We ain't got no blueberries.

Today I stopped in at my credit union, to get a credit card. I had recently told Bank of America to go fuck themselves, and to take the credit card account I had with them for years and shove it up their asses, because they are the devil and all of their upper management should die. Hopefully, my wish will come true. The card is canceled, at least; we can hope for a positive outcome on the execs who should all die.

Meanwhile, I’d still like to have more than just my debit card in my wallet, especially when I travel, so I have at least two magnetic stripes to get me access to food, plane tickets, booze, hotel rooms, and porn. So I strolled down to my credit union to apply for a simple credit card. Nothing fancy, just looking for a backup card is all, like I had before, but issued from a non-satanic bank.

Julie the account executive was very friendly, and asked me if I wanted coffee or water, asked me how my day was going, and actually seemed interested in my answers to those questions. After settling in at her desk, I explained that I had just told Bank of America to go fuck themselves, and that I simply wanted a backup credit card for booze and porn. I mean, not in so many words, but she got me. I thought we were off to a great start.

Then, Julie proceeded to grill me abut my financial status, employment history, housing history, and suggested that since I have two mortgages at the present moment that I may do well to request a pretty paltry line of credit. I started to get pissed, with all the questions, given my credit score and income situation, and then I realized: THIS IS EXACTLY HOW HARD IT SHOULD BE TO GET A CREDIT CARD.

I may get refused for a $5-$10K credit card from the credit union that holds my checking and savings accounts, as well as the loan on the house we just bought. And that’s ok, because these people represent the way this selling of money is supposed to happen.

Bravo.

The education system in the United States is broken, we all know that. There are several theories about why this is, but that’s not what this post is about. This is about intern punks.

I work at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory, and I am happy to do so. I also commute by bus more often than not, which I’m also happy to do. But now that we’re into the summer season, a huge influx of dorky college kids have flooded into Boulder, and we all compete for seats on the “GS” regional bus from Boulder and Golden and back each day, and this has been a source of irritation for me these last couple weeks, as the intern population has reached critical mass at NREL.

They are young enough to not fully grasp the idea of a line, or a queue — that embodiment of the “first come, first served” concept. No, the stragglers walk up to the front of the line, where their fellow geeks have congregated, knowing full well that the meager northbound bus population is barely able to hold us all. Strike One.

They yammer and giggle all the way up Rt. 93, unconcerned with real problems, and despite being the future geniuses of the world, they lack the basic skills to ring the fucking bell when their bus stop is coming up. This actually gave me great pleasure last week, as I observed the 27th Way stop getting bigger in the windshield, and all the interns blissfully ignorant (and giggling). Generally, some fully developed adults get off there (like me), and ensure the complex chore of dinging the dinger is handled. But on that day I was headed further north, so no ding from me. The 27th Way stop came and went, and suddenly about a dozen geek heads popped up from behind the seats like prairie dogs, wondering what the hell was going on. Once that stop was assuredly behind us, I slowly reached up the six inches, wrapped an index finger around the cord, and pulled. DING, you morons. So, that was fun. I got off with the geeks and took my local bus the rest of the way home, feeling sadly smug about the whole thing. But then yesterday, the geeks broke though my protective shield again.

One of Them was talking to another One about movies. Here’s a rough transcript:

Thing One: “do you know about a movie called ‘A Fish Called Wanda”?
Thing Two: “yeah.”
Thing One: “Oh, I had never heard of it (giggling ensues), what’s it about?”.
Thing Two: “oh, it’s like a comedy, it’s old, it’s like, from like, the sixties—”
Thing Two was cut off by my neighbor, another NREL dude and seemingly a tad older than the interns:
NREL Neighbor: “Oh man, you’re WAY off, that was like the 80’s.”
Thing Two: “Really? I thought it was black and white”.

Strike Two, punk.

