bike in the family room; we can't of course both ride it at the same time, though, and that eliminates that competitiveness component that's possibly a huge amount of what pushes us both. You can't let me pedal further than you, because, well, you've been doing this exercising lark a lot longer than I have. And I can't let you pedal further than me, because, well, you're a girl.

So here we are, we've been to the gym three days a row, and hit those stationary bikes with the recumbent chairs. Thankfully. Those hard saddles on the uprights were the most uncomfortable things I'd ever felt, and they weren't a great motivator. The first day, the bike seemed too easy for me, so I pushed that level selector up. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. OK, now I'm feeling some resistance. No trouble, no difficulty, no sweat... of course, by that time I'd barely been going for sixty seconds. Twenty-five minutes or so later, it was quite a different matter, it was absolutely pouring out of me. The heart rate indicator was showing 151. The little picture on the side of the machine that shows where your heart rate should be puts 151 pretty much at the upper limit for cardio. Slow down, slow down. I wondered whether I'd make it to the end of the course; one more skyscraper-like peak of hard work appears on the screen showing the random course we'd selected, and then, after that... oh give thanks! The last couple of minutes are relatively flat and low-impact. I think I can do this, I know I can do this. Total distance covered - 10.80 miles? How did you do, darling?

Day Two wasn't as easy. I picked up where we left off, on Level Nine, and got myself quickly to that upper limit on the heart rate graph. I saw the way you were looking at me, this couldn't be good. Perhaps you should turn it down a notch. I turned it down to level 8, and my heart rate settled down again, just where it should be. There's no sense in over-exerting it; it's pretty obvious this thing is doing you some good, just feel all this stuff pouring out of you. I want to go a bit further today, let's make it 11 miles. Let's absorb all the numbers on this display in front of me into my mathematical brain, keep constantly recalculating how much harder I'm going to have to work to manage that, push it some more, push it some more. The flat bit of the course is in front of us, OK, I'm going to push it for this last two minutes, 10.78, 10.79, 10.80 miles again? You too?

Day Three. We said we weren't necessarily going to push it, but, you know what? I feel up to it this morning, let's go ahead and do it one more time. No, I don't think walking to the gym is a good idea today; let's drive it. I'm going to do it again, pick up where I left off, and push it, push it, push it, it can't possibly be that much extra effort to make eleven miles, I must be able to do it, I must be getting better at this.

10.80 miles again? You're kidding me.

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Nerdy Number Corner: Perfectly Amicable

*Another one of the irregular breaks from the personal drama... it's a math
post, this time around. Have fun!*

You may perhaps have heard of the concept of a *perfect number*. Put simply,
a number is called perfect if it is equal to the sum of its own proper
divisors, in other words, all the numbers that divide into it exactly,
including one, but excluding the number itself. For example, the number 6
has divisors 1, 2, 3. 1+2+3=6, so 6 is the smallest perfect number. The next
one after that is 28. A long time ago, a proof was found that every
*even *perfect
number must equal a Mersenne prime, multiplied by the power of 2 smaller
than it. 28, for instance, is equal to (2^2)*(2^3-1), where 2^3-1 = 7 is a
Mersenne prime. At the time of writing there are 47 known Mersenne primes;
hence 47 known perfect numbers, the largest of which having almost *26
million digits*. If even perfect numbers seem rare, it is still not even
known if an *odd *perfect number exists or not, although the many theorems
constructed about its existence suggest that, should one exist it would be
very large and of a very special form indeed.

It seems one might construct a little game when it comes to this magical
"sum of proper divisors" function. Starting with any number, we could take
the sum of its proper divisors; then continue with that number; then
continue with that number, and so on. Who knows, perhaps this way we might
accidentally stumble on a perfect number, or perhaps something else. Perhaps
it is best to illustrate by an example. Let us start with the number 20. Its
proper divisors are 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, with sum 22. We will call a number like
20, whose divisor sum is larger, an *abundant number*. 22's divisors are
just 1, 2, and 11, with divisor sum 14. We will call a number like 22, whose
divisor sum is smaller, a *deficient number*. Perfect numbers exist
somewhere between these two extremes. Let's carry on. 14's divisors are 1,
2, and 7, with sum 10. 10's divisors are 1, 2, and 5, with sum 8. 8's
divisors are 1, 2, and 4, with sum 7. And 7's only divisor is 1. End of the
road - 1 doesn't have any divisors except for itself.

