What makes it into the worst 25?

The worst 25 websites of alltime. According to PCmag.

It’s not just design. It’s concept. It’s failed business models. It’s the optimistic twentysomething who thinks their idea will make them millionaires by going IPO a few months after receiving funding.

The fact that two products of Microsoft made it on the list says something. Yet the worst site is…really something everyone uses. We all know it’s bad, but we do it anyway. Or some won’t admit to it.

Strangely enough, I can’t remember how the Internet looked like in the year 2000. All I remember was my fascination with Napster and my hard drive bursting with techno music. ICQ was what kept me sane. scribble.nu was my journal of choice.

Cameras and me

My first digital camera, a Canon Powershot s30, lasted me for more than 3 years until I magically lost it in Pittsburgh. It wasn’t that heartbreaking then because I wanted to get a new one anyway. Yet, I stills succumbed to my love of the powershot brick (the more expensive models of the compact Canons) and got a s60.

Of course, what happens in those moments of regret, accidents happen. A week after I got it, I fell and scratched my camera badly, but it worked. Then 2 weeks ago, my lunch spilled all over it, and now alas, gone! And now it won’t work. Just over a year.

Now I am in the market again for a new digital camera. Canon doesn’t make the sXX series anymore. An elph? The IS series? The sdXX series? The IXUS? Or switch to another brand? Fuji? Nikon? Or a DSLR? Oh gizmodo, help me find my new shiny toy!


What is normal anymore? Is that what we want to eventually strive to be? Is that what happiness is meant to be? A house with a white picket fence and the subdued drama?

I saw Little Miss Sunshine today. (Great movie.) But the pitch is a dysfunctional family going to a beauty pageant. But wait, dysfunctional? In the end, aren’t they as happy as any other “normal” family?

In the sixth grade, my teacher said her motto was “don’t be normal. be different.” I believed Miss Wood, but in all my trials and errors, I found I had to be normal. So what is then? Are we supposed to adapt to everyone else to be similar to others so that we can survive?

I listen to indie music and watch independent movies. I like going off the beaten path when I visit cities. But now with everyone doing it, is that normal?

Common names

Even though my first name is common, the only people in my life who share my first name were past roommates (ironically).

But still. Wherever I go, I meet a Ben. I meet a Chris. And then I end up trying to add them to my cellphone. Most people get the special treatment of being in my cellphone without a last name. But Ben. But Chris. Why must you be just like everyone else?

On that note, most of the Chris’s I know have a last name with a variation on **ng. But I admit I have always liked the name Michael.

Corporate World Meet Web2.0

Because of my recent interest in logos lately, what if the world was in 2.0? What if? Of course, someone already beat me to the idea.

If everyone in the world was two point oh. Shiny reflections. Pastel colors. Teletubby speak. Cute little people. Rounded corners. Pink.

Anything can be a noun with the addition of a r. Or the deletion of an e.

But the only true logo in all of this is the at&t logo. Instead of the former flat world and the AT&T in uppercase, we have fallen to a flatter, ambiguous logo. What happened?!

For potential web 2.0 designers and a reminder to self:
Need a color palette? Here’s one (Along with a flickr pink!)
Need a web 2.0 in 10 seconds? Help is here!
Need something to tell investors? Someone knows what to say
Forget what web 2.0 really means? Doooh

One designer said that the “web 2.0 is the new black”.

Clap your hands!

Because I stupidly missed the Wolf Parade concert last month (an unexcusable excuse), I am going not to fail myself for missing the Clap your hands! Say yeah concert in mid-October playing in San Francisco. Also featuring Architecture in Helinski and Takka Takka. I haven’t gone to a concert since…Vienna Teng last year. I missed Phantom Planet and Muse. Not to mention, Ken Oak. And Enon. But that’s ok.

Some people say San Francisco is a music lover’s city. Prove it to me.

Anybody up for it? Let me know!

Phone googling

Having Internet on my phone is so great. Because I just wanted to know what a cleveland steamer meant while in the middle of a noisy club/restaurant and singular guys trying to hit on any girl in sight.

Stalkers and curious followers

A middle-aged gentleman followed me from the BART station to work today. He walked several steps behind me, saying a few words like “bellesimo” and coughing here and then. I considered what normal people would do. They would go in the closest store and tell the man off. But I didn’t really.

I remember during my sophomore year in college, my roommate freaked out when someone followed her home. I brazenly went downstairs and told him to go away. Then I called the police, because my roommate was upset.

But people know me. I am not good at sensing when I am in a dangerous situation like that. And besides, it was sunny in the Mission. Couples and hipsters walked past me without noticing something amiss. Just two people who seemed to be coincidentially on the same path taking a walk. At the corner of 20th, I stopped at a mailbox to mail an envelope. He stopped. “Are you following me?” I asked a bit accusingly.

He grunted.

I rolled my eyes as I turned away, continuing on my hike up a San Francisco hill. Finally, it dawned on me how it really could be dangerous. Perhaps, he wanted to know where I lived (maybe my belief that I wasn’t going home decreased my paranonia). But would he have a sick side? Then I thought about how I could walk all around San Francisco, walking and walking, having him follow. What if I could wear him down, a game? Or what if I sprinted? But then, my common sense came back as I saw a police car parked at the corner of an upcoming street.

I turned around suddenly and said, “You can stop following me.” I gestured toward the pair of cops sitting in their car.