When I was in high school I used to do this thing where I’d walk up to someone, lean on them for a minute or so, and then casually inject into the conversation, “You know, you’re supporting a teenager.” Sigh. At least I grew out of it.
Rachel, my oldest daughter, turns 13 today. Thirteen was when I got my first computer. So that’s kind of a big deal for me. It also marks the onset of the whole “teenager” thing, although she’s not yet suffering from any of the symptoms.
She passed her mother in height last year. Now she’s only a couple of inches below me. (I’m 5’11 – 1.8m) She’s enthusiastic about being tall, which is good, seeing as how she doesn’t have much choice. Some tall girls are embarrassed by their height, but Rachel seems excited at the prospect that she could pass me.
I turn 40 later this year. Time seems to be passing alarmingly fast. At the current rate of acceleration, I’ll be 60 in about an hour and a half.
What Does a Robot Want?
No, self-aware robots aren't going to turn on us, Skynet-style. Not unless we designed them to.
The Best of 2012
My picks for what was important, awesome, or worth talking about in 2012.
The Best of 2015
My picks for what was important, awesome, or worth talking about in 2015.
The Plot-Driven Door
You know how videogames sometimes do that thing where it's preposterously hard to go through a simple door? This one is really bad.
Spec Ops: The Line
A videogame that judges its audience, criticizes its genre, and hates its premise. How did this thing get made?