IoC, OGNL, DAO - oh my!I'm a Java Groupie!

I now have another bajillion acronyms in my already overly-crammed "acronyms" brain drawer.

But I'll admit, I'm enjoying it. With name initials PP that also mean things like polypropylene, the signatory for the Pope, (and more: PP on Wikipedia) I'm "down wit da 'nyms."

I also know that I'm really into my new work situation - as one of the only NOT Java programmers. I don't like to waste knowledge or impede my ravenous hunger to learn (more, more, more...) Like, now, when I get an error message 'cause of "whatever I clicked" during a tangential search&click-safari, I read the stack trace. Sure, I don't understand most of it. So what?! As time goes by that will change.

I've also learned references like "action context" and "dependency injection." Delicious expressions that will no doubt end up as one-liners in fictitious dialogue I will write.
Like: "Chillax, Jack, you're givin' me an 'action complex.'
Or: "I've told you, I don't do 'dependency injection' unless I'm really in love."
And my favorite: "Don't get all "inversion (of) control" on me, buster!"

Also: "Java ME! Me, me, me!"

There's other juicy tidbits in Java-speak... (Yes there are, grow some imagination, wouldja!?) ...
* EZ to visualize verbs like "struts", "spring", "swing", "hibernate", "eclipse."
* Romantic nouns: ruby, maven, tapestry.
* And - an unmistakable interjection, "OO" (!)

If you want to add to this rich syntax, have a dashing, young developer tell you about the world of Java computing with a Frenchy-accent. Ooh -or- "OO" -la-la.)

I've always really liked - been "illy"- for coffee, so it's logical that I am beginning to feel the same way about Java (a.k.a. J2EE - don't ask! I'll save that bizarro marketing story for another time.)

I have my own nickname for it. When noone's listening, I just like to call it "Joe"!

I don't abide the wreckless waste of gasoline except -

- once a year.
It looks average but it is a total blast!

DecaDance - Foire du midi - Brussels - August 2006

PRAGUE by Arthur Phillips, is a MUST READ novel.

I found it because I am "healthily-obessesed" with my life in ex patria.



http://www.praguethenovel.com

Arthur Phillip's writing is sublime - easy to envy, difficult to mimic. For a contemporary author his ability rivals literary masters. (And no, I am being asked/paid to plug this book.)

He has also an exceedingly interesting background, Eg: a five-time Jeopardy! champion.

And the "plug" by authors such as Pat Conroy (author of The Great Santini, ...) are right on target.

Wanna BEs, et al

It can get tiresome to live among Europeans, namely Belgians (I live in their country, which - very ironically - uses the domain abbreviation BE) who act as if they are authorities on my country, the USA, or what I call "Yoozah."

I love living in Europe. It has a rich culture and history, particularly Belgium. In the States there's culture and history but it's young and for me, has become too predictable. What's more it is sadly and rapidly being mimicked by people from other countries. (It's so bizarre to go to the supermarket in Brussels and see a teenager dressed like s/he's from Sugar Hill or East LA.) That's not what aggravates me. These are the "grass is always greener..." examples. People often tend to idolize foreign places.

What bugs me is when I experiencce forthright arrogance: people who feel it's their duty to tell ME about a place in which I spent 30 years. Partaking in all those American things portrayed in movies from summers on the beach to the high school prom to working in a major city - THE city.

There are people who think they are telling me about obscure movies from the 1930's as if I (an American) could not possibly know. Or they are shocked and horrified when I ask them about a TV show from the 1970's which they have never heard of. As if it's impossible that anything American didn't reach, for example, a tiny city in Italy, close to the Croatian border.

There's those, who suddenly jam the word 'fuck' into their already Anglo-fried, Tarantinoesque verbiage when they hear my accent.

People who, when I tell them I moved to Europe from Manhattan launch into their in-the-know, experience and hipness-because-of-a-visit-to-New York City. But they usually slip up on their insider knowledge, by pronouncing "Houston Street" incorrectly. (For us New Yorkers, if you pronounce it wrong, we know, immediately, that you are a visitor - not a local.) Or when they ask: "What's that restuarant...?" I reply, trying not be rude, that there are 1000s of restuarants there. Usually their stories are bloated yarns spun out a brief visit to the USA and an even briefer visit to The City.

Because HBO did a program based on 4 NYC women, hoards are sure they know how-it-goes there. When I explain otherwise, it's met with refusal, but sometimes with deflated dismay.

Sometimes I get comic relief from comebacks like, "Are you sure?" when I explain something American that isn't a secret, but is a real fact about my country - not the Hollywood version.

And sometimes there's a beautifully accurate account of what life can be like in America without being glorified for a foreign audience . . . |

Bestest memory...

I have a new job and a great new project.

It’s centered on this web community: JavaBlackBelt.com

Its founders are:

(L) John Rizzo; (R) Nicolas Brasseur

Gosh it’s fantastic to have great-looking guys to work for. PLUS, they’re wickedly smart developers and professors, AND cool, yet ÜBER SAVVY managers. Sorry ladies, they’re both taken. But if you are organizing a conference about Java or related technologies, like, Hibernate™ and Spring™, these are your guys: easy on the eye, charismatic on stage and who will "Wow" you with their spitfire wit and intelligence! (So send me an email...)

