Grant Muller

Cruel Jewel 50: A Race Report

Before we get into this, I want to clear up a few things:

  • Trekking poles – Bring them with you. Take them out immediately. Don’t bother putting them away. This isn’t Umstead or the Virginia Creeper trail. Some points of the race are so steep that you can reach out in front of your face and touch the ground. The downhills are straight down, because you know, who likes switchbacks.
  • Salt – Its Spring in the south. The temperature will be somewhere between stifling and oppressive. You’re going to sweat a lot. Take somewhere close to the lethal dose of salt for you height and weight for the day.
  • Rain Gear – Its still Spring in the south. The humidity is either 90% or raining. If its the latter and you’re 16 hours into the race at night on the side of a windy bald, you’re going to get wet and cold. I made the mistake of eschewing rain gear and was shivering in my short-sleeved shirt for the better part of 10 miles in a raging thunderstorm. It might encourage you to move your ass, but see notes on trekking poles; you can only move so fast on terrain that is fondly referred to as the Dragon’s Spine (or as I normally refer to it between heaving breaths, the worst-trail-in-the-world-dear-god-why-do-I-keep-coming-back-here).
  • It’s 56-58 miles, not 50. That matters. And don’t go thinking that you’re halfway through at mile 28. When you hit Skeenah Gap at mile 34ish, look at your watch. Double that time; thats probably how long its going to take you to clear the last 22 or so miles.

Alright, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s begin.

The 2017 Cruel Jewel 50 started at 8:00 on Saturday May 20th at Camp Morganton in North Georgia, 20 hours after Cruel Jewel 100. I woke at 6:30 AM full of anticipation, water, and salt. My wife had been feeding me salty this that and the other for a full 24 hours. I packed my gear and headed to the Camp with plenty of time to mill around, chat with my friends, and fret over the day to come. 100 mile racers were rolling in from their efforts the prior day; few looked chipper as they taped their toes and waddled like sweaty penguins back on to the course. I had a lot to look forward to.

My pack was full of salt, protein drink, tailwind, salt, some snacks, water, salt, trekking poles, chapstick, and some salt. I’d been training for a solid 6 months for this effort, repetitively running up and down Kennesaw Mountain nearly every weekend, and slogging away on the stairmaster at least once a week. I packed that away as well. At 7:50 AM the RD scraped a line across the gray gravel path outside of the camp with his foot; the starting line. After a few shouted announcements, we were off. 100 or so raving lunatics took off down the path to Snake Nation Road, and the race was on.

Paces varied between “Why am I running so fast?” and “Am I going out to hard?”. I tried to stay in the latter camp, and several runners pushed ahead of me on the easy section of open road leading to the first trailhead. I was playing it safe today, and didn’t mind being toward the back of the pack at the start; it was going to be a long day. The heat of the open road was mounting, but as we caught up with some of the 100 mile runners they confirmed some positive news; it was better than the day before. The temperature would reach a mere 86 degrees today compared to Friday’s 90, and the humidity had miraculously dropped into “Sweating actually matters” territory.

At some point on Aska Rd, we turned out onto the first trailhead under welcome shade at Deep Gap. I was still a bit anxious on the initial loop. Had I taken in enough salt? Running with Matt, he informed me of his strict schedule during the heat of the day: 1 SaltStick every 30 minutes. It seemed like a good strategy so I adopted it. Barely 4 miles in we deployed the trekking poles. They never went back in my pack.

Heading up Davenport Mountain was a good taste of things to come. Not so steep that you’re filled with self-loathing over your decisions in life, but no picnic either. I carry too much upper body weight to be a stellar runner, but the trekking poles made up for any genetic disadvantages I may have as a runner. In no time we were headed back down to Deep Gap Aid Station.

On the way down the mountain I had a niggling sensation in my right calf. My nemesis, the muscle cramp was creeping up. Matt’s schedule of 1 SaltStick every 30 minutes may work for him, but I was going to have to up the ante to stay ahead of ol’ crampy. I started popping those bad boys once every 15 minutes until the sensation passed. If I made any good decisions during the race it was that one. By the time I reached Deep Gap again at mile 8.5, Lord Crampus was satisfied with my salty offerings. I still ate a handful of potato chips as extra appeasement.

We headed out onto the trail again, ready to link up with the Benton-MacKaye trail. I have no idea who Benton or MacKaye were, but they sure knew how to cut a pleasant trail through the mountains. The descent to Weever Creek Rd was difficult; I later found that we’d be climbing right back out of the hole we were rushing into, but the trail was so damned beautiful I didn’t mind. We passed several 100 milers, looking tired but determined on their way up the trail. These guys and gals had soldiered on for almost 24 solid hours now and were a little more than halfway through. I did my best to raise their spirits and send some positive vibes their way, and pay my respects as I let them pass on the crowded single-track trail. If my day was hard, their’s was hellacious.

At Weever Creek Rd I had the chance to catch up with old friends, give a few sweaty hugs (Thanks Sarah!), eat a few salty chips, and gulp down some pickle juice. Pucker up. 13.5 miles in and it was time to re-fill the packs with water, salt and Tailwind. If my mood was anxious at the start, I was quickly heading towards elated. Matt and I stomped up the trail out of Weever Creek road toward Stanley Gap and the next aid station.

The climb up Rich Mountain is similar to Davenport. You won’t question your existence or see the White Buffalo, but you’re going to do some work. We trudged ever upward, passed several runners, and by the time we reached the top the game was finally on. The descent down Rich Mountain is a steady drop to Stanley Creek, and the perfect place to make up some time. I took advantage of my good mood and the conditions, put a smile on and took off. Somewhere in here I lost track of Matt but ran into several other runners that I’d see throughout the race. People had come from all over to experience this: Chicago, Dayton, the Philippines. How lucky am I to have these proving grounds in my backyard?

At Stanley Creek aid, almost 19 miles in I was craving nothing by ice cold coke. I never drink coke, but today the caffeine and carbonation were right on the money. I had several refills, more pickle juice, and literally drank from the salt shaker. The next section started with a few miles of open road, and the sweat was already flowing in the 85 degree heat.

This segment of the race started fast and furious. The road is relatively flat, so if you’re feeling fresh you can make up some time here. The sun was oppressive so I remained cautious, but packed in some quick miles here before the onslaught of the trail again after Old Dial Rd. Along the way I encountered a few 100 milers still doing the work, still getting after it. I walked with a woman from Canada who was looking a little sleepy. I donated my emergency caffeine gel to her, and we kept on until we hit the Toccoa river. It was too tempting to pass up; she got in and sat down for a while, and I dunked my hat and threw it back on. It lit us back up. I left her with another 100 mile competitor and headed up the trail. A few more miles of ups and downs to Old Dial Rd where my crew (wife) and friends were waiting.

