It turns out I lost the title for the smurfvan, so I had to send away for a duplicate in order to be able to sell it here. The van is registered in Idaho still, so I mailed the proper form to the Idaho State DMV, and even paid $26 extra for “Rush” processing.

Upon calling said DMV, it turns out that “Rush” processing means they decide to hit 3 keystrokes on their computer and print out your new title in 5-6 business days, and then snail mail it back to you. I can’t fathom how long non rush processing ends up taking.

Sadly, long distance DMV interactions are apparently just as painful as the in-person ones. I’ve been waiting for 18 days.

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A 70-year argument among scientists concerning lemurs and other furry inhabitants on Madagascar may be over, according to a study published in Nature in January. Scientists Jason R. Ali and Matthew Huber, from the University of Hong Kong and Purdue University, respectively, claim that the isolated collection of mammals that arrived to the island millions of years ago did so in almost cartoon-like fashion. They rafted in.

This theory was first proposed in 1940, though it had been previously dismissed as impossible. Paleontologist George Gaylord Simpson proposed that the lemurs, tenrecs, carnivorans, and rodents which showed up in Madagascar in distinct batches starting 60 million years ago floated unwittingly across the ocean channel on large logs or vegetation mats washed off eastern Africa. Other scientists disagreed, saying the area’s ocean currents rule out such a possibility and that the mammals must instead have walked across some sort of land bridge. But no one has been able to recreate a scenario where this is possible either.

The ocean bordered by Africa, Asia, and Australia flows in what scientists call a “supergyre,” essentially a big counter-clockwise swirl between the continents. Madagascar is located near the top-left portion of this giant current, which means the water flowing between the island and the African continent flows south and west. A raft launching from Mozambique, where scientists agree the Madagascan mammals originated, would be quickly swept away past the island.

However, the continents themselves are constantly migrating. Africa and Madagascar have drifted some 1,650 kilometers north in the past 60 million years. Using climate system models from the US National Center for Atmospheric Research, Ali and Huber took a look at various recreations of what Earth would have looked like in the days the lemurs and their cousins would have set sail. The scientists discovered that, unlike today, 60 million years ago Madagascar sat toward the bottom of the Indian Ocean gyre, meaning currents would swirl across the coast of Africa and back east toward Madagascar. Floating debris from Mozambique could reach Madagascar in less than a month. And if a tropical storm came around, currents would flow faster, allowing even more rapid transport.

Large floating “tree islands” have been known to wash off the African coast during storms, so it’s entirely possible that animals 60 million years ago washed away with them. Though rafting mammals clinging to logs while crossing hundreds of kilometers of ocean may sound like a scene from a Disney movie, it’s now the most plausible explanation scientists have for the Madagascan mammal phenomenon. The next big puzzle: Why are these lemurs so darn cute?

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Now that I’ve made it through grad school, and my band mates are off having kids and working their lives away 9-5, my dreams have crossed over to a different platform. I’m building tech startups and dreaming of making it big, landing VC funding, and having geeky Rails programmers whisper as I pass them in the hall at NerdCon.

Perhaps it’s not as sexy, but it’s glamorous in its own way. And I’ve realized the parallels between starting a rock band and starting a web company are pretty spot on:

I can see the natural progression I made in the music world closely parallels my progress in the tech world. My first band was a crappy punk band, Lynette. We thought we were awesome, but we weren’t very unique. We just played local venues until other bands stopped inviting us when they realized we sucked. Then I started an electro-punk band, Jersey City Fire, which was more innovative, especially in our live show setup. We got to play some shows out of town, but the team didn’t work out in the end. Then I started a dance/pop-core band, K&TK, and we blew people’s socks off (at least comparatively). We toured across the west, recorded some songs, and had a lot of fun. We had the perfect combination of team members, a unique but poppy sound, and lots of drive and hard work. We would play our songs acoustically at random parties to gain fans when we weren’t playing real shows, run online campaigns to drive traffic to our Myspace, and practice relentlessly.

Then people got married and stuff, so we let that dream die peacefully, knowing we might have had a shot if we wanted it.

My first website post-college was a sort of Digg for UFO nuts, AlienUFOBelievers.com (I made it after one of the band guys “saw” a UFO in Montana). It was a cool idea, but there wasn’t a whole lot of market potential. The site was buggy and got hacked, and I sold about $200 in stickers by the time I quit. I started some other sites, which were better constructed and had more potential for ad revenue. They still make me a little money, but I won’t be buying a yacht anytime because of them. Then I started PrintingChoice.com, a Travelocity-style search engine for business card, flyer, postcard, and brochure prices. It has a solid revenue model, and has done quite well. I put that on autopilot and started Scordit.com, a social site that pivots around products people are obsessed about. Users joined, creating thousands of pages of content, and I felt vindicated when sites like GDGT and Hollrr launched with similar ideas and gained a lot of attention. My bands were starting to suck less and less.