I have a fabulous project to roll out for them. Of course I CANNOT share it here. (Until it’s time.)

However, as I list ideas, make plans, develop media contacts, and write various "stuff" for it, I am reminded of the first big thing I did at my communications job in New York City when I was working with a major (Fortune 500) media publisher.

It can’t be googled- well not without A LOT of query-word combos (Thanks for finding these, Simon!) It's on the The New York Times TimeSelect Archive: "Reigning Cats and Dogs". And mentioned on the US-Israel Embassy website:

Politics in Sports and Pets: In an effort to determine who sports fans want to win the presidency, ESPN, America's total Sports Network, has developed a political poll of avid fans, categorized by the four major sports -- Baseball, Football, Basketball and Hockey. Their figures show that President Clinton leads Bob Dole in all sports. For pet lovers, will this election go to the cat or dog? Both Socks the cat, the nation's first pet, and Leader Dole, Bob Dole's pet Schnauzer, have web pages. There is even a place to vote for your choice of first pet. Currently, Leader Dole leads the incumbent, Socks, 51 to 48 percent. - (Link)

In 1996 we didn’t have Google. We also didn’t have blogs, P2P, “ET CETERA(TI) …” Those were the days I had to pay a company to send my news "to the wire” - now commonly known as the Internet. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. The publishing company I worked for, although still cash-fat from the 1980’s, didn’t have a strong technical team that was savvy enough to do this in-house. And I didn’t mind. I could threaten a supplier with “no payment” if they didn’t transmit my news releases when and to whom I demanded. Try threatening a tech guy – especially in those days when people thought someone who could give you an email account, make a button with a JavaScript rollover - or better still - an animated gif, was one-step away from being Harry Houdini. (It's hard to imagine now how we survived without Flash, Flikr and iPods.)

So, I had this idea, based on the upcoming U.S. Presidential election, tied in with domestic pets and two magazines that had abyssmal circulation numbers. I told my awful boss - who was always wired out of his mind on Phen-Phen (direct quote: "If I die, at least I will be thin.") He loved the idea and swiped it from me - which was not a surprise. "Dread Valid" - his secret nickname that I discovered as an anagram of his full name - was the person who would have the power to get the budget, so I had to acquiesce. Naturally, he "let me" do all the work and make the important decisions. At first I didn't get any credit for the idea, but I could control the budget and how it was rolled out. (And prevent him from spending the majority of the PR budget in chic Manhattan restaurants “for business purposes.” This was already where the larger part of my, unallocated-to-me, salary was spent.)

It would be rude to add a link about Dread Valid, a guy who “accidentally” joined the Rev. Sun Myung Moon’s cult in the 1970’s - before the Reverend became revered by the Capital Hill right-wing, so I won’t. [Sidebar: I found that webpage about his controversial "cultage" years after I had left that job, NYC AND the country. And it explained a lot about why he was one of the worst managers I have ever had in my career in NYC. Incidentally, the bad managers - in fact worse than Dread Valid - on this side of the pond, just completed an IPO on the Brussels bourse so I won’t give a link to them either.]

A N Y W A Y . . . (Jeezoos! I sure can digress, can’t I?)

The media event was to promote two magazine titles owned by the media conglomerate: Dogworld and Cats Magazine - which is now defunct. It was to be a live, televised debate in Washington D.C. during election week. The debate was between the chief editors of each magazine. The moderator was the well-known (even still) political talk show host John McLaughlin, of The McLaughlin Group. Parenthetically, John was the originator of using the power of negative interjection. His famously styled power-punching with the phrase, "Wrong!" was ripped off by Bill O’Reilly of Fox News, a hack and a fanatical right-winger who uses"No!" But Bill is far too inferior to John McLaughlin in style and intelligence to wield this bellow appropriately during broadcasts.

I hired a design agency in downtown Manhattan. We designed T-shirts, posters, podium signs, buttons (Vote for Cats and Vote for Dogs), stickers, key chains and press passes – the high-quality ones with that expensive lamination. I got a small Telco to set up two 1-900 numbers for a low price to get nationwide voting. (No website, unfortunately. You couldn’t get one of those “on-the-fly” - in less than months - then. Oh well.) My boss allowed me to exploit every media contact he had in his rolodex. And once he saw my enthusiasm and drive – and the staggeringly broad media attention, he began to support me. (By going to lunch with all of his Manhattan contacts, but he left me alone.)

The multi-press release rollout didn’t aggravate (too many) journalists who wanted to know who would win: Socks or Leader. A new press release, each week leading up to the debate, with voting updates and new takers in major media. (The voting hot-lines remained open beyond the debate: election day, 1996.) The day before the event, the debaters (and even I) had radio interviews all over the country. The morning of the live event, we frantically shuttled to several TV morning show interviews in Manhattan and then in Washington, D.C. Mere hours before, early every free-world TV station had requested a press pass.

