I scratched my head a little after watching the Amazon Prime Air video (see here), and considered the impact of delivery drones and autonomous vehicles on the future of work:
[…]the big question about drones and autonomous vehicles in general is about the impact on work. Right off the bat, the several million people (mostly men) employed as truck and delivery drivers will be out of a job. Yes, some of them might get work in the Amazon warehouses, but as soon as AI and robots are up to it, those jobs will be gone too.
This won’t be limited to megacorporations like Amazon, although Amazon might be planning to leverage this as an additional industry disruptor, like they’ve done with Amazon’s elastic computing technologies. Imagine a local florist, Bette, in downtown Beacon NY (my home) wanting to make a delivery to a local customer’s home. No longer reliant on Ralph, her former part-time driver, she simply logs into Amazon Prime Air, types in some details, and twenty minutes later a drone touches down in the loading zone outside her store, picks up the flowers for Mrs Johnson, and takes off for North Brett Street.
Of course, her flowers arrive by an autonomous truck three times weekly, and her Samsung Smart Pallet communicates with the truck, gathers her flowers, and brings them to her cold room, without the services of Sheila, her former part-time assistant.
But Ralph and Sheila are off starting microbusinesses, where autonomous vehicles make the economics work.
Now that my new job is in San Jose, I have a brand new city to explore and a whole lot of restaurants to try!
Here are some standouts so far:
La Victoria Taqueria a.k.a. LaVic’s — By complete surprise, I had the best quesadilla I’ve ever had IN MY LIFE here. I know, bold claim. But it’s really that good. Don’t forget to add the orange sauce!
Crema Coffee — This place service above average coffee (even by Bay Area standards) in a cute place. Plenty of tables, chairs, and couches. Fun fact: they roast coffee beans on site!
Cafe Rosalena — Takes the breakfast burrito category to a new level (and a new size)! Lots of options here, I’ve only had the chorizo but I’ll definitely be back to try the others.
San Pedro Square Market — Okay, just ignore their poorly designed website and trust me (and these people on Yelp), this place is really cool! It is huge, feels like you’re in a huge barn with garage doors (exposed beams, exposed brick walls, etc.) and there are countless restaurants, bars and sweets. Would love to come back and try all the different places in here and check out some of their evening/weekend events. Looks like they also have great outdoor seating as well as space for live music and movie screenings.
That’s all for now — although I will say I am delighted that I just discovered that they opened an Ike’s within walking distance from my office!
“I want to challenge my American evangelicals friends to consider whether your views of healthcare are truly biblical, and to consider whether you have been blinded by a culture of hyper-individualism, economic rationalism, placing faith in market forces. Because to outsiders the anti-Obamacare thing looks like “civil religion,” a syncretistic concoction of Christian teaching, Republican partisanship, capitalistic-worship, and social darwinianism with its mantra of the survival of the fittest.”—N.T. Wright and Michael Kruger on Healthcare (via azspot)
I was seriously scrutinizing a lunch menu from a potential preschool that I toured this afternoon. Chicken hot dog? Mac and cheese with ham and peas? I started to wonder if the food was organic — until I realized I was reviewing the menu while sitting at a McDonald’s where I had just ordered a large order of French Fries and two hot Apple Pies. Why two Apple Pies? Because two only cost $1.19 — I couldn’t bring myself to only order one. I don’t even know if it was an option.
I love trying new food! Two exceptions to this is salad dressing and cereal. I always feel anxious when buying a new salad dressing or new cereal because it’s such a big commitment!
Well folks, I am two for two!
I usually only buy Brianna’s Poppy Seed dressing but decided to venture out and get their Champagne Caper Vinaigrette and it is yum!
Then, instead of our usual Frosted Flakes, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Cocoa Krispies, Honey Nut Cheerios rotation, I decided to try the new Honey Kix. Another win! It reminds me of the old Kix before it got too corn tasting.
Here’s another thing Andy knows: Quarterback is a truly fucked-up position. You need the reflexes of a Formula One driver and the durability of a professional wrestler. You know you’re taking six or seven monster licks per game (from people bigger and angrier than you, no less). You also know that on every pass play there’s a chance for a season-ending injury with 300-pound bodies tumbling around your knees and ankles. So you have those ongoing physical threats, as well as the relentless responsibility of the position itself: reading defenses, calling plays, audibling at the line, managing the game, perfecting your timing with receivers, mastering the nuances of hitting people in stride.