It takes a little to prove an *iterative* process like the one above,
applying the same function over and over again, has only a limited number of
outcomes. The sequence may stop, such as when it reaches a number which we
can no longer apply, such as 1; the sequence may eventually repeat, looping
over the same numbers again and again in a cycle; or the sequence may go on
forever, never revisiting any previous entries and inevitably visiting
numbers that grow ever larger. It is intriguing to see if there are other
possibilities other than numbers immediately repeating, such as the perfect
numbers, or numbers ending in 1. Perhaps, even if the perfect numbers are
rare, this little trick has something else to offer.

220 is an interesting number. Its sum of divisors is 284, and... perhaps
you've guessed it, summing the divisors of 284 gets us back to 220. Such a
pair is called an *amicable pair* - almost like best friends of numbers,
perhaps? While not easy to find, they are certainly more common than perfect
numbers, and many impressive examples are known to
exist.
220, 284 is merely the smallest such pair, and was known to our old friend
Pythagoras. Discoverers range from Euler and Fermat of years gone by, to
researchers right up to the present day. One helpful thing about amicable
pairs is there is a handy formula for finding the sum of all divisors of a
number (including the number itself), provided you know the number's prime
factorization. Replace each term *p^a* in the number's factorization with *
(p^(a+1))/(p-1)*, and the product now gives the sum of all divisors. An
amicable pair is two numbers *a* and *b*, both of whom have the same sum of
all divisors, *a+b*. In the example, the all-divisors sum of 220 and 284 are
both equal to 504. This concept can be even extended further, you can find
amicable triplets, whose all-divisor sums are equal to the sum of all three
numbers, and so on.

Going back to the idea of iterating the sum of proper divisors function over
and over, it turns out we can find some remarkable numbers which eventually
cycle back to themselves in an *amicable chain*. Beginning with 12496, for
example, takes us through 14288, 15472, 14536, 14264 before returning to
12496 on the fifth step. Starting with 14316, it takes 28 steps before we
get back to the original number. Are there any longer chains than that? And,
even if you do not find a chain, are there really any numbers for which the
sequence would go on forever? It's conjectured there are none.

Three Blogging Services That Impressed Me Lately

A little while ago, I ran into this blog about the 5 stages of a blogger's life. I must admit, at the time, I wondered if I'd ever make it out of level 1, in fact, I'm still wondering about that, Shortly afterwards, a follow-up post appeared with a theory about why people stop blogging. To put it simply, it becomes necessary to become a part of a community, to flourish, to realize that the words are not simply being sounded out in an echo chamber. There's plenty of services out there that are chasing you down, offering to help publicize, to link you, to connect you with the rest of the blogging world; however, it might be worth pausing there for a moment. Recently I have tried a couple of services whose initial impressions on me were not good; these are quite well-known services, and among those that spring immediately to mind when you consider blog promotion. Perhaps it was only to be expected that my experience would be unsatisfactory. It occurred to me that the problem with these services was that they were gaining more from me being a member than I was from them; they were getting advertising views for teeth whitening and online gambling venues, while I was getting little or nothing in return except for a great deal of frustration.

Fortunately, there are some impressive services out there. In stark contrast to the big guys, the heavy hitters, I've recently had some excellent experiences with three much smaller communities that I will quite happily recommend. Perhaps it is due to the community size. Perhaps it is something to do with me being closer to their membership, perhaps in terms of experience or familiarity with the issues that are being discussed; although, perhaps when you read about these three services, you might be quickly able to identify what it is about them that singles them out.