By the time I reached Old Dial people around me were starting to think I was high. I wore a permanent smile and did my best to spread my mood to anyone I encountered. Cary, Bill, and Nikki were waiting on our fellow runners there. I felt positively pampered. Bill and Cary helped me fill my pack. Cary had made me some miso ramen noodles on a camp stove, and even though I didn’t feel like I needed to sit down, I gave myself 2-3 minutes to suck down some noodles and salty broth. The soup was hot, but really hit the spot and packed away another reserve of salt for me to draw on. Aaron, friend and 100 mile competitor wasn’t too far ahead. He’d had some early struggles with nausea in the brutal heat but was pushing ever onwards. I wanted to catch up and spread some good energy. I grabbed another cup of coke before heading out up Garland, Brawley Mountain and Bald Top.

A few miles in I encountered Aaron and Ivars. They were taking a rest when I came up on them, and I probably annoyed the hell out of them, but rest time was over and we got moving again. Hopefully it wasn’t to their detriment. We were on one of the hardest sections of the BMT during one of the hottest parts of the day and I count it as a blessing that I encountered these guys when I did. We all slowed down and trudged up and down together, bantering about ultrarunning, youtube, past races, and what we were planning at the next aid station. There are few things in life better than shooting the shit with your friends on the trail. In no time we’d hit Wilscot Gap.

At Wilscot we’d agreed to hide away in our crew’s cars for a few minutes and spend some time in the AC. Rich Schick had suggested this strategy to me a few days ahead of the race, and it worked like a charm. 5 Minutes in the cool air, some ramen noodles and coke, and I was a new man. Caitlin, who’d spent the morning pacing fellow friends, was going to join on and march us over Wilscot to Skeenah Gap. A lot of runners stress over the effort ahead of them. Caitlin drinks a beer, shrugs, and says “Lets get on with it”. I didn’t drink a beer, but the attitude was inspiring so I took that with me along with the excessive runner’s high I was experiencing as fuel for the effort to come. Aaron and Ivars got a little rest in the car as well, and after some changes to provisions were ready to head back out towards Skeenah Gap.

The climb up Wilscot Mountain is rough. You’re getting closer to the real deal on the Duncan Ridge Trail; this is really the last hurrah of the relatively pleasant BMT. We trudged on toward the top, taking almost no breaks. The heat was abating and I was sweating less. I started to reduce my salt intake and stuck mostly to Tailwind, protein drink and water. Around the top of Wilscot I looked at my watch. I’d been at this for almost 10 hours now, and I was about to reach the last pleasant aid station before the real work began. Extrapolating ahead to make the finish in fewer than 20 hours, I decided it was time to break away and make for Skeenah on the double. Coming down Wilscot I went for it, and hit Hwy 60 at Skeenah Gap at a full run where the whole crew was waiting.

I got a lot of help from Cary at this aid station, the last time I’d see her before the finish. I refilled on protein drink one final time, topped off the rest of my fluids, grabbed a Snickers and slapped my headlamp on for the night. Dark clouds descended and the smell of turned over soil permeated the air. It was going to rain. I hadn’t brought any rain gear; I figured if it did rain it was hot, so it wouldn’t matter. I had neglected the cool mountain air, and didn’t appreciate just how much rain we were going to get. It was looking ominous as I waved goodbye to my wife and friends at Skeenah up the long climb to the Duncan Ridge Trail and the finish.

The climb out of Skeenah is notoriously steep. There are multiple false tops where you feel like running might be an option, but around every turn is another uphill march. It continues for several miles until you hit the Duncan Ridge trail, and make the left turn into the hills from hell. The race prior to this point was the warmup, and downright pleasant in comparison. It was time to get to work on the spine.

The sky dripped and the wind raged just as I saw the first blue blaze. Thunder in the distance signaled the oncoming storm, and I passed several 100 milers who had stopped to gear up for the drenching. Rain is usually my element. It cools me, my sweat rate drops off, and I typically pick up the pace dramatically. The sky opened up just before nightfall, and so did my pace. I wasn’t too cold yet, but I moved fast up the steep inclines and carefully quick on the declines. Several times I surfed the mud for 5 or so feet, only my trekking poles kept me from taking a butt slide or going over forward. I still don’t know how I managed to make it through the entire race without a single fall.

I could tally off the mountains, gaps and balds that you have to cross on your way to Fish Gap, but this race report is already dragging on. The only advice I can give is to put your head down and march upwards. Stop and breathe when you have to. Smile, you signed up for this. Use gravity when you can, carefully, on the downhills. Just keep moving forward.

The space between Skeenah and Fish Gap is a bit of a blur. Its a long section whether you measure by time or mileage. The lightning lit the sky every few minutes, illuminating everything on the dark trail for an instant. I’m certain I heard boar in the underbrush. Other runners claim to have heard bears calling. I think I saw the shadow of at least 20 in the distance every time lightning struck. That might have been my imagination. The rain and fog were so thick that using your headlamp on anything but the lowest setting was impossible. I just pressed onwards until the welcome light of Fish Gap appeared in the distance through the rain.

It was a dark moment for many runners at Fish. 100 Mile competitors had been at this for over 30 hours at this point, exhausted and underfueled, they were cold and hypothermic. Shivering under a tent or beside a fire, many decided to call it quits here, so close to the end. Many considered it, but hardened up and carried on. I ran into Mark, working his way through the rest of his 100 mile effort and looking really good! I crewed and paced Mark at the Bear 100 in 2016, and knew from experience that he could turn it on at the end of even the toughest races. Today was no exception. I made my stop quick. I was getting cold in nothing but my short sleeved shirt and needed to move fast to keep my body hot. I ate a few snacks, some coke without ice, and pressed on.

The next section of the race is in my opinion the toughest. Your tired legs are begging for rest. There is no such thing as a flat section after the first quarter mile out of the aid station. If you’re not ascending, you’re descending. To some degree I count it as a blessing that I was wet and cold. It made me move when I wanted to stop. The rain let up for a while, but the damage to the trail was done. Slipping and sliding on the bare mud was the rule for the rest of the race, and any chance of picking up speed on the downhills was out of the question. It was better to play it safe and finish rather than risk taking a spill off the trail to improve my time. Besides, I was already having a good time, so what did my finish time matter? Somewhere in here I met up with a few runners who were marching at exactly my pace, and I stuck with them for some good conversation about bears, beers and family. The previous 10 miles I’d covered in relative solitude, it was good to have folks nearby for a while.