I am really growing sick and tired of sciencey geeky youngsters who know how to deal with differential equations but don’t know how to ride a bus, not get taken at three card monte, and lack some very basic historical and cultural knowledge (even pop culture, for chrissakes!). I’m not looking for kids to know when the civil war ended (but that would be nice), I’m simply asking for these kids to know that there was a transoceanic cable across the Atlantic long before we had “satellites” handling things, and that there were funny movies before “Superbad” (which was a hysterical movie, BTW).

Gonna be a long summer.

Yesterday Brenda & I trekked down to Denver to see “Next to Normal” at the Denver Center. It’s been a while since we’ve seen something there, and even longer since I’ve seen a musical anywhere.

It was great.

I know, I’m generally known for liking hardcore punk rock, grunge and anything on the far side of commercial. But you know something folks? Along with professional baseball games, sunsets, and airshows, a big loud musical performed by pros and bolstered by lights and sets — all under a towering opera house roof — is simply magical. These are all live events that involve power and emotion and skill, and you just gotta see one once in a while.

And so on Sunday we got to see a great sunset. (Literally; Sunday’s performances were the final for the Denver stop of the national tour, and back in New York, the final Broadway performance at the Booth Theatre of this show also played out.)

In many respects, the musical is and always has been high cheese. But the theatre has always been about willing suspension of disbelief. If you allow yourself to let it in, you can be entertained and even learn a thing or two.

All in all, a fun couple of hours of escape.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything at all on this blog. I blame Facebook; too easy to snap a photo with my phone and upload it, too easy to link to funny or interesting things on the interwebs via FB or Twitter. But something has been lost in the process. And so begins the list of resolutions: I will try to migrate back to this blog for my vocal and visual outlet, my complaint outpost, my therapy.

2010 was a mixed bag, but I suppose that’s the way it is for anyone alive. So, here in 2011, being alive, I suppose I’m up on points — as are all of you.

Specifically:

In January 2010, my dear sweet Grandmother passed away, finally succumbing to the awful disease that is Alzheimer’s. Lena was a sweet, funny woman, who could cook and could spot a scam from a mile away. I loved her, and I miss her.

In February 2010, Brenda’s sister Mandy married Tony Crespo. Tony cried like a baby throughout the day and night, which brought tears to my own eyes. I think they are going to be great. Mandy and Tony are expecting their first child as I type this.

In May 2010, Brenda & I celebrated our ten year wedding anniversary. We went to Flagstaff Mountain and re-read our wedding vows to one another at the Sunrise Amphitheater, while Hooper trotted around and sniffed things. I also presented a couple of workshops — one on daylight simulation and one on high dynamic range imaging — at the Lightfair conference in Las Vegas. I figure I lost about $200 at the damned craps tables.

In June 2010, Brenda & I attended the wedding of Zack and Caitlyn Vestal, a wonderful event that really honored the two of them, but also honored the institution of marriage in general. Zack & Cait remind me of what it means to be in love.

In July 2010, Brenda & I celebrated twenty years of being a couple. Two decades, y’all. No additional words are necessary, but many more words are in my head.

In August 2010, I presented a paper at the SimBuild conference, marking my debut as a legitimate science geek.

In September 2010, Brenda started a new job as Costume Shop Foreman at the University of Colorado, giving her an opportunity to teach others her amazing skills, while also having a sweet-ass commute.

I did not ride my bike nearly enough. I did not write or take pictures nearly enough. Goals.

2010 is the year I found out my father left my sister & I for dead not when he was dying in 2004 — when we both had careers, spouses and futures — but in 1984, when I was a sophomore in high school and my sister was getting ready to go to college. Dark, dark day, that was, reading that thing. In many ways, reading the will has made things easier for me, but at the same time it’s made things so very much harder. The takeway here is that my father was a douchebag. It’s not about the will, that’s just a nice encapsulation of what a non-man he was. So much to talk about there, but… Enough about that.

2010 marked my first full year working at the National Renewable Energy Laboratory, and my job has evolved into focusing on lighting simulation, which is basically like a dream come true.

2011 promises more bullshit, more family bullshit, but also twelve months full of days to make the best of things.

Happy New Year.