Now I’m working on two projects pivoting off of Scordit: mainly Dino.sr, a site for gamers that revolves around games you’ve beat/played/want and lets you created game-specific microblogs of your game progress (and the site is a game itself); and on the side I’m helping with isWearing.com, a real-time stream of people answering the question “What are you wearing,” which aims to help people dress better. Both of these have clear paths to monetization and sort of culminate the experiences I’ve had in my previous ventures. I’m sure these won’t be the last web products I create either. I’ll keep working hard and building better stuff every time, and one day one of my “bands” will get picked up by that major label — I have no doubt about that.

Starting a rock band is a very entrepreneurial experience. I’d be interested to see how many tech companies have been started by people who played in bands. Really, I think being an entrepreneur is all about executing creative ideas — being the guy (or girl) who actually starts a band rather than sitting around with friends and talking about how cool it would be, or being the one who actually sits down and builds a prototype rather than just talking about it for years until someone else builds it.

Sorry Lollapalooza, but NerdCon here I come.

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Guest comic by Jason Grover

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Robert Boyle

Every year as the sun clears the horizon on April 1, a handful of people awake with glee. About an equal number of people rise and shine completely unaware that the previously mentioned people are about to trick them into believing Portugal has invaded Massachusetts, or the value of Pi has changed, or that they should park their car six blocks away from work.

The rest of us remember that April 1 is a day for keeping one’s guard up and Gullible Radar on. We get a good laugh when an unlucky coworker moves his desk across the office to make way for the “new septic drain” or finds his cubicle full of packing peanuts. On this day more than any other, people engage in well-meaning pranks on their friends, and even retailers play tricks on each other, such as when Crate and Barrel placed an ad in the New York Times declaring that one of its competitors would be giving away free full-body waxes all day. This tradition, known as April Fools’ Day, is widely accepted as a day of friendly gags in every major country except Canada.

April Fools’ Day dates back to the late 15th Century, the time British physicist, Robert Boyle, built one of the first pneumatic engines. Tradition has it that one of the hand maidens of Boyle’s wife, Persephone, claimed to have had an affair with Boyle, while in the midst of penning New Experiments Physico-Mechanicall – his seminal work based on air pumps – at his country retreat in Devonshire. When it was later revealed that the alleged affair was a lie (though some experts still contend it may have been true), the young girl attempted to acquit herself by claiming it was all a joke. British law was clear, however, that such an accusation was punishable by death, joke or not. The execution – which for women in those days was trampling by livestock – was carried out on April 1, and the foolish “prank” by this servant girl resulted in the words “April Fool” being etched into her gravestone rather than her name, leaving modern historians to wonder about the rest of her story.

“April Fool” wasn’t the only idiom coined from the tragedy. Though it only endured as an English expression until the early 1900s, the term “Persephone’s folly” derived from the same experience and was used to indicate a poor hiring decision.

Like many brilliant scientists, Boyle was seen by peers as at times bizarre and unconventional. He was amused by the irony of the “April Fool” in his household. Each year on the date of the trampling he would conduct an elaborate prank, thus perpetuating April 1 as a day of humor and mischief. He would place garden snakes in his friends’ trousers, pencil in made-up scriptures in Bibles, and cover himself in flour to appear as a ghost. Among the more outlandish jokes Boyle played included painting every one of King Henry VIII’s swans (he kept nearly 100 of them in the royal courtyard) the color purple in 1591, and streaking naked through Buckingham Palace with a dozen local scientists from the astronomers’ guild in 1595. (Had it not been for his prominent status in the kingdom, Boyle would certainly have been hanged for either event.) The latter prank set the stage for the modern day “flash mob,” as well as initiation practices held by a number of North American fraternities.

By the end of his life, Boyle had become known himself as “The April Fool,” for his antics. On his deathbed was awarded the honorary royal title of Chancellor of Comedie. King Henry was recorded that day saying, “A joke is a very serious thing.” Henry VIII was never a very good jokester himself, though his son Reginald IX seemed quite opposite; on one occasion he managed to convince the entire Church of England that the moon was made of solidified tea.

Five hundred years later, 98 percent of the civilized world pays respect to Robert Boyle and Persephone’s poor hand maiden, although most of us have no idea our jokes are based on a centuries-old story of deceit and possible adultery.

I guess that would make us the fools, wouldn’t it?

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People have tried riots, but buses cost a lot of money; and like cows, they’re hard to upright once they’ve been flipped over. Similarly, most “peaceful” demonstrations are way overrated. Remember that health care rally the other week where people got together in big crowds and whined all day? Totally lame. Ask a random protester what they’re doing and tell me what they say is actually interesting: “I’m going to Walmart to buy a posterboard, write snarky word plays on the president’s name, and carry it around Washington DC.” Snore.

So should you do if  you decide you need to fight for an important cause? Here are four nonviolent solutions to getting your way with just about anything:

Solution 1: Hunger Strike

In a hunger strike, you basically just starve yourselves until you get your way. This works well if you’re trying to get the British to feel bad for you so you can have your country back. It also is effective on people like your mom, or anyone who is 1) easily guilt-tripped, and 2) caves quickly under pressure. En masse, it’s even more effective. Just be careful, because if they call your bluff, you’re likely to be pissed off and too weak to do anything about it.