By the time I reached White Oak Stomp I was starting to feel the effects of a very long day on my feet. I was still happy to be out there, but ready for the race to be over. I had warmed back up since the rain had stopped to little more than a sprinkle, but still made my rest brief. It was here that I ran into friends Wes and his pacer TJ. Wes had taken a spill early on that earned him a softball sized welt on his right calf. By some miracle of personal fortitude he had put this injury aside and managed to get out in front of our normal crew of racers over the course of 90+ miles. Taking a little rest at White Oak Stomp to change out a few articles of clothing, he looked ready to take on the rest of the race. Ellen, who I’d met in the previous section was ready to head out of White Oak right when I was, so we trudged out together.

The hike out of White Oak is as steep as it gets. Here you can touch the ground in front of your face as you ascend. Its a relatively brief climb, but brutal. We reached the top heaving a bit, and started making the long, treacherous descent. This three mile section is hard to take even in good conditions; the slick trail meant constant sliding, testing foot positions, and struggling to stay upright. I had several near misses, but Ellen kept her footing nicely. It was long and slow, but not impossible. I sympathized with the 100 mile competitors; every footfall is work at the end of a 100, every one of these steps were extra credit.

The sky opened up again during the descent into Wolf Creek. The going was so slow that I was having a harder time keeping my body temperature up. I was begging for some uphill as we approached the bridge at Wolf Creek, and the race delivered just in time. The last aid station is just a water stop. We walked right on by; the torrent of rain was plenty to drink if you just opened your mouth a little as you hiked.

The trail had turned into a creek bed of ankle deep water. The last 4 mile section is plenty runnable in good conditions, but a barely hikeable swamp when wet. We slogged ever upward, getting quieter as I began to shiver. We both wanted this race to be over. We reached the road suddenly, and I knew the rest of the trail very well. We crossed down the stairs and into the park. I bid Ellen adieu in an effort to move quickly and get my body temperature up in the last 2 miles. I was at a dead run when I hit campsites at Vogel, and the rain was driving hard all around me. As much as I could sprint at the end of a 50 something mile race, I did. The horse had smelled the barn, and I was ready to cross the finish line and find a nice, hot fire. In the pouring rain, to a crowd of perhaps a dozen, I crossed the finish line and accepted my belt of victory. To an outsider, the end of an ultramarathon may seem anticlimactic, but for me its a reminder that the joy was in the running, not in the finishing.

My race was over, but my day wasn’t. I still had friends out there working their way toward the finish, and I wanted to be around to see them cross the line. After a quick bite to eat, I peeled my shoes and wet shirt off, hopped in the car to get to our hotel room for a quick shower, then headed back to the finish line. One by one friends new and old were rolling in. Wes survived his early injury and crossed with TJ with confidence. Mark managed to stay awake and crossed the line shortly afterwards. Matt had caught up to Aaron at White Oak stomp, and a few hours later they crossed the line together at a run towing a crowd of fellow combatants with their pacers. A highlight of the finish, Ivars appeared minutes behind Aaron, at a full sprint, decked out in a red cape he’d fashioned for himself from a red Georgia Bulldogs tablecloth he’d found at the aid station. Ivars had fallen asleep for a spell and when he woke, was completely re-energized, if a bit cold. He’d solved his hypothermia problem ingeniously and hilariously. It was inspiring to watch these guys and gals fight their personal struggles out there and overcome them all to finish, come hell or high water (and we had both).

After the requisite post-race elation, we congratulated each other on a job well done, and planned our next battles. As drowsiness started to set in, we said our goodbyes, satisfied with the weekend’s work.

People seem to think running is a solitary. Absolutely not. You have the support of the good people who volunteered their weekend to work at aid stations, make you grilled cheese sandwiches, and teach you what a Pickleback cocktail is. You have the folks who spent the days prior to the race marking trails so you don’t get lost out there. Many of us have crews and friends out there to give us aid and to keep an eye on us. You have your fellow runners out there on race day, reminding you that this is only 10% race, 90% community. You have your training buddies, keeping you honest and making sure you get out of bed for the long hauls in the months prior to the race. You are literally surrounded by friends and supporters the entire time.

I’d like to thank the Race Directors for putting on a hell of a good show. But most of all I’d like to thank my wife, who tolerates many long hours of training, and sacrifices weekends to come out and support me whenever she can. In the days leading up to the race and for the duration of the struggle, nobody helped me more than she did. I’m lucky to have her by my side.

Book Review: Daily Rituals

Daily Rituals is a superficial book, a collection of “facts” with little analysis or synergy of its constituent parts. Mason Currey says so right in the introduction, so we know the author’s intent right away.

There is no illusion that what Currey is about to present is somehow a compilation of how to’s and instructions for creating. But, regardless of the author’s goals, to walk away from Daily Rituals without at least a few themes is impossible. Here are some.

Art and routine go hand in hand. Even avoiding routine is in some way its own routine. Have you ever tried not doing the same thing two days in a row? Each day? It’s difficult, perhaps harder even then simply settling into a comfortable cadence. The instability of non-routine produces its own set results. Finding a routine quickly becomes its own strange ritual and as Nicholson Baker put it:

…the most useful thing is to have one that feels new. It can almost be arbitrary… there’s something to just the excitement of coming up with a slightly different routine.

At its core, art is craft. Steven Pressfield says the same in The War of Art and Stephen King agrees in On Writing. Daily Rituals overflows with tales of creatives who get up and get to work using the tools they have to do what they know. Good or bad they do the work. Currey’s collection goes a long way in dispelling the myth and mysticism of creation. Artists are working stiffs like the rest of us. They clock in and they clock out. When the mist evaporates, whats left is you, your circumstances and what you make of them. Tolstoy had thirteen kids and wrote War and Peace. Stephen King wrote most of his first novels in a laundry room. What are you doing with your time and circumstance?

Your ritual is itself a creation. The individual routines of Currey’s subjects range from the mundane (Hemingway) to the eccentric (David Lynch and Andy Warhol). Thinking about how you work best is work. The process of creation is a creation, some kind of feedback loop that you experiment with, exploit or erase and start over. Different routines beget different results. Like creative constraints, your routine sets boundaries. You create your unique time and your unique environment; your results will be similarly unique.