Thanks to all who contributed to my fundraising efforts for the 2010 Cause for Paws, benefiting the Humane Society of Boulder Valley. About 500 people (plus dogs!) participated in either the run or the walk, and together we raised $50K to help the shelter help animals and their owners alike. Team Hooper (Hooper, Rob & Brenda) did the walk, and it was fairly hysterical to see what amounted to a giant dog walk unfold on the paths around Boulder on a beautiful day.

After the walking, there was food, music, dog massage, and Hoop even got to refresh his chops on the agility course, which led to the funniest event of the day. Hooper tried the “chute” obstacle, which is a short plastic tube with a long tube of fabric at the end that drapes to the floor that the dog must run through. The idea is that it’s harder than the straight tunnel, because they can’t see the other side and have to get over that fear and push through the fabric to get through the obstacle. There was a “spotter” at the end of the chute, holding the fabric up a little so the dogs could see, literally, the light at the end of the tunnel, encouraging them to run through. Well, Hooper did not need this help and he demonstrated that by proceeding to rocket through the chute, out the fabric end, and right into the spotter, who in turn went ass-over-end, feet in the air and everything. Hoop sat on him and wagged his tail.

It was a memorable moment, one of thousands over the years now. And all possible because HSBV was able to rescue Hooper from a crowded shelter in Utah to their facility, where he was waiting for me.

Through your contributions, Brenda & I together met our goals and then some, providing HSBV with enough money to do the same thing for another animal. So, thanks.

So, last month, I presented a paper at SimBuild 2010. Today, the lab I work for published a link to the preprint, which enters me into the scientific roll call. I am stoked.

Check it out: http://www.nrel.gov/docs/fy10osti/47522.pdf

In memoriam, I’m reposting my September Eleventh Account. I’ll save my Armory story for the decade anniversary, a story I have never actually gotten out of my head, but should; but I would like to say something here:

The flags and ribbons are showing up again, along with imaginary controversy, xenophobia and hatred, much of it for political gain. Once again, the annual reminder of how we have lost our way.

I remember the day after the day after The Day (September 13, 2001), because that was the day we all went back to work in Manhattan, a day when people were all “oh no, after you, go ahead” in the coffee line at the corner deli; there were no horns honking; the entire borough seemed to have been replaced with Stepford Wives versions of its original inhabitants. Brotherly love was everywhere, and we all had a sense of humility, of compassion. And I remember taking a step back and going “this is very interesting; let’s see how long this lasts”.

It lasted a week; tops.

By the following Tuesday I overheard a horn blast and a “get the fuck outta the way!” from a truck driver, and I was hit with a duality of emotions: sadness, immediately followed by one of nostalgia. Sad to see the kindness leave New York City, but perversely happy to see the status quo return.

So we’re still the same people we were on September 10 2001, despite the horrific window we were given into the evil we’re all capable of, and in many ways, all we share in common, both good and bad. Indeed, we’re probably worse off. Worse off because we used that event and those people and the pain and anguish and the horror to sway the public eye off the ball and, well, you know the rest. And today, nine years later we’re still doing it. We are so divided, so myopic, and so shrouded in a false sense of entitlement that even Wall Street 2008 didn’t snap us out of.

It makes me sad (and extremely angry, and depressed) to see what is going on here. It’s wrong and stupid to point the finger at one or even a thousand people (on either side of the aisle) for the hijacking of the hijackings for political and financial gain, and sometimes I feel like we are all doomed because this kind of thing is possible and can seemingly happen before our very eyes.

I wrote in a note to visitors to the Rome, GA flag at the Hoboken, NJ waterfront: “here’s hoping you are all healing”, but I think the scar tissue has only deadened true feeling. I wish we could move on and grow up. With that sentiment, once again: my experience on September Eleventh 2001:

This is Really Happening

It hurts, it happened. We all remember, and of course we all will, and all could, never forget. Quite honestly, to me, to implore people to “never forget” is to completely devalue humanity’s sense of compassion.

Hi folks; asking for money. It’s not for me, it’s for the animals.