• I first heard about Blogger Talk when Rose DesRochers tweeted a link to an article I had written for syndication, reposted on the Blogger Talk site. This was my first experience with article republishing and introduced me to what I discovered was a very strong and healthy blogger community of discussion forums, support, downloads and assistance. The atmosphere is close and friendly; I'll always have Rose to thank for a boost in getting targeted readers to that article and shown me what a difference exposure to the right audience can make.
• Expose Your Blog is in fact a service I discovered while on Blogger Talk. Don Bell was introducing himself in the forums, and Don impressed me immediately with his combination of sincerity and general goodwill to the entire  blogging community. Don's site came about after several former members of Blog Explosion were dissatisfied after that site apparently... erm... imploded. Expose Your Blog is reminiscent of the older traffic exchanges where sites are viewed in rotation in exchange for page views on your own site. I must admit I was somewhat dubious about the effectiveness of this, but I have found myself reading and commenting on several of the sites and having that favor likewise returned, so the concept definitely works. if that is not enough, EYB boasts a gorgeous forum and, believe it or not, an online radio station...
• Blogger Luv is a blogger community site in every sense of the word, offering friends and followers like the many social networking sites out there, all with a blogging angle. Bloggers are encouraged to share their sites and experiences from day one, the atmosphere is friendly and good-naturedly competitive, mainly because of the infectious enthusiasm of John Sullivan. If John doesn't poke you in the ribs within the first day of your membership, I'd be surprised. The site's own blog offers interesting stories and articles, but the most fascinating area for me has been the community pages, where links can be offered and voted up much in the way of StumbleUpon or Reddit. This way the community decides for themselves which articles are worthy of sharing, and the articles I have found there have been most useful.

Did you figure out what it was that these three services offered that made them stand out from the rest? It's right there; each of them is represented by a real person; has presented a personal angle, a very human aspect, in a real community. That is the important thing, none of us is doing any of this in a vacuum. We depend on each other, rely on each other, to grow, to learn, to thrive, to share a little bit of "luv" every once in a while. Without it, we are not likely to get very far; the community aspect is important for any of us to survive. Let us make the most of each other's company.

Darling, I miss you - day 3

Darling, I miss you. Don't worry, it's a short one today. Actually it probably won't get sent today; I may have to finish it tomorrow. My appointment is early in the morning, but I don't know how long I'll be stuck there, so I'll have to check out of the hotel first thing in the morning before I leave. And then, after that, I don't know how much I'll be able to be in touch for the rest of the day. The parking lot is underground; I won't be able to get a signal. More than that, my batteries have to last the rest of the day. I won't get a chance to recharge them after I leave the room. I forgot the cable that let me charge the phone off the computer; I'm not exactly a well-seasoned business traveler, I don't know all the tricks. I've got to let you know what happens with the plane flight tonight; whether I get a seat with my standby ticket. If I don't, I won't be home until tomorrow. And if I do, well, I have to let you know to meet me at the airport. It seems everyone wants to call me on the 'phone and ask what's going on this morning. At this rate, the battery isn't going to last.

I have no idea what you're thinking right now about this appointment. I'm hoping, three hours behind, you're actually still asleep and won't be thinking about it at all, but somehow I know that's not going to happen. Don't worry, it'll all be all right. Once this bit is done, there shouldn't be any more of these details to get in the way of the things we want to do. I've been thinking about this a lot. It's taken years to get this done. In fact, for years it has seemed almost impossible to get done at all. And yet, ever since meeting you, I've had the intent, the focus, the motivation to complete this process, to have all the credentials in place, for us. Only a few days ago, it seemed that we were in an impossible bind, yet somehow, together, we managed to make this trip happen.

I'm out of the appointment now. It went well; I went down to the cafeteria and grabbed a wholesome breakfast of sausage and eggs, about the most flavorful thing I've had all the time I've been gone. The staff eventually understood all the paperwork I'd brought with me; I feel good about that. The technician wasn't so fond of me, I'm afraid. She called me uncooperative. If she only knew how much effort I've been through to be this cooperative; traveling all the way across the country at a moment's notice. It took me a while to spiral out of the underground parking lot; spiral ever further out of the one-way system; spiral further and further out of the town itself, trying to reach escape velocity. The problem is, it'll be almost eleven hours before I have a chance of getting on a flight. What can I do for eleven hours? Shopping. Shopping and shopping and more shopping. I need to find a thank-you card for L. It would be really nice if they made a thank-you card that expressed the sentiment the way I'd like to express it; I don't want thanks for condolences, I want thanks for help and support. There's a Half Price Books in this strip mall over here. You have no idea how much I miss seeing those; this used to be my favorite place to shop. They have a paperback that I've been looking for, seemingly for years. I'll buy it with the loose change I have in my pocket. Yes, that's right. I need to get rid of that loose change anyway. It'll make it easier to get through airport security. Yes, absolutely, that's the only reason I'm buying this book.

