A Nation of Gameboy Addicts

There was a time when every parent I knew had the same problem: how to manage their kid's gameboy addiction. As with candy, Saturday morning cartoons and comic books, some level of control was needed. But kids became so attached to the things that parents risked a Nintendo 64 Freakout if they attempted to withold the device.

I now hear people say their smartphone has changed their lives, and I'm beginning to realize how far ahead of the rest of us the 12-year-old Gameboy addicts really were. MG Siegler writes on VentureBeat about a hidden "bells and whistles" feature on the iPhone's Google application:

...while it may not look like there is anything below the “About” selection, swipe your finger upward to go below. See anything? You probably don’t yet — keep swiping.

It takes a little bit of effort, but eventually a “Bells and Whistles” menu appears below the “About” menu. Clicking on this takes you to a new screen with even more options for the app including the ability to change its color to anything you want, the option to have the app’s default sound replaced by monkey or chicken noises, an option to see live waveform show up as you talk....

It reminds me of games I played as a teenager - Mario, Zelda or Mortal Kombat, for example - and the word-of-mouth tips and tricks I'd pick up from friends - like pressing an elaborate series of buttons crack open hidden stuff.

Smartphones have hooked us on our office email and news feeds, now they will make a nation of shivering gameboy addicts out of us all. I can't wait.

Watching the BEPI (Black-Eyed Pea Index)

Some people measure the economy's well-being counting cranes on the Manhattan skyline. Others by shower curtain sales. Today I found my own bellwether - sales of black-eyed peas on New Year's Eve.

Almost every year since I flew the nest in 1995, I've bought a bag of dried black-eyed peas on New Year's Eve, soaked them overnight, and made a pot of black-eyed peas and ham on New Year's Day. It's one of the things my mother drummed into me: you always say please and thank you; you never open an umbrella indoors; and you always, always, always have black-eyed peas and ham on New Year's Day.

Today, I went to two supermarkets. At both, shelves of dried beans were piled full - except where marked black-eyed peas, where they were bare. (At my second stop, I had to ask the manager, who got some from the back of the store for me.)

Every southerner knows you're chancing a poor and hungry year if you don't eat some black-eyed peas on New Year's Day. It seems like this year, even yankees are getting superstitious.

My history with Scandinavia and disaster

A comment by Highland Capital's Paul Maeder at the MIT Venture Capital conference earlier this month got me thinking. He likened some investors to the Roadrunner, overshooting a ledge and realizing mid-canyon that a fall was in store. (I think that was Wile E. Coyote, but I won't nitpick.) The point is, the same thing has happened to me twice. Both times, Scandinavia was involved.

In spring of 2000, bored with my publishing job, I signed on as a copy writer for a Danish software maker. I was at IT FACTORY two months before I was laid off along with half the staff as the company began a long, slow crawl back to Copenhagen. Apparently, shenanigans ensued. Company president Stein Bagger disappeared in Dubai in November under a cloud of allegations that included massive fraud and hiring a Hell's-Angels beatdown of an associate.

After I got laid off, I continued to work as a freelancer for IT FACTORY. It took two planes crashing into the World Trade Center towers to make me realize the company hadn't paid any of my invoices since July. I sold their IBM Thinkpad, got a job as a courier and just barely made October rent.

Flash forward seven years. In spring, 2008, I was the transportation reporter for BostonNOW. Our fledgling free daily was backed by an Icelandic telecom. On April 11, I read that Iceland's economy was tanking. I was surprised three days later when, whilst viewing portraits in the National Gallery on a vacation to D.C., I got a text message informing me that our little paper was officially defunct.

At the time, I also had no inkling that Wall Street and the concept of wealth as we know it would burn like the California hills in October. I think for the rest of my life, anything that comes over the transom is going to get a careful nosing for the smell of disaster. Especially if the postmark looks Nordic.

It's the little things

I went into Stop and Shop today to buy a jar of mayonnaise. One can buy mayo in many sizes, from convenience jar to family bucket. But at Stop and Shop in Jackson Square, brand-name mayonnaise does not appear in small sizes. "Light" is the only branded mayonnaise you can get smaller than 32 oz., and light mayo is a hypocrisy I will not brook.

