robdale.ca

I know a lot of church people who need to watch this video. I also know a lot of unchurched people who would love it if their church friends would watch this video.

So … watch this video:

Well, I just finished setting up my new office space and thought I’d share a picture of it with all of you. Not to brag, but the view is pretty decent. Here it is:

Not bad, eh? The nice thing is I can move it whenever I feel the need. Thanks for my MacBook Pro and my iPhone, and a new feature called “Tethering”, I can get online anywhere that I have a 3G signal.

Now, I’m unlikely to do this all that often, but it’s certainly a nice feature to have when I want to get away from the office phone and focus completely on whatever I’m writing (currently, I’m working on sermons, Oil Change devotionals, 401 material, and a policy manual for the church).

And yes, on this gorgeous day, I rode my bike to get to this spot.

Life is rough. Go ahead, feel bad for me.

As some of you may be aware, the new iPhone software has a cool feature called “Find My Phone” (cool, only if you have MobieMe). With it, you can find your phone if it’s lost or stolen.

The following is the first reported case of someone finding their phone. You can read it on their website here, or just enjoy it below. It is the ultimate in geekiness, but I think it’s hilarious.

Myself and two compadres, Ryan and Mark, are in Chicago (each of us for the first time) to attend Brickworld, the world’s largest Lego convention. Yes we’re a bunch of dorks. Yes you totally wish you were here too.

Last night, after seeing Second City improv, we ate at a pleasantly sketchy dive bar in uptown Chicago, where the food was mediocre and the characters were questionable. I definitely had my iPhone while at our table, and I definitely did NOT have it (whoops!) when we were 100 feet down the street.

I raced back into the bar, not even particularly concerned, but it was gone like baby. In less than five minutes, with very few people in the small place, my beloved JesusPhone had managed to vanish into a black hole. Our waitress was sympathetic, and I left a number, but I was immediately glum about my prospects of seeing it again.

So I felt like about zero cents, but then we giddily realized that I had *just* activated the brand-new Find My iPhone service. Even better, Mark had a Sprint (yes, Sprint) USB dongle giving him Internet access over 3G on his MacBook Pro. Excited to try it out, we hopped onto me.com and clicked the Find My iPhone link.

“Your iPhone is not connected to a data network or does not have Find My iPhone enabled.”

Well, crap. I guess all bets are off if the thieving person has the bright idea to turn the iPhone off. Oddly the phone still rang when we called it, suggesting it wasn’t off; but, one way or the other, it was unable to broadcast itself to Apple so I could track it down. We sent a message to the phone – “CALL 512-796-xxxx” – but no luck. The MobileMe website said it would send me an email when the message had been displayed, but no email arrived.

Dejected, we prowled the bar one more time, but it wasn’t that big a place and there weren’t any places for the phone to be hiding. Game over. We went back to the hotel and I was disconsolate. This morning we checked again with no additional luck, and when Mark tried dialing the phone around noon, it *did* go straight to voicemail. The odds of ever seeing the phone again were slim to say the least.

After lunch, while at the Lego convention, I checked my email…

Holy crap! I jumped back to me.com and clicked Find My iPhone again, and to my absolute shock and amazement, it displayed Google Maps and drew a circle around Medill St.:

The block was about four or five miles west of the bar. It was too perfect to be a random glitch.

I sent a second message to the phone, slightly more to the point: “This phone is missing. Please call 512-796-xxxx to return it. $50 reward.” Almost immediately I received a second confirmation email that it had been displayed on the phone. And yet, the minutes ticked by and no call was coming. I kept refreshing the location, and though the circle varied in size, it kept floating around that same block, five miles west of the bar.

The Lego convention was drawing to a close and it was time for the closing ceremony. But I wasn’t about to spend an hour sitting through awards and Lego-themed thank-you speeches while my poor lost iPhone sat in some random Chicago neighborhood. So we packed my Lego creations, tossed them in the rental car, and drove from Wheeling back into town. Mark reestablished his trusty Sprint connection and as we drove, every five minutes, he refreshed the location. The phone wasn’t moving. It appeared to be in a row of buildings on the north side of Medill St.

We parked along Medill and hopped out. It was a Puerto Rican neighborhood. On the south side of the street, an outdoor birthday fiesta was convening, and some of the participants eyed us three honkeys questioningly. Now at this point I had no fricking clue how we would find the phone; did I think I’d find it under a bush? I certainly didn’t plan to go door-to-door, nor did I expect the cops to regard a blue circle around the entire block as sufficient cause for a search warrant. I sent a third message to the phone that I’d been formulating in my head: “We have tracked the phone to Medill St. and are locating it. Please call 512-796-xxxx to help us and claim a reward.” Short version: WE KNOW WHERE YOU ARE.

In a burst of inspiration, I took Mark’s computer with me as we walked down the block, figuring the recipient of the message might see us prowling the area with an open laptop and realize we meant business. I kept refreshing; the circle kept hovering; but it still stretched across the entire block, and worse, this included a big apartment building.

Suddenly Mark called my number – the umpteenth time he’d tried – and to our shock, somebody answered! He immediately passed the phone to me, but by the time I could say hello, the person on the other side had hung up. DAMMIT! I knew we were on the trail, but as we walked up and down that block of Medill for the third time, I had no idea how we’d get any closer. I pictured the possibility of driving away from the neighborhood knowing my iPhone was around. It was more frustrating than having had no idea where it was. I pulled up Google Translate, and sent a 4th message to the phone: “Por favor, devuelva el teléfono o nos pondremos en contacto con la policía.” The email confirmations were arriving immediately in my Inbox, meaning our threats were showing on the phone’s screen in real time.

Then an amazingly lucky thing happened. I refreshed the iPhone location and the circle moved, to the corner of the block, and shrunk in size to maybe 100 feet across. I waited a minute and refreshed again. The small circle had shifted southward down Washtenaw.

“THAT WAY!”

Us three skinny white guys walked at a rapid pace in the direction of the circle. We moved past the birthday party, curious if one of the participants might be culpable, but the circle again shifted farther south. I was ready to break for our car if the phone started moving away faster than we could catch it, but it hovered at the very end of the street, at the corner of Washtenaw and Milwaukee:

Ryan and Mark raced ahead, literally making a flanking maneuver to the left and right, as I approached the intersection.

I clicked Refresh. The circle moved again. It was directly over the bus stop on the south side of Milwaukee Avenue.

I yelled and pointed.

Now, put yourself in the shoes of the iPhone thiever who will momentarily be entering the story. You might have told yourself, “Hey, free iPhone!” the night before. You might have seen the gently-threatening messages and ignored them, maybe even scoffed. Then the phone told you it was on Medill St. It talked to you in Spanish. And you saw three skinny white guys prowling in the street with a laptop computer open.

So you take off down the road, and to your shock and horror, the honkeys follow you. You stand at your local bus stop, expecting to lose them. And they converge on your location from across the intersection, the bald one with the laptop yelling and pointing at you. You probably think the angels of death have found you.

He sheepishly waved me over.

“Have you got it?” I asked as I marched up to the guy, acting far more intimidating than I felt. Our iPhone-pilfering friend apparently works at the sketchy bar, and as he fished around in his bag, he gave a questionable alibi about having found the phone, intending to return it, but being intimidated by “all these scary-looking messages” that kept popping up on the display. “Um, yeah, those were from me,” I replied curtly. He pulled my phone out, totally unharmed, and handed it over. I resisted the urge to giggle.

I shook his hand – Lord knows why I did that – and the three of us walked off. We laughed triumphantly, adrenaline racing, feeling like the Jack Bauer trio. (Disregard the fact that we’d just left a Lego convention.)

I’d been amazed that the phone had enough battery life to make it through the night and still beam its location; the moment its battery was dead, then it would be game over for our little scavenger hunt. I unlocked my phone and saw almost 20 missed calls. And then, at that very moment, the iPhone shut down and displayed the “Connect to power” icon. My phone’s battery literally hung on until the second it was in my hand. I wuv you, iPhone.

All said and done, it was almost worth losing the phone just for the thrill of finding it like this. We want to pitch a reality show to the Discovery Channel: “Phone Hunters.” It certainly felt like we were in one there for a second.

And that, my friends, is why the MobileMe service is worth the damn money. It’s been around for just over seven years and it FINALLY got a killer feature.

A few thoughts on our successful effort:
- If the man hadn’t made a break for it down the street, we probably never would have been able to find him. Oh well, his loss.
- Yes, we sent a real number, not actually 512-796-xxxx.

A few bugs we found with the Find My iPhone process:
- Even though iPhone’s alert notification plays whether it’s on vibrate or not, it still obeys the ringer volume – so you can still, regrettably, keep it from playing. Also it’s a lighter daintier sound effect than we’d prefer for locating something by sound. Hell, I’d prefer it if I could take pictures, play my iTunes library, and tase whoever was holding it.
- There’s no real reason MobileMe shouldn’t push the location to us; needing to refresh the location repeatedly on the webpage was silly.
- None of this would have been possible without Mark’s 3G USB dongle for his MacBook. The biggest single problem is that you can’t use me.com from the iPhone, meaning you can’t find one iPhone using another. Hopefully Apple realizes this.

Responses to some of the comments made:
- The references to race are for two purposes:
First, to be self-deprecating about how little we actually looked like a bad-ass iPhone tracking team;
Second, to establish how much we stood out in this particular neighborhood.
Besides a bit of self-mockery, I don’t think I said or implied a single negative thing about anyone’s race.
- Yeah, we could have called the cops, and they probably would have yawned. Granted, in retrospect, chasing after a thief isn’t the MOST prudent thing to do, but in the moment we had our adrenaline going and sure as hell weren’t just going to watch the little circle recede into the distance.

Do you ever have those days? When you sit back and simply pray, “God, give me wisdom.” That’s today for me. Don’t get me wrong: it’s not a bad day. In fact, today was a good day. Just a day for wisdom.

You see, as a pastor, you carry a burden that few can understand. God has called me to shepherd a unique group of people. A diverse group. Each one has their struggles; their insecurities; their weaknesses. As well, each has their gifting; their passions; their convictions.

I love each one of them. I love their diversity. When others get frustrated and want to give up on one of them, I want to see them grow into the person God has called them to be.

Yet, it takes wisdom. And far too often, I am lacking in that area. So, I sit here, overlooking the Ottawa River, writing this post on my iPhone, and I pray for the amazing people I am blessed to pastor.

And … I pray for wisdom.

Coming home from Costa Rica was a bit of a challenge. Brit’s flight had been booked through the EF program (she was in CR doing their program). For some reason (read: saving money), they had her booked on a crazy schedule. She left CR at 6:30 am, headed to Houston for a few hour stopover. Then on to Chicago and a four hour stop over. Then a change from Continental to Air Canada for a final flight to Montreal. She was scheduled to land in Montreal around 10 pm. We then had to drive from Montreal to Ottawa. To make our first flight, we were up at 3 am and at the airport by 4:30 am. We didn’t get to bed until after 2 am the next day.

Heather and I tried our best to match Brit’s flight, but were only successful in traveling as far as Houston with her. From there, we headed to Cincinnati and then to Montreal. We arrived a few hours before Brit and waited for her.

Going through four different airports in one day is rather interesting. One thing really jumped out at me. And that was how different the level of service we found.

When we arrived at the airport in San Jose, we were greeted by a friendly person who processed our boarding passes with a smile on their face. It was 4 am, but you wouldn’t have known it by the attitude of everyone working at the airport. Signs clearly directed us where to go to get on our plane.

We experienced the same level of service when we arrived in Houston. The airport was so beautifully laid out and the staff so friendly, that we assured Brit that there was nothing to be nervous about as she ventured off for the rest of her trip without us. “Just find a friendly face if you are unsure where to go.” We told her.

Cincinnati (and Chicago for Brit) introduced us to more friendly faces and detailed signage. It was great.

Then we landed in Montreal. The gate used by our plane was at the far end of the airport, in an area still under construction. While there were a few signs, they were not clearly visible to us. There was no one greeting us. In fact, as we walked the five minute walk from our gate to customs, we saw not one airport staff member. All we had going for us were small signs that were not very clear.

After we picked up our baggage, we wondered if we could take the luggage to our vehicle and then come back into the baggage area to wait for Brit. Her bags were quite heavy (she had been living in CR for a year, after all), and I wanted to help her get them. I looked around for a staff member to ask if we could come back into that area, and still had trouble finding someone. Finally, I noticed someone walking quickly through the area. I rushed over to her and began to ask her my question, but she simply kept walking. I had to walk beside her in order to get her to even address my question. Her response? “Don’t be crazy, you can’t come back through customs.” And with that, she sped off, not waiting to see if there was something else I needed.

Are Canadians that pathetic when it comes to providing good service? The contrast between the airport in Montreal and the American and Costa Rican airports was startling. Heather and I spent two hours sitting in the baggage area, not wanting to leave customs until Brit arrived, watching people deplane. Over and over we saw puzzled faces, confused people, and no one – not one single staff member there to assist.

What’s your experience with this kind of thing?

As many of you know, I have a daughter who was living in Costa Rica for the past year. Well, ten days ago, Heather and I headed to CR to enjoy the country and then bring her home.

It was quite the experience.

We started out stuck in Syracuse overnight, when our flight was cancelled (without any notice from the airline). It turned out not too bad, mind you, when they put us into Business Class for the trip. A guy could get used to Business Class!

Costa Rica is a beautiful country. We rented a car so that we could enjoy things first hand. Note: renting a car in CR is not for the faint of heart! Traffic laws are really just suggestions … it took me a few days, but soon enough, I was driving like a local! Well, close, anyway.

We spent the first few days in San Jose, and then headed out to explore the rest of the country. First, we drove through “Cloud Forest” … interesting, to say the least. Imagine driving through dense fog, on a narrow highway, on a road that has no shoulders, and cliffs that drop hundreds of feet. Fun. We spent a few