The food never got any better, I'm afraid. My stomach has been nervous the entire time I've been here. Half the time I've been starving, the other half, I've felt deathly ill and over full. I'm eating but only for survival reasons. I'm not hungry at this moment, but I had better eat lunch, just in case I don't get a good dinner in the airport. I might have to camp out in the airport overnight if I can't get a flight, and there might not be a great selection of food that late. Yuck. Ouch. It hurts. It's getting hot and humid, the temperature is building, the humidity is rising. it's the middle of the day; I'd love to take a nap. But where? Those couches in the corner of Buns and Noodles look exceptionally inviting. I wonder if they'd mind if I brought my own book in. OK, it's about time I admitted it to myself. I've had far too much fun today. I've still got several hours to go, but I've got nothing else I can do with my time. I can read my books in the airport. I may as well just check in, and wait. And wait. And wait. And, if I get disappointed, wait some more.

OK, I'm in the airport now. It seems they have the full body scanners in place here; that was a terrifyingly Orwellian experience. Apparently they saw a problem; a 'shadow' in the vicinity of my left calf. No, I don't possibly know what it could be, perhaps some scar tissue from an accident over thirty years ago, that's all I could think of. So I ended up being examined the old-fashioned way. It's a frightening array of technology; run from a console the size of Jean-Luc Picard's bridge. It seems the security staff in this airport outnumber the passengers. Hardly anyone is here, and I've still got many hours to go. I'm exhausted, I keep dozing off, but not for significant amounts of time. I wake and check the time again; only a few more minutes have elapsed. I'm trying to ration my battery on the 'phone. Only one and a half bars, now. I have to have enough to let you know if there's a free seat on the flight; and that's a long time away. Oh. That half bar just disappeared. I'm on the last one now, and it's yellow. I'm turning it off, going incommunicado for a few hours. I'm not going to like that; being away from you is one thing; being disconnected from you is something else. I can scrunch up my eyeballs and think of you, send you a message that way. We used to have to do that all the time.

The flight is coming in from Orlando, no doubt absolutely full of people wearing Mickey ears. It seems the airport has suddenly got busy; not so long ago the place seemed deserted; now, as the flight approaches, of course it's packed. I have no idea whether or not there'll be a seat available. I'm getting nervous about whether I'll be able to send you a message. I fidget and wander over to one of those recharging stations; three dollars for a 50% charge in 30 minutes. That sounds like a deal I can handle; and I've got precisely 30 minutes until the incoming flight arrives. Hmmm. This isn't working right. The charge light is barely glowing. I'll try to turn the phone on; yep, there's a lightning bolt there, it's supposed to be doing something. No bar. I'll look again in five minutes, just a peek, is this some sort of Schrödinger's Cat thing; a watched pot that never boils? Still no change. Five more minutes. Five more. Five more. Still no change. Hanging on, looking down towards the gate. There seems to be a sea of people approaching. Are they from Florida? Do they look like they're from Florida? What a silly question. I'll take my chances, unplug the 'phone, and run.

It was a gorgeous sight; my name is already up there as a passenger allocated a seat; once again, I've managed to get out on the first flight possible. I thank L again, I thank God, I thank you. I send you that message, I managed to get half a bar of battery back, after all. I'm going to be doing a lot of sleeping the next five hours. Not good sleep; I've realized, these past few days, that good sleep is only possible when it's next to you. This is just simply blacking-out sleep, exhausted, collapsing, until I get home. I was right. I didn't finish the post until two days later, still recovering, still getting used to be back home with you. Here I am, darling, all ready home to you, giving you all my attention, realizing just how much that means while I've been away from you. I never would take that for granted anyway; but being gone has made me feel that all the deeper. I won't miss a single moment with you. Just let me finish writing this first.