The Cliff’s Notes version:

Please go to http://boulderhumane.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=426416&lis=1&kntae426416=9A0E1659F700447AA908E0FFE5C7B2A8&supId=300361433 and pledge a few bucks for the effort next week. Even easier, text “PAWS” and “Robert Guglielmetti” to 50555 to donate $5 to my effort.

I am raising pledges for A Cause for Paws Doggie Dash on September 11th. Your support will help the Humane Society of Boulder Valley provide food, shelter, medical treatment and behavioral rehabilitation to animals in need. I’m not gonna pull a Sarah McLachlan on you and show you a bunch of doggie and kitty sad-eyes here, I’m just going to appeal to your greater sense of kindness and throw on a heaping dose of guilt. I was baptized as a Catholic, after all. That shit works.

Some of you may know that my beloved dog Hooper was sprung out of the Boulder Humane Society a few years ago, and he’s changed my life for the better. Our cat Ellie also did time there. In fact, there are a number of stories in my life that revolve around the Boulder Humane Society and the great people who work there. For example:

• We Look for a Dog
• We get a dog
• We reflect
• We get a cat
• We reflect, again

I found Hooper waiting for me as I clutched our dear departed cat Emma’s ashes in my left hand, having just picked them up there from our friend Elissa who is hard at work coordinating this very event I’m asking your for money for. This fund raising event is a great way to get together with all the other Crazy Dog People of Boulder and raise awareness and dollars for the joint, and for the dogs to have a good time. Mainly, it’s a way to help keep those doors open, not only to the strays and unwanted of Boulder County, but also to the victims of overcrowded shelters near and far.

So next weekend I’m gonna trot along for five kilometers and I’m hoping you can pledge a few bucks in support. My goal is $150 — not a lot of money, really, but enough to transfer one healthy dog to the Humane Society of Boulder Valley from an overpopulated community, which is exactly how Hooper & I came to know one another; Hooper was a transfer from an overcrowded shelter in Vernal, UT. Come on, that’s a good story, right?

How you can help:

• Visit http://boulderhumane.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=426416&lis=1&kntae426416=9A0E1659F700447AA908E0FFE5C7B2A8&supId=300361433 and pledge
• text “PAWS” and “Robert Guglielmetti” to 50555 to donate $5 to my effort

I hope you can help. Brenda’s doing this too (https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=426416&supId=181900100), with the same pledge goal. Help her, help me, help us both, whatever you can do. Thanks.

Just wanted to point out a great, great article on a “peakbagging club” in New Jersey:

New Jersey’s undeveloped peaks rise above the rest

Yes, you heard me. A club devoted to cataloging and “climbing” the many precipitous peaks in the grand state of New Jersey; high point: eighteen hundred feet, complete with monument to memorialize the majestic magnitude of the, uh, hill.

Five of the peaks aren’t even mountains per se — they’re called hills — and one of the more modest, Guerin Benchmark in Randolph, is about a five-minute jaunt from the parking lot.

The guys are totally tongue in cheek about it but at the same time it really does celebrate the hiking in NJ, of which there is plenty. Brenda & I discovered our love for hiking in NJ, not Colorado. It’s just that when you know you love something that requires certain natural features, you need to relocate to places that feature them. You don’t find a lot of surfers in Iowa, for example.

So while I am eternally grateful for living in Colorado and having access to amazing trails close to home and 14,000’ peaks not far away, this article reminded me of our humble hiking beginnings in the Garden State.

Enjoy.

Last Thursday, I hit the airwaves, yakking about lighting simulation. For some reason the Boulder Green Building Guild was interested in my take on the use of simulation in optimizing the energy efficiency of building designs in the US, on the latest installment of Footprint Radio.

It was a thrill to share the half-hour with Kostas Papamichael from the California Lighting Technology Center, and my buddy Mike Plann from Lightlouver. I hope one or two people listen, and are intrigued enough to explore daylighting design, or at least turn off the lights once in a while.

The cool thing is I’m now in the iTunes Music Store. Check it out by listening to the show on the BGBG’s website, or by checking out the podcast on the iTunes Music Store.

Thanks again, Tasha, for having me on the show.