So, as a collection of mundane facts about creatives and their daily work, Currey’s work is a success. Its not a rulebook, and its only inspirational if you let it free you to create your own routine (or non-routine). Currey strategically ends Daily Rituals with a quote from Bernand Malamud:

There’s no one way…You are who you are, not Fitzgerald or Thomas Wolfe. You write by sitting down and writing. There’s no particular time of place…How one works, assuming he’s disciplined, doesn’t matter. If he or she is not disciplined, no sympathetic magic will help… Eventually everyone learns his or her own best way. The real mystery to crack is you.

Instagram Gets Surreal

A year ago on a trip to NYC I had the chance to view a piece of art by Jason Salavon that averaged portraits together into one portrait. The results are uncanny. A portrait is so predictable that the shape of the objects and negative space of the painting are so obviously a portrait that even expressed as the average of several it still reads as a portrait. Its as though you took off your glasses and stood far enough away that the face simply became blurred. Salavon has similar works, such as the average of Every Playboy Centerfold, and 100 Special Moments. Kids with Santa is particularly cool:

Kids With Santa

Salavon’s work inspired me to create something similar.

Instagram receives thousands of photographs a day. They’re liked, and some become very popular. Enough so that they hit the ‘most popular’ page on Instagram. I asked, what does the average ‘most popular’ Instagram photo look like? I started by using my client key to download a group of them and average it up with ImageJ. I quickly realized that the most popular list changes. Frequently.

To truly capture what the average most popular photograph on instagram looks like it must be done realtime, at the request of the user and in the moment. I wanted to try some client-side image-processing with Javascript so I set out to create a beautiful time-waster that would allow a user to get the most recent popular photographs on instagram, choose a blend mode, and see the average photo right now. The result was Surrealgram:

Screen Shot 2013-09-30 at 10.48.40 PM

Surrealgram uses my forks of some existing software, like Pixastic and connect-image-proxy, along with a jquery-mobile and backbone interface, with a super-slim node.js backend to handle proxied image requests (until Instagram supports CORS). Technology selection followed the sacred rule of “this is what I want to play with right now”. Using it is simple:

Go to surrealgram.com

The latest ‘most popular’ photos will load automatically. Check out the result.

To get the latest photographs, click ‘Refresh’

To change the blend options, click the toolbar in the top right-hand corner.

optionsbutton

You can adjust the blend mode, amount, and number of pictures.

options

16 is currently the max, but I’m working to get that up without angering the instagram infrastructure.

Save your photo. This can unfortunately only be done on a desktop browser for now.

It was a few hours of work, but its become and addiction to play with. Check out some of my surrealgrams:

DogBridge

Flight

Sunglasses

I have some additional features planned if I can find the time to implement them:

  1. Share to Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, blah blah blah.
  2. Allow users to search by hashtag
  3. More pictures!

The code is under active revision, you can find it here

Keep Your Eyes on Your Keyboard

I recently read Accidental Genius by Mark Levy. I did so begrudgingly; I usually don’t go for books that promise to unlock the power of my mind through special techniques. I’m glad that I could put aside my stubbornness because the book contained a wealth of advice on tapping into ideas that you may not even be aware you had.

Accidental Genius advocates a practice called freewriting. Freewriting is just timed bouts of word excess. Sit down with pen and paper, or your favorite full screen editor, and go to town. Don’t think, write. This seems counter-intuitive until you understand that writing is thinking. By turning your hands into your own personal dictation device you engage that part of the brain the controls motor neurons freeing your mind to wander into deeper recesses.

I’ve been doing this to some extent intuitively for years. I first started “journaling” a few years back based on the 750 words meme that rolled over the internet. It advocated writing 750 words a day. Didn’t matter what they were, observations, stories, thoughts, feelings, etc. Just get it all out on paper. I figured if it works for Hemingway it will work for me. Every night for months on end I did this as a means of “brain-dumping”; just get it all out on paper. You can come back later and edit it into something worthwhile if you want…or don’t.

Think of it as making bread. You knead your brain with these 750 words or freewriting sessions, forming new connections between synapses you didn’t even know were there. After you knead and rest your dough (mind) for a while, you can come back and form your thoughts into rolls suitable for baking and serving.

One tip of my own to add:

Keep your eyes on your keyboard

Mavis Beacon will of course disagree, but I’m not trying to teach you QWERTY typing. The act of writing is different than the act of editing. When you write do it with reckless abandon. Ignore punctuation, spelling and typing mistakes. When you look at your screen your internal editor is watching what you put on the page, backspacing, deleting, correcting and moving forward. Backtracking into an idea to correct something as minuscule as a dropped comma forces your brain into the parallel tasks of writing and editing at the same time.

Try This:

Write stream-of-conscious for 5 minutes while looking at your screen. Do what you normally would, correct your errors and keep going.

Then Try this:

Write for 5 minutes looking at your keyboard. You may have made a typo back there or forgotten to type a comma but who the hell cares, your typing at the speed of your brain and not your stupid fingers. Just write, you can come back and clean it up later.

Now Compare

Did you write more in the latter 5 minutes than the former? I always do and I always end up with more usable material than when I edit as I go. Separating the acts of writing and editing is the most important lesson I learned from Accidental Genius.

In the past six months I’ve spent less time dumping my brain on the page, but with the kick start from Accidental Genius I think I’ll start the practice up again with more regularity and include some of the tips and prompts from the book.

Coffee Roasting: Build or Buy?

For the last five years I’ve been roasting coffee in this:

I got 5 years out of my old machine, the Frankenstein Turbo Crazy, home grown of course

My Frankenstein Turbo Crazy.

But alas, after five years of operating “outside of normal temperature ranges”, this happened:

Before this happened. Half a decade of operating "outside of normal temperatures" melted the convection heater...

It seems that convection ovens weren’t meant to have their temperature limiters removed and run for hours on end. The handle, which controls the reed switch to turn the heating unit off and on, melted right off the base.

I knew this would happen someday, and I had planned to build another machine with a leaf blower and a commercial heating element, with robot arms and a positron brain. Alas, the unhappy melting happened right in the middle of rebuilding a fence, writing a bunch of software and getting through several releases at the office. I was posed with the classic question all technology households are posed with: build or buy?

A guy has got to have his home-roasted morning brew. I made a rash decision. I ordered one of these:

The Muller House gets a new coffee roaster

A GeneCafe from Sweet Maria’s.