Solution 2: Mustache Filibuster

Reserve this one for the more meaningful issues. Basically you get a large number of people to grow mustaches, refusing to shave them until negotiations are reached. Imagine if the Democrats in congress all grew Hulk Hogan handlebars? If you’re really serious about this one, get the women to take male hormones so they can grow their own, too!

Solution 3: Mass Music Marathon

You want to bring the government to its knees? How about blasting a barrage of High School Musical show tunes from every open car and building window in the city? That’ll get them negotiating.

Solution 4: Log and Leave

One time I had a roommate who was dating this horrible girl. She was manipulative and mean, with laser beam eyes and dreadful music tastes. We roommates decided something must be done, so we banded together and held a poop strike, also known as a log-and-leave. This is where you don’t ever flush the toilet until your adversary buckles to your petition. It’s hard to do after a while, because you suffer the effects as well, but it certainly gets the message across.

Go ahead, do Gandhi proud!

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What’s worse: Being trapped in the Port Authority Bus Terminal or being a pigeon? The question could spark a lengthy debate. Does Port Authority smell like urine today? Is it a decrepit, fat pigeon or an attractive, athletic pigeon? How long will this last?

Whatever conclusion the debate yields, one thing is certain: Being a pigeon trapped inside Port Authority Terminal is worst of all.

So you can imagine my empathy for the gray-and-white speckled bird I spotted on the third floor of Manhattan’s best-known (and perhaps most loathed) bus station. Not unlike the grouchy throngs of humans congregated near the large orange “301”s and “312”s, this little guy did not want to be there. Based on the lack of a ticket clutched in his talons or tucked under his wing, however, it seemed that unlike everyone else, Mr. Pigeon wasn’t going anywhere.

Port Authority reminds me of a medieval castle. At the bottom is the dungeon, where prisoners while away tortuous hours with only broken, muddy tiles and darkened departure screens for company. It’s truly miserable. Thirty-two stairs up, visitors are greeted by the glass encased Hudson News, ATMs, and pay phones no one uses – the sitting room, if you will. Another 26 stairs brings one to the magnificent inner court, featuring metal sculptures made from tractor parts, possibly commissioned by Rube Goldberg or Dr. Seuss. Once one tires of the high ceilings, ice cream shops, and fractal pattern art, he or she may proceed up two more flights to the parapets.

In a real castle, this is where owls and dragons are released, and fair maidens await their journeying lovers. In Port Authority’s case, this is where people are released (and wait for their journeying lovers), and where pigeons try desperately to escape.

My pigeon friend shivered, rippling his feathers from head to tail like a perfectly executed crowd wave at a Yankees game. He strutted, bobbing his head rhythmically, over to door 300. The gate agent ignored him. Mr. Pigeon continued, unabashed, to the next gate; his unspoken plea for an exit went unheeded, and he skittered past a bus-sized line of passengers, none of which gave him so much as a hello. Determined, he took a quick flight to gate 304, where he received the same lack of response.

The cosmopolitan crowd waiting for the bus to Livingston, New Jersey, didn’t seem to notice the bird, but they did notice me, watching the bird. Perhaps they were as fascinated by me as I was by the pigeon. Before I could coax a gate agent to let the little guy outside, a very frustrated Mr. Pigeon flew off down the hall. It seems that even the most uninteresting of people was worth more attention than a lonely bird in the Port Authority station.

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When to trust a toilet
By Jason Grover

We’ve all been in this situation at one time or another. Urgently needing to use the bathroom; Staring down at a toilet and wondering “who’s naked butt am I sharing this toilet seat with?”

When deciding to use public restrooms one can usually construct a “seal of safety,” by this I mean a barrier between your butt and the seat comprised out of strips of toilet paper. Whereas this is good and well for most public restroom situations there are certain times when the distinction between public and personal restroom becomes blurred. This is when the “seal of safety” technique is questionable.

Two major examples are a friend’s bathroom and your bathroom at work. You can’t personally vouch for the cleanliness of either seat. What about Edward, that greasy co-worker who sweats profusely? Do you want to be sharing butt-space with him? However I argue that in spite of your reservations, you must trust the seat of your workplace and friend’s house.

My first consideration is time. Let’s say you poop at work once every other day. If the construction of a barrier takes a minute and a half, then in ten years time you’ve spent over one work week laying down toilet paper. That’s a lot of lost productivity. But this is minor compared to the consideration of trust.

In the end it comes down to trust and comfort. At either your workplace or your friends’ home, you need to be comfortable. You need to be able to feel at home. As long as you are constructing barriers in the place where you should be able to relax the most, you will never truly feel at home. If you are guarding yourself when you are at your most vulnerable, ie pushing out a turd, you can’t truly open up to collaboration with that person or employer. There is an old Bedouin saying that goes something like this, “if your skin touches mine in a friendly embrace, let your cheeks touch the seat when you stay at my place;” the gist being that if you are intimately acquainted enough with someone to give them a friendly hug you should let your guard down and trust their john. There is a sense of calm and surrender when you take a sit on the seat at your work. A zen in the can if you will.

Though it takes courage I hope, my friends, that you will take the proverbial plunge if you will and come skin-to-skin with your toilet trust issues.

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