But we had one set back. That’s what happens in the world of communications. CNN pulled out of it’s plan to do an exclusive. The morning of the debate there was a major coup on the Russian government caused by then Yeltsin's dismissal of Aleksandr I. Lebed from his post of chief of Security Council. (More about that HERE...)

It was my first business trip. My first company-paid hotel suite. One of the rare occasions that my boyfriend at the time did something romantic: he found out the number of my hotel and called to wish me luck. (I think he was afraid all of the excitement and attention would lead me astray – it almost did, with John McLaughlin’s assistant who had the same first name as my boyfriend. ‘Shoulda done it. He was as good-looking and took me for a tour of D.C. "in lights" in his convertible. After that to an open-all-night, funky bar & bistro on the wharf. The next day I was invited to sit in on a taping of The McLaughlin Hour. Oh well …)

The event was called “The Best First Pet Debate” to find out what the best pet for the White House is: a cat named Socks, owned by then President and Mrs. William Clinton or a dog named Leader, owned by and US Senator Robert Dole (GOP candidate) and Senator Elizabeth (Mrs.) Dole. It all started in with my excessive, syntactically, analytical mind: Clinton has a Cat and Dole has a Dog. Incidentally, Leader Dole made an appearance at the debate. Socks Clinton sent a photo and an official well-wish message, "pawed" personally.

It was an exciting project. It was exhausting. It caused a lot of fights with my boss. (And a few with my boyfriend.) It was worth every minut(a)e.

It was before America knew who names like Monica, Tripp and Starr. It was before they heard words like disenfranchisement, recount, Neo-con, War on terror and Patriot Act. It was when the numbers 911 were only used by a telephone. It was before the date, and the eventual phrase Nine-eleven/911 did not have a horrific, historic meaning. (Oddly, I had two additional meanings for it then: the number in the Manhattan address of my boyfriend and the month/day in the year 1900, that my great-grandparents got married in Ireland.)

It was a time that hadn’t been too marred by the 1980’s. The American people were hopeful with news ways to communicate and pass the time cruising down the information highway; learning to write emails, avoid non-STD viruses and dreaming about one day owning that amazing new gagdget: the digital camera.

The media clips filled a book – mentions showed up in hundreds of newspapers in the USA. And more than 50 globally. I had media reels and cassettes from all of the major broadcasters. Even the United Arab Emirates was there (unfortunately they never sent me a tape.)

Votes were good considering the media happened during the debate, Eastern-Standard time. Cats won by sixteen points: 58%. I never did find out the actual votes that came in, we estimated about 15,000. However the company who agreed to give us a cut-rate for the calls were angry at the unexpected flood of calls which cost $0.75. From their heated reaction when they got paid (and then asked if we would add a bonus) it was probably A LOT more than our estimation.

A well-known playwright wrote about the debate in her play. Wendy Wasserstein made fun of it in the dialogue of the one of her characters, but to make a valid point in the plot.

Here's a final note about First Pets (I had to publish this on my blog again, it's oh-so à propos):


Thirteen years and thousands of projects later, I can still feel the charge it gave to pull that off. And to have the adulation of my colleagues - naturally they realized who was really behind the idea - for weeks (almost months) afterwards.

Now, wiser, calmer and an exciting project to undertake, I am very grateful for this experience.

And soon I get to do it all again AND with with much (much-much) better managers who are fantabulous ...

A sunny Friday in July at the Yakusuni Temple in Tokyo

Usually dream stories are boring.

But the dream I had last night was the strangest ever:

The first bit I recall was sitting on a sofa in a sort of country house. Next to be was a black-feathered rooster. He was gay - his lover was sitting on the chair facing us. The rooster had written a screenplay that had been optioned to be filmed. They were asking for my sincere and direct feedback about the screenplay and how it should be shot. For reasons unknown to me, my input was crucial to the success of the film. The gay rooster, when I said something sharp or witty, would reach over and grab my arm forearm or lowerleg. His taloned "hand" was warm like a human's but it pinched a bit. Are rooster talons sharp? His lover was a laid back and understanding British man with salty-blond hair. He was wearing a summer suit of beige linen, the ones that 1920's explorers wore in Africa. The rooster's lover let me eat one of the rooster's edible-straw hats. I got greedy and ate nearly the entire box (of hats.) (There may be a proverbial meaning here - "to eat one's hat.")

Jude Law was there, he's a regular guest star in my "dream theater". For this appearance he started out as a Joker-ish character (lik in Batman) but much hotter, not green and barechested. He crawled up to hug me from under the covers at the foot of my bed. Then he transformed into one of my bosses at my new job. (I can't bring myself to even analyze that.)

Then there was a girl, who was grown up in her manner and speech, but with a girl's physique who got her leg prostheses which were titanium and shiny. This was a long awaited day. But at the same time she was also the gay rooster. By then the film had been made and all of the characters in it were pleased to see me "after so long."

Cut to a parking garage. I was trying to maneuver a blue BMW (owned by a former colleague at the ad agency where I worked a while back) up one of those twisty paths. I failed and the car rolled backwards quickly down the turny path but stopped at the bottom.

They know me in Kyoto