After a week of waiting the GeneCafe finally arrived so after fulfilling my daily obligations I came home and took it for a test run on some Rwanda NKanka Kinyaga. In Benjamin Franklin style, here is how five years of DIY roaster technology stacks up to the commercial grade:

GeneCafe Frankenstein
Pros
  • Configurable Temperature
  • Configurable Time
  • Integrated cooling unit
  • Excellent chaff removal
  • Single unit
  • Easy to clean (so far)
  • Very even roast
  • Requires less monitoring
  • No coasting
  • Extremely high temperatures
  • Infinitely configurable
  • Very low cost
Cons
  • Long coast time
  • Small batch size
  • Long roast/cool times
  • Temperature
  • Very high coast
  • No integrated cooling unit; long cooling times
  • Requires constant monitoring
  • Occasionally uneven roasts
  • Poor chaff removal

The verdict. After the initial two test runs I’ll give the win to the GeneCafe. If only for the sweet analoguish knobs. We’ll see how it holds up after half a decade.

What’s the plan for my beleaguered Frankenstein Turbo Crazy? Well, I’ve always wanted an outdoor water heater…

Update: The coasting issue I complained about previously is no longer a problem. Seems I just needed to read the instructions…

Seven Languages in Seven Weeks

Think about the way you think. Think about that thought, and this one. Did you think using words? Did you see the words? Sound them out mentally? If someone asked you describe yourself, you would probably think of a series of adjectives (at least if you’re an English speaker).

We think via language, spoken or written. It’s the source of our intelligence and in some ways the root of our consciousness. Helen Keller is quoted with communicating that:

When I learned the meaning of ‘I’ and ‘me’ and found that I was something, I began to think. Then consciousness first existed for me

The languages you learn are the languages you express yourself with. They mold the way that you think about things and create who you are within your own mind. I’ve written about this before and it’s not an entirely new concept.

Recently I’ve gone to great lengths to change the way I think. Finding new ways to solve problems, especially software problems, often involves learning new languages, syntaxes or paradigms. You can force Java or C to do just about anything, just as you can force the English language to describe just about anything, but it might be that by using Java instead of Haskell, you’re using the wrong tool for the job.

I wanted to expose myself to a breadth of different software paradigms in as little time as possible. Rather than reading dozens of tutorials, or poring through hundreds of pages of reference manuals to get maximum exposure, I bought a book I called Seven Languages in Seven Weeks. Packed into this dense little tome is an overview of seven syntaxes from different families and programming paradigms.

Ruby

The book begins with Ruby. It’s a fairly common syntax and I considered skipping this chapter. Indeed, with the relative ubiquity of the language I wondered why it had been included at all. In the spirit of playing along with the author I read through the sections and did the exercises as described. It turned out to be a good idea; some of the concepts around using method_missing as a DSL generator I had never put into practice.

From a comfort standpoint starting with a language you’re familiar with is also a bit like reading the introduction to a Latin grammar text book in English. I know the language and therefore the author can present his approach to me with words I can understand before I try to make my way through the rest of his presentation.

Speaking of presentation, Tate clearly has a grasp of basic pedagogy. From the beginning he uses a mneumonic device to help the reader put a face to the chapter and the methodology. For Tate, every language is like a character in a movie. They have their own personalities; something that makes them unique within the dozens of lexical environments out there. For Ruby it’s Mary Poppins. You know, syntactical sugar. Get it.

IO

After Ruby Tate introduces a language I had never heard of, Io. Just try searching for information about this little language on the web. You won’t exactly find the throbbing community that surrounds java or ruby to back you up. No, if you choose to use Io to solve something new, you’ll likely find yourself in uncharted terrority. Not necessarily a bad thing if your approach to the text is to learn new ways to think.

A prototype language, Io is described by Tate as Ferris Bueller. In use I got the distinct impression that Io was heavily influenced by Smalltalk; everything you send is a message, and their are nothing but senders and receivers of messages. Method or function? Not really, there are ‘slots’ with message handlers. Can they be construed as the same thing, abstractly yes, but that is to avoid thinking in a way that make the language unique. Sending messages between objects is a powerful concept, and will help you better understand Objective-C and Smalltalk.

Using Io feels a bit like working in JavaScript, the only other prototype language I have any experience with. The concurrency framework is dead simple and provides the reader with a taste of things to come from languages like Scala and Closure. In fact, the actor framework in Io is so simple and impressive it feels like a great environment in which to teach concepts of asynchronous behavior and concurrent development.

Prolog

After Io we get to Prolog, the most frustrating language paradigm for me to grasp in the book. Tate says Prolog is like Rainman. That must make me Tom Cruise.

The logic programming paradigm was at once the most fascinating and frustrating for me to study. At first I was enthralled. A language that I can plug values into and simply query against to get the answer like a super-powered database? Sign me up. I immediately found myself fighting the syntax. It took me some time to grasp the recursive nature of the language as well; no looping structures.

Solving the sudoku problem at the end is the best example of the power of Prolog and languages like it. Reducing a game to a couple of line of syntax, injecting the rules and simply asking questions is a beautiful way to solve many of the problems modern engineers are presented with …if Rainman doesnt drive you nuts along the way.

Scala

With Scala we take a detour back to familiar territory. Scala is the first variant on the java language I’d had the opportunity to use, so when I began the chapter I had some exposure to it. Most of the concepts in this language sunk right in.

Tate says we can think of Scala as Edward Scissorhands. He is the construction of spare parts and a lot of paradigms that already exist. I prefer to think of Scala as MacGuyver; It can do pretty much anything in a pinch. Scala was a comfortable environment to take a break in for a while. It sports functional programming paradigms like higher-order functions, while retaining many imperative concepts held over from C-based languages. Its also completely interoperable with Java, so all of those libraries we’ve grown attached to like joda and jsyn can be reused in the same lexical environment.

For concurrency Scala provides an actor system, much like Io. Tate clearly planned the book to address concurrency in a methodical way, first by introducing simple examples with Io, then advancing to Scala before diving headlong into the deep waters of Erlang and Clojure.

Erlang

Things get uncomfortable again as Tate introduces erlang. From the get go Erlang baffled me, and when it was revealed that it was modeled after Prolog, I understood why. The only language compared to an antagonist in a movie, Tate describes Erlang as Agent Smith from the Matrix. Tate says that this is due to the self-replicating capabilities of Agent Smith in relation to the fail-safes built into Erlang, allowing the user to build highly fault tolerant concurrent systems that “just won’t die”. I think it’s because Erlang is evil.

Erlang is clearly very powerful, so as with Prolog I struggled through the examples and problem sets. I still don’t feel like I fully grasp how to do anything useful with it. Of the languages in the book, I feel like this is the one I need to spend the most time with to really understand.

Clojure

Next we get a lisp. Clojure, a language fully compatible with the jvm is a lisp not at all unlike Scheme, minus a few parentheses. For Tate this language is like Yoda, no doubt due to the “reverse” notation of the arguments and the “inside-outness” of the code construction, at least compared to C.