And that’s just the physical stuff. You also need to be one of the smartest guys on your football team, and definitely one of the coolest. You need to carry yourself like a CEO and motivate your troops like a battle sergeant. You need to convince them to fight for you, to believe in you, to protect you at all costs. You need to keep shaking off bad throws, bad plays and bad luck. You need to live with the fact that, for four or five solid months, you’re going to be the no. 1 reason your team wins or loses. And you need to ignore the failures of your peers — those three or four quarterbacks who mysteriously lose it every season — because deep down, you know it could always happen to you.
It’s the single hardest position to play in any professional sport. And the most fragile one, too.
A ton of respect for what great NFL quarterbacks do… and what the lousy ones attempt to do.
I meant to write this post several weeks ago but never got around to it so here I am, five days left (not counting today or the weekends).
While the newness of being a mother has worn off, there are still occasional bouts of paralyzing astonishment when I marvel at the fact that Lincoln is ours and that we’ve been solely entrusted with his care.
My favorite part of each day is when he’s woken up from a nap and I walk into his room to get him. There is usually this pause that lasts for only a few nanoseconds when he stops kicking his legs and stops eating his hands and just looks at me. And then, as if he suddenly recognizes me, a huge toothless smile will spread across his face. That smile kills me every time. Sometimes I feel as though my heart might burst. (He will probably do this to anyone that walks into the room with a sing-songy voice but I like to pretend it’s reserved just for me.)
The question I’ve probably been asked the most is, “Are you guys getting any sleep?” And a close second to that is “Are you going back to work?”
I feel as though most women I talk to feel pretty strongly one way or another about whether or not they’d want to be a stay at home mom — regardless of what their life circumstances force them to actually do in reality. For me, it has never been clear. I really enjoy my career and to my own surprise have occasionally found myself teetering on the edge of ambition more than once. At the same time I have also always held a deep reverence for motherhood and believed that being a good mom would be one of my life’s greatest ambitions.
So the answer is, “Yes, I am looking forward to going back to work!” but I want to underscore the fact that I have never felt so conflicted before. I never imagined it would be so difficult!
Maternity leave and motherhood in general have been wonderful.
I love his newborn smell (see study: Why Moms Want to “Gobble Up” Cute Babies) and I really wish I could bottle it. I love his little quirks, like the way he has started puckering his lips so that he looks like a wannabe model or bird all the time (see photo above) or the way he rubs his feet together when he’s hungry or excited. I love the way he has a habit of jamming one fist into my armpit when I’m feeding him a bottle because the husband always pins one of his arms in his armpit when he feeds him. I love the way he gets all riled up when we put lotion on his face or the way he blows raspberries when he’s cold. I love the way his hair tickles my chin when I hold him and the way he clutches tightly onto my shirt. I love the way he always falls asleep in a spread eagle position and the way he silently laughs when I read Where is Baby’s Belly Button? to him. I love the way he’s always loved bath time and the way he always gets sleepy half way through. I love the way he’s forgiving when we are off the usual schedule and give him a bottle late or when we’re having sushi with our new friends past his bedtime and he still wants to flirt with the waitress.
I can’t bring myself to write him a letter (a la dooce) because I don’t think I’ve wrapped my brain around how much I love him and what does this mean for our little family’s future and what — and what I hope for him. I feel inadequate, cautious, and small. Which isn’t too different from how I often feel but here’s the weird part. I also feel right, ready and hopeful. I don’t know if we can successfully get him to eat like a French kid (currently reading: French Kids Eat Everything), don’t know how we’ll discipline him when he does something terrible, and don’t know how we’ll explain the whole Jesus thing to him, but I am confident that he’ll know that he is loved.
I know we’re not going to get everything perfect, kiddo, but we’re going to do our best.
As I was getting out of my car this afternoon, I happened to run into a realtor and a potential buyer who was looking at my neighbor’s house. He put me on the spot and asked me to say how I liked living in my neighborhood and I proceeded to give an impromptu, passionate speech about the beauty of Montclair and how I would buy the house and fix it up myself if I had the money because it’s got such great bones. If she ends up buying this house, I think I should get part of the guy’s commission.
So after my speech, the guy asked if I was a “t-sip”. I looked confused and he gestured to my Texas sweatshirt. He then identified himself as an Aggie. I came home later and googled T-sip. Aggies are so weird, man.