No Place in Cycling, No Place in History

Today the International Cycling Union announced that Lance Armstrong, winner of 7 Tour de France races will no longer hold that honor. And though the chances of Lance ever recovering from this shameful setback are somewhere between slim, fat, and none-- the ICU has additionally banned him for life from any cycling competition.

This is a major downer.

Not just for Lance, but for all of us. Anybody who ever gave a damn about sports, cycling, the Tour, Lance, or even Sheryl Crow. Armstrong was a beacon of "Yes, I can!" for anybody faced with an obstacle greater than they ever thought they could achieve. Those teammates of his who protected him in the peloton? It turns out they were more than protecting Armstrong against the other competitors; they were just as dirty as the man once hailed as the greatest cyclist of all time.

In 2005, my family was traveling through France on a marathon vacation. At the last minute, we decided to make a beeline over to Montpelier to catch a glimpse of the Tour de France. We waited in the summer heat for hours. We waited without shade as the caravan of sponsors drove by; throwing trinkets and toys (we never managed to get a bottle of water). When the peloton approached, you could feel the energy crackle in the air. I found a spot along the road that enabled me to snap photos of the cyclists as they sped in our direction and toward the leg's finishline. Down the road, about 100 yards, I saw them rushing toward me. Without thinking, I kept my finger on the camera trigger so it could shoot as fast as its mechanics would allow. The results was a small collection of psychedelic and blurred images. I did not see Armstrong. I did not see Hincapie, or any of the other riders. But I was there and they came within inches of me. That close to greatness.

Now the glory of Armstrong's wins, including the one I was present at, are gone. As fleeting as the images on my camera.

Seattle's Gray is Back

So the last vestiges of summer have finally depart Puget Sound and the gray skies of fall/winter are here. This is the time of year when it is so easy to stay inside and avoid the elements.

The view from my desk downtown; facing north.

At the same time, what makes Seattle so great is that in spite of the weather and gray skies and rain, people still embrace getting outside. Yesterday I took the family on a trip to the far west side of Seattle proper to Discovery Park. In spite of the rain and cool wind blowing in off of Puget Sound, there were still plenty of folks at the park. We didn't last long--the thought of 5 people and 2 soaked dogs being in a minivan for the drive home was not something I looked forward to--but everybody seemed invigorated from our time outside. The kids retreated to the car happy and laughing, and the dogs had just enough exercise to settle them down for the afternoon.

It's going to be a long winter, it always is, and I am optimistic that if we continue these little jaunts that the cool and the rain and even the gray skies will not be conditions that we shy away from, but eventually part of the memories of our happiest times together.

Crozzled

The Urban Dictionary defines crozzled as: "lightly burnt, usually where just the edges have been burned to a crispy exterior."

I'm fascinated by my new favorite word as it appeared toward the end of 'The Road," the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel about a father and son's journey through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Cormac McCarthy weaves a bleak and fascinating tale of survival and, most of all, love between father and son.

This is not a happy story. Without giving away the end, I was left with an emotional pit in my stomach. At the same time, I was sated at having finished such a well-written novel. McCarthy paints vivid imagery and events that last after the final page is turned. At times I would re-read sections, not because I was confused, but because I enjoyed the journey I had just taken, similar to re-hiking a favorite trail. The author is clearly a fan of the English language and sprinkles SAT-worthy terminology throughout the text at will.

Now that I've read the book, I want to see the movie by the same name that was released a few years ago. I don't remember it receiving very good reviews, but it would be nice to see how the director translates McCarthy's word-smithing into visual storytelling.

Dispassionate Passion

By all rights, this weekend was a great sports weekend for me...

• JMU beat William & Mary in double-overtime
• Ohio State escaped from Indiana in a high-scoring grudge match
• The Seahawks up-ended the Patriots in the final minutes
• Even the Redskins managed to thrash Minnesota, ending a 8-game losing streak in Landover

Still, this favorite teams winning streak did not elicit the same level of excitement and adrenalin that it would have in seasons past. Not long ago, all this winning would have me wearing team colors, posting trash-talking commentary on Facebook, and generally being insufferable for the whole week.

But call it maturity or re-prioritized values, but I'm just not that jazzed. Frankly, I put the responsibility squarely on the shoulders of the 1998 Washington Capitals. It was that crew; Dale Hunter, Ollie Kolzig, and the rest of Ron Wilson's team, who captured my passions--heart and soul. I followed every game leading up to the Stanley Cup finals. Hockey for me was brutal ballet on ice. The Caps were finally the team that could deliver where other units did not.

Then the Cup series against the Detroit Red Wings occurred. The Wings swept the Caps in 4. Each game brought hope, reasons why my beloved Caps would win, and with each game, disappointment with the loss. I sincerely believe that that run at the Cup aged me more than any collective events in the past 15 years.

After the Caps were sent packing, I took a break from college and professional sports. For one reason, I was emotionally spent. The other reason was because my daughter was born a could months later. She changed my life forever.

So following sports has been somewhat lukewarm for me since then. I enjoy the games when they are on, but my passions are now given to living life, rather than sitting on the sidelines.

Design as... Creation for Consumption

There comes the time in every successful designer's career when that person is faced with the decision of "do  i stick with my design because it reflects my personal expression?" or "How should I make changes to my design so that they work for the people who will use it?"

That breakthrough moment is critical because it is the moment when personal preference takes a back seat to the priority of utilitarianism. Let's face it, we all come across designs that challenge our cognitive perception of the world. Whether a website, door handle, elevator button, or book cover--the things we use every day; the things we consume--are the creations of designers. Some better than others. And what do we do in these instances? We assume the blame for the bad user experience.

This is not an original idea. Donald Norman is the best-known voice for usability in everyday things. His book, The Design of Everyday Things was transformational for me, and every designer needs to read this book.