Jeff Veen - Plinky Answers

My scar, from what I can recall

2009-02-24T17:46:15-05:00

At least once a week, someone is kind enough to let me know of the pen mark on my right cheekbone. Except that it's not ink, it's a strip of Conzelman Road.

Conzelman Road is the famously winding route just above the Golden Gate Bridge in the Marin Headlands. Dozens of car commercials have been shot there, and the view from half way up, facing east and framing San Francisco between the towers of the bridge is so beautiful as to slip into cliche.

I've been cycling that road for at least 15 years and I'd say the most memorable ride was back in 1999, except that I don't remember any of it. Apparently, I went out on a Friday after work in June to catch the late sunset and get some riding in before flying to visit a friend in Iceland. Instead of catching that flight, I woke up in a hospital bed the next day with no idea what had happened but feeling seriously banged up.

I had been found on the side of road tangled in my bike, my head against a large rock, my helmet split neatly in two, and missing a fair amount of skin. Some nice motorist used my cell phone to call 911 and stayed with me until the ambulance arrived. In the ER, a plastic surgeon sewed up my face and reattached my pinky finger. The doctor in charge told later the concussion had put me on a 20 minute loop -- my short-term memory wouldn't stick and I would keep looking up at him and introduce myself, then ask why I was in a hospital. I did this, "Momento" style, a couple dozen times that evening.

The next morning, thankfully, things started to stay recorded. But I lost 24 hours of memory. Not just the hospital or crash, but the whole day preceding. I had been at work, talked on the phone to my parents, had lunch with friend. I couldn't recall any of it. A few days later, I clicked through that Friday's emails in my sent folder and I couldn't remember writing any of them.

So that's why I have two dark parallel lines under my right eye. And a new helmet.

Why I gave up on "The 4-Hour Work Week"

2009-02-01T13:48:17-05:00

I love work. I love making things. I love collaborating with smart people and having something to show from it. It makes me feel alive. Why would I only want to do that a few hours a week? I want to do it all the time.

I found some good stuff in this book, particularly the parts about taking control of your information consumption, rather than it controlling you. And I've met the author and had a couple of great conversations with him - Tim's an interesting and intelligent guy. But too much of this book felt like a collection of cheat codes to my favorite video games. Work-arounds and hacks that let you skim off the surface rather than contributing and creating value. Not for me.

How I'd spend $1,000

2009-01-28T10:06:12-05:00

I worked at Google for about two years. It's a weird place in a lot of ways, mostly because it was so damn successful at such a young age. (There's a long list of child actors that fit that description as well. In fact, whenever you read an article about Google, just replace the name of the company with "Corey Feldman" for new insight.)

Here's an example: every Friday there's a company-wide beer bash called TGiF and Larry and Sergey get on stage and talk about stuff and then take some questions. On the last Friday before Christmas, they hand out an end-of-year bonus to all the employes. In typical Google style, they set up a bunch of tables in the cafe and hand out a grand in cash to everyone. Ten $100 bills in your pocket.

So last year we decided to spend all the cash that night. Ha ha ha, we should totally do that. Yeah, let's go. Nothing is open after 4:45pm in Mountain View, so up we went the the city. The rest of our extravaganza went like this:

- Pancho Villa's Tacqueria: one burrito, $7.95
- Casanova Lounge: six beers, $32
- Yellow Cab: $6.50
- Citibank Interest Checking Acct: $953.55

I think I even asked the cabbie for a receipt...

My first job: Cattle truck and power hose

2008-11-26T05:42:32-05:00

There are cows in Los Angeles. Lots of them. In the suburban town of Chino, some 40 miles due east of downtown LA, there exists large dairy farms that butt up against the tract homes and strip malls. These days, the farms are being rapidly chipped away by development, but in the mid 1980s, when I was in high school, there were acres and acres of them.

The cows don't all live in Southern California. Many of them live farther north, in the state's large Central Valley. Big semi trucks ship these animals back and forth every day in long metal trailers. The ride from north to south places the cows in a certain amount of intestinal stress, and after the six-hour trip the trailers are more than a little messy. I, as a 16-year-old high school student desperate for cash, had the unique job of climbing into the back of these trucks wearing rubber boots and wielding a large pressure hose. For long summer days I would do my best to remove the remnants of the preceding journey, and wonder just what my future life had in store.

Three overplayed songs I love anyway

2008-11-25T01:56:02-05:00

Honky Tonk Woman by Rolling Stones

Cowbell!

yellow by coldplay

I can't explain this. Please, please, please don't tell anyone.

Spirit of radio by Rush

Best song in the history of songs.