Let me be clear: mayo is not a staple in our household. We use it sparingly, about once a week - like others might use hot sauce, or something. The thought of buying unbranded mayonnaise from God knows where is unsettling enough in these days of poisoned toothpaste. Thinking of leaving any brand of mayo sitting in the fridge for longer than two weeks? A 32-oz. jar would be in my fridge for a month or more, and that thought makes me shudder.

OK, you call it prissy. I call it protecting my family. Laugh all you want now, but I guess you won't be laughing when your tuna salad has you writhing on a shopping mall toilet seat. To end on a good note, I went to Roche Bros. in West Roxbury (the World's most unfortunately named supermarket) and got a 15-oz. jar of the gloppy white stuff for $2.99. And I was happy.

Phone companies I am putting you on notice

Here's how I know my wireless phone service provider doesn't love me: I can't subscribe to a service that will automatically text me when I'm in danger of running over my allotted minutes or data. If I received such a message, the temptation would be too great to just bump up my plan and forget about it. I'd be their best customer.

Instead, they act like a credit card company, banking that in the whirl of torrid text exchanges and loquacious interview subjects, I'll forget last month's resolution to check my balance regularly. Then I picture them rubbing hands together gleefully as they rack up the exorbitant fees.

I just opened my bill. For the second month in a row, it's double the usual amount. Last month it was the minutes. This time it was the text messages.

I think a normal person would buy a bigger plan. Me? I thought a long minute about throwing my phone into Boston Harbor. As satisfying as that would be, I need the lousy thing. So I've decided not to use it unless I really need it. All the times I've left the land line idle, too lazy to dial the numbers, or afraid my friends won't pick up if they don't recognize the number - goodbye to all of that.

I used to think I was saving money on the cel, getting my long-distance service for free. I now know that, due to an invention called broadband Internet, the concept of "long distance" is a quaint joke. So, instead of rewarding AT&T for poking me in the eye, I shall attempt to cut my phone use to a trickle.

Just in case I fail, would some alert and trustworthy programmer please develop a Web app that can take my att.com password, crawl my online statement and ping me when I'm on track to run over? Thank you, and godspeed.

What does "out of context" mean?

Ticket Stumbler's Dan Hauber commented on today's Mass High Tech article, which mentioned his company as one of several that's going places with little or no VC funding (so far). Dan's comments said I took his quote out of context. It's true I left out some of the other things he told me - like the company isn't ruling out venture capital in the future. But I don't think that distorted the meaning of Dan's own words, which were, to his credit, frank and straightforward:

Medford-based Ticket Stumbler Inc. isn’t looking for venture capital at all. It isn’t using the cloud, either, but traffic on TicketStumbler.com, the event ticket resale aggregator’s website, is growing 50 percent a month.

“We don’t even have a financial model,” said co-founder Dan Haubert. “Just going that whole route is very time-consuming when we could be building and talking to our users and improving the site.”

I think that meaning is pretty clear. The company isn't looking for VC funding. I shall decline to comment on the photo (or the size of anyone's hands).

Rush is right. (or: Fall Guys and Girls)

Today I have to admit I have been wrong about Rush Limbaugh. Because today, I heard him say something I think is worth repeating. He said something I would repeat in mixed company - not to mention post here for everyone to see. Here is what he said:

There are people in that campaign trying to save their own skins for the next campaign.

Limbaugh was talking about the Republican campaign staffers who shamelessly stretched credibility this week with some anonymous insights (and other nasty things) about Gov. Sarah Palin, including:

She did not know Africa is a continent;

The Secret Service told aides that after Palin's rallies began, they tracked an uptick in threats against candidate Barack Obama.

Sure, Palin was in no way qualified for the vice presidency, but these claims set off the BS meter. I don't think the Secret Service gives out information to incontinent campaign aides. (Remember? They're the Secret Service.)

What's no secret is Sen. John McCain let his campaign staff run amok. And that led to botched strategy over botched strategy. Many of us breathed a sigh of relief during McCain's concession speech Tuesday. For me, it was double: America picked the right guy; and I got back the John McCain whom I'd registered Republican just to vote for in the 2000 primary.

Marc Ambinder of Atlantic Monthly reported in a blog post a few hours ago that someone is blaming the leaks on the Romney camp. I guess the leakers are looking for another fall guy. I'd bet all that's left in my 401(k) they're wondering whether maybe they went too far. In Washington, it's not whether you win or lose. It's how you lay the blame.