Surprisingly, I took right to it. Of the new lexical environments this felt the most comfortable, but then, I’ve played with emacs a bit. The concurrency framework is not at all unlike scala with some notable additions. The concept of STM was awkward at first, but after fiddling with it for a while I was comfortable producing usable code.

The interoperability with Java is another major benefit to using Clojure. For Dijkstra’s Sleeping Barber problem, rather than struggle through writing a queue from scratch, I just borrowed the existing Java LinkedBlockingQueue, cranking up one actor to poll it, and another to deliver to it:

In just under 1000 parentheses the barbershop problem was solved. The wrapper around it is unnecessary, but then the whole solution is a little bit wordy for Clojure.

Haskell

Impressed as I was with Clojure, it was time to study the final language in the book, Haskell. I originally selected the book based on the inclusion of Haskell. For some time now I’ve wanted to take a crack at this pure functional, almost entirely mathematical language.

Compared with the ever logical Spock, I’m still dazzled by Haskell. Having read the chapter and gone through the exercises, I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface of what it can do. It’s unofficial tag is that it makes hard things easy, and easy things hard. That ain’t no lie. Try reading a file with it. Do something simple, like open a socket. I feels like pulling teeth. Now go write a Fibonacci solver. Chances are you’ll have cooked up something that can’t be done as succinctly or quickly as Haskell can do it. Of all the languages in the book, this is the one I intend to dig the deepest with.

Wrap-up

When learning anything, I generally feel like a breadth-first overview is the best method of getting started. When learning new ways to think, this breadth-first search seems even more important. Get all your options on the table, see what’s been discovered before deciding how to tackle the problem. Selecting a strategy to go deeper with is a decision that can always be deferred until you know what your strategies are (Of course, you can only defer for so long before you just need to make a damned decision based on what you already know).

The real value of Seven Languages is that it provides this kind of breadth-first overview. You may know Java or C already. That’s great. What else is out there? What can a language like Io make easy? Clojure will help you understand lisp. Haskell will help you understand any functional and improve your understanding of modern math. Scala will let you build damn near anything.

Tate’s progression makes a lot of sense as well. If I was creating a curriculum to prepare a developer for the real world, I would start a youngster out with something like Ruby. This is an obvious ramp into Java and C. Then I might introduce something like Io to explain prototype languages and concurrency in a simple way. This is an step towards a better understanding of both Javascript and Objective-C. Then I might start them on Scala. It’s maximum exposure to as many concepts as possible. From scala, Learning a functional language is made easier if the programmer has been using Scala’s higher-order stuff like fold and map, and is used to immutable variables. Tate’s text provides a decent way to do all of this, introducing a young developer not only to the syntaxes but to paradigms that are broad enough provide insight to damn near any language out there.

If you’re interested in seeing my solutions to the exercises and problem sets, you can find them here. I learned a lot along the way, and I think I achieved the goal I had set out to achieve: Learning new ways to think.

Be Careful With your Redis BitSets and Java

Fast, easy, realtime metrics using Redis Bitmaps

A while back a popular article hit Hacker News. Written by the guys over at Spool, it contained a slick methodology for storing metrics such as user logins per day, song plays by user, etc using using Redis BitSets.

How about a basic example. When a user logs in, set a bit in a bitset at the location of that user’s ID number. If you have a bitset allocated for each day, you can tell for any given day how many users logged in by looking at the cardinality of the bitset. Want to see if a particular user logged in on a particular day? Just check the location in the bitset for that user’s ID for the day in question for a 1 value. You can also perform more advanced logging, taking the union of multiple sets, or the disunion, to determine various statistics.

The theory behind it is simple and sound. It’s faster than hitting an RDBMS for values that are binary in nature, and the ability to apply basic set theory to your bitsets to analyze your metrics is quite powerful.

I began to use this method and the code examples on the Spool blog to create metrics in a variety of systems, not to mention create silly stuff like prime number tables. It only took a few implementations to realize that the code examples, taken at face value, don’t really work.

The Problem with BitSet.valueOf() and BitSet.toByteArray()

The heart of the problem lies in the output of Java’s default BitSet.valueOf() method. Here is one of the examples on the page:

import redis.clients.jedis.Jedis;
import java.util.BitSet;
...
  Jedis redis = new Jedis("localhost");
...
  public int uniqueCount(String action, String... dates) {
    BitSet all = new BitSet();
    for (String date : dates) {
      String key = action + ":" + date;
      BitSet users = BitSet.valueOf(redis.get(key.getBytes()));
      all.or(users);
    }
    return all.cardinality();
  }
If you use the Jedis setbit method to set all of your individual bits, then read the entire set out with BitSet.valueOf(), Java reads the bytes as though they were right to left, whereas Redis stores the values in a straight line. Left to right. The bit sex, as it is called, is reversed in this case, and you can’t possibly get an accurate bitset out of Redis if you retrieve it and convert it using plain ol’ BitSet.valueOf(). You have to have a ‘tweener method to flip the bit sex for you.

You might also think, though it isn’t in the examples, that simply performing a BitSet.toByteArray() would create a byte array appropriate for storage in Redis to be read back via redis.getbit(); Not so. Java uses its native byte order for each call. This confuses things greatly, because if you set the bitset using BitSet.toByteArray() and read it back using BitSet.valueOf(), everything looks correct. Try to read a bit out of this array and be prepared for a surprise.

Some helper methods to get you through…

I reported this to the guys over at Jedis and they are considering adding some helper methods in their Redis client to alleviate this.

Until then, you can use the helper methods that the guys at Jedis and myself created to get you through.

To get a BitSet out:

public static BitSet fromByteArrayReverse(final byte[] bytes) {
        final BitSet bits = new BitSet();
        for (int i = 0; i <; bytes.length * 8; i++) {
            if ((bytes[i / 8] &amp; (1 <;<; (7 - (i % 8)))) != 0) {
                bits.set(i);
            }
        }
        return bits;
    }

To put a BitSet in:

public static byte[] toByteArrayReverse(final BitSet bits) {
        final byte[] bytes = new byte[bits.length() / 8 + 1];
        for (int i = 0; i <; bits.length(); i++) {
            if (bits.get(i)) {
                final int value = bytes[i / 8] | (1 <;<; (7 - (i % 8)));
                bytes[i / 8] = (byte) value;
            }
        }
        return bytes;
    }

And you can see the gist I created to read bytes out and put bytes in, retaining the integrity both ways, and show how things do and don’t work:

You can run that locally to get something like a code story…

So, whether or not the guys over at Spool have an unfortunately named helper method that looks exactly like the native Java one, or use some other methodology to maintain bit order in their bitsets I can’t say. It goes without saying that you should check and double-check any ol’ method you pull off the streets.

A Big Day In Banos

We met Franco El Blanco in the lobby at 4:30 AM. After a few checks to make sure we had everything we needed Frank introduced us to our ride. It seemed that Cary and I couldn’t escape from Ecudar’s two primary modes of transportation: buses and single cab trucks. Cary rode up front, three across with Frank and our driver; I just hopped in the back.

Luckily, the baths were just a short ride away. Situated just north of town, Termas El Salado are a bit newer than most of the other local baths, owing to the fact that they were completely destroyed by a volcanic eruption in 1997. Rebuilt on it’s ashes, you can see the remains of the former site if you look closely at the surroundings.

“We can have a nice soak if we get there at opening time, before the the crowds.” Frank told us.

In America only a few events can illicit a crowd at 5AM. A new Harry Potter book. An iPhone release. In Ecuador, the daily opening of the baths during Carnival in Banos is equivalent. When we arrived the hot pool’s slurry of yellow sulphur and tan-skinned inhabitants was already beginning to look like human soup. The two warm pools were filled with children on flotation devices. Only the cold pool was left alone, save for the occasional contrast bather passing from take a quick dip to cool off.

We hung out for a while, moving from pool to pool to try them out. I did some contrast bathing myself. When I get back I’ll have to engineer a way to do this at home. An hour later when we left the sun was rising and so were the real bath-goers; we walked out passing a line of latecomers who cared very little about beating the crowd. After a quick breakfast at the Hostal we headed out for our next event: Canyoning.

UntitledCanyoning is simple. You hike to the edge of a cliff, attach some ropes to yourself and rappel down. Then you find another cliff and do it again. Think of it as the opposite of climbing (though you have to do some of that to get to the cliffs). In Banos, canyoning usually meant descending into the canyons created by the many waterfalls.

We met up with a group, donned our wet suits harnesses and performed our first descent. It was little more than a practice round to get us started. Our second drop consisted of being dropped off a sheer cliff into the mouth of a roaring cascade. It was fun, but so far the guides were doing all the work. I was beginning to wonder if they knew that Cary and I weren’t exactly amateurs at this. We took a long hike out of the canyon and met up as a group close to where we started.

“Ok, now we go to the next waterfall.” Announced Jonny, one of our guides.

At this point the rest of our group descended the hill off into the morning, while Cary and I climbed even higher with Jonny to another waterfall. This is where we got to do a couple of real drops into waterfalls with a little movement. We made a few more descents, then thoroughly soaked called it a morning on canyoning. We headed back into Banos to get cleaned up, grab a quick lunch and head off for our next little adventure: Cycling on the narrow, bus-filled roads of Ecuador.

Ecuador2-606Las Rutas de Cascadas, or the Route of the Waterfalls, is a cycling path from the city of Banos to nearby Puyo. You ride out of Banos on the main highway heading East and along the way pass eleven or so waterfalls.

Cary and I didn’t intend to make the entire ride to Puyo, which usually takes a day. We instead rode out assuming we’d stop about halfway. In what became another adventure in “Cary and Grant Don’t Know What The Hell They’re Doing”, we pedaled out of town with little more than a vague photocopy of a map that sort of showed you where to go. After riding a few miles without seeing any cascades, it became obvious that our map wasn’t to scale.

Yet we rode on into the waning afternoon sun, eventually stopping at our first waterfall, which was a roadside attraction equivalent to Rock City. There were food vendors everywhere. A zip line ran from one cliff launching tourists headfirst over the deep valley to the other side. There was also a tarabina, or cable car, for the less adventurous. We watched a few of the zipliners superman over the cut in the Andes before jumping on our bikes and heading on.

As we made the route, we passed several of these tarabina pitstops at each waterfall. I noticed several derelict and rusted out tarabinas, indicators of a tourist boom the area couldn’t sustain, perhaps even remnants of the country’s economic bust a decade prior. Ecuador2-609

There are other attractions along the way. Much of the local power is generated from a small hydro plant nearby, and the ride across the bridge provides a view in the maw of the dam. There are several tunnels, though only one that cyclists are allowed to pedal through. After two dozen buses pass you by at an ear’s breadth, the sparsely populated detours around the tunnels are a welcome retreat from the stress of riding on main road. Small towns dot the route, where other tourist industries have found a foothold. In one town visitors can bungee jump from the bridge into one of the canyons. Cary and I rode past, tempted but not enough to risk a trip to the hospital in Ecuador.

Side Note – Healthcare in Ecuador: Frank informed us that for an Ecuadorian, healthcare is quite expensive. A trip to the local clinic costs $30, and in a country where a couple hundred a month is the living wage, that’s a big chunk. Often, Frank will loan the cash to one of his many employees in the hostal to take their children to the clinic. Often, the trip to the clinic takes a detour to the local shaman instead.

Ecuador2-615“There are buses running to take you and your bike back to Banos along the way until 8:00” the agent at the bicycle rental shop assured us. We hadn’t seen a single bus, truck or car carrying any bikes back to Banos and we’d ridden the better part of three hours. Darkness was descending and Cary and I were beginning to wonder how we were going to get back. We consulted our poorly scaled map at intervals to guage our progress. We had a decision to make. Ride on hoping we came across one of these mythical buses to take us back, or turn around and start riding back to avoid riding too late into the night on a narrow road in the Andes frequented by brake-averse bus drivers.

We rolled the dice and rode on.

An hour or so later we came across the little town of Rio Verde, which was too wrapped up in it’s own Carnival celebrations to pay any mind to two gringos on bicycles. We rode around for a while, certain that this had to be the place where we would meet one of these mythical buses. After making a few confused circles in what looked to be the most crowded area of town, we shrugged and rolled the dice again.

“A Banos?” A mustached man jumped up as we approached and pointed to his pickup truck. We must have nodded hard, he quickly opened the back and started to pull the bikes out from under us an throw them in the back. We sat down on the makeshift bench in the back and breathed a little easier knowing we wouldn’t be out on an unknown road in the middle of the Andes in the dark again.

Back in Banos we returned our bikes and grabbed dinner at a little parillada we’d been eyeballing called Le Chiminea. It was a fine end to our time in Banos, which in only two days managed to feel like a week. Our trip to the Helen of Ecaudor complete, we fell into bed, ready for our last bus ride, which would take us out of the Andes and towards the sea.

RPM 2012: Year Of King Richard

2188404253-1Occasionally, between the software, traveling, work and more work, I get a rare opportunity to play the drums. The call usually comes at the end of January, and has become the most welcome distraction in February in years.

It’s The RPM Challenge

In February 2011, Tim Alexander asked me to "play on a few tracks" for his Letter Seventeen album. I hadn’t had a chance to record in over a year, so I eagerly accepted and contributed a few tracks. It was fun as hell.

This year, when Tim again asked me to "play on a few tracks", I unknowingly agreed to play on almost all of them. With an additional wrinkle, I would only be here half the month. It would turn into a whirlwind two weeks as I raced to record drums for eight of the ten songs (nine if you count the one I failed on), prepare to leave the country and grow another year older. Cutting it a little close for comfort, I uploaded the last of the tracks from my lodgings in Quito over a frustratingly slow internet connection.

Two weeks later Tim mailed the final cut of The Year of King Richard to Portsmouth, NH and another RPM challenge was complete.

Let’s Talk about the tracks:

YOKR opens with So Social, the signature track of the album and easily the most tiring to play. Sprinting in with a 16th note roll and an easy to spot homage to "The Knack", the energy of this song was an exciting way to kick things off. I’d obviously taken a year off from the drums as I approached the end of this song out of breath, and it goes without saying that it took more than one take.

With the warm up out of the way, we move into Dancing Machine, a post-disco inspired open-hat affair. It’s tragic that most drummers, rythm aside, can’t dance to save their lives. Throwing a tom roll into the middle of the chorus was wacky at first, but turned out great in retrospect. Keep your ears open for the 16th note open-hat beat in the bridge; that machine-gun hat pattern once peppered the entire song but proved to be too distracting.

Tired from dancing, Tim takes a step back with Time Bomb. "Think R.E.M." Tim told me when he first introduced the song. I went back and listened to some Dead Letter Office and gave him my spin on it. As usual, I took things too far and played the heavily syncopated beat you hear at the end throughout the entire song. Tim reeled me in though, and the album is better for it.

Year of King Richard, the title track, would be the song that got away. After hearing it once I was desperate to play on it, and after several takes of what I thought was a good beat, I simply couldn’t get the sound I was looking for. After turning in a few disappointing scratch tracks to Tim, I had to admit the song did not need me. I made a few suggestions and took a back seat on this one. Still, it’s my favorite song on the album.

YOKR behind us, Tim sidesteps any notion of being locked into a genre or era and we find ourselves back in the 80’s. Law of Motion is another open-hat dance number, this time with a significant synthesizer presence. The arpeggiated line in the bridge is classic. I almost never do splices, preferring to do one or two takes of a track all the way through and just get it right. I was made to play Laws of Motion it seems, as I did exactly one take of the song.

Next is Deep Hole, a song that any project manager I know can relate to, and certainly anyone who’s ever "bitten off more than they can chew" will understand. At first, the drum track on this song was a busy double-time beat that seemed a bit too cheery. I miced my toms and took the song into a deeper hole, preferring the ominous half-time gloom to set the mood. That and I really wanted to play my 16" tom like a hi-hat.

If you want me to go is primarily Tim and his guitar. At first I intended to play on it, but Tim looked at me like I had an elbow growing from my face when I mentioned it, so I went off and did some more failed takes of Year of King Richard.

"Can you play a Motown beat?", Tim asked me when he introduced Number Q. "Sure," I answered while googling "Motown beat" to figure out what it was. What came out was somewhere between Beast of Burden and swamp rock. So I didn’t exactly nail the Detroit thing, but Number Q did turn out to be one of my favorites on the album. You’ll wanna come out and see this one live when I can talk Tim out of the safety of the studio.

On Summer Nights I couldn’t help myself. I had to throw a rolling tom beat into this easy going, California pop number. I intentionally dropped in and out of the song to draw the listener into the simple strumming of the guitar and de-emphasize the presence of the drums. Did I mention the toms?

"Just go listen to Tomorrow Never Dies on Revolver." Tim told me after a few failed attempts at the last song on the album, Lavender Haze. After the Beatles’ refresher, I approached this song with a bit more freedom, a lot more ride, and enough ghost notes to fill a haunted house. Of, um, snare drums. The addition of Amit Chabukswar’s tabla rhythms and Gary’s sitar really made the point. It was an open end.

So that’s the album. It still amazes me how much you can accomplish in less than a month. Someday we’ll be as good as Beck and record it all in 48 hours. So go buy Year of King Richard on iTunes, CD Baby, or download it from bandcamp. Oh, and visit the Letter Seventeen site and tell us what you thought, or like Letter Seventeen on Facebook.

Ruby, Let’s Take a Break. I Wanna Date Node.js For a While.

Ruby you’re great. No really, I love your terse syntax, iterating is easy, and the community that supports you is quite large. But, I think we need to take a break.

Wait, don’t cry. Let me explain.

It’s just that I’m tired of having to remember so many syntaxes, especially one so different than the others I work with. I have to use C# or Java for my enterprisey stuff, then switch to Javascript for client-side, then switch to whatever templating engine I’m using. It gets…confusing. I caught myself writing a for loop in a file that ended with rb. Seriously.

What’s that? How will I write server-side scripts?

Well, I’ve thought about it and I think Node.js and I are going to start a relationship. Don’t be like that, Ruby. Try to understand. Node is supported on all the platforms I use. I can write scripts in javascript. It’s familiar.

Node and I had our first date last night. I was looking at a Project Euler problem and after working out something that made sense on paper, I glanced over at node and said “Let’s do it”.

We started going at it. Things were looking great at the start but then the night got rocky. My solution on paper just wasn’t working out in code. I wrote and rewrote but just couldn’t make anything work with Node. To be fair Star Trek was playing in the background and my wife was working on her latest project in the same room. The way Spock says “sensors” and the grinding sound of eggshells on sandpaper didn’t really set the mood for solving any problems.

I smiled at node. “I’ll, uh, call you in the morning,” I said, and went to bed.

The next morning I took a long walk with my dogs and thought about what had transpired the night before. Within minutes I had the solution worked out in my head, and I realized it wasn’t node’s fault the night went sour, it was mine. I just needed to sleep on it.

I rushed back to the house, cracked open emacs and tried again with node. It was instant harmony. Here is the brute force solution to problem #3 on Project Euler:

So you see, you’ve been a fun fling Ruby, and we may get together again someday. You know how fickle I am with programming languages. Let’s just take some time off and see where it goes. Node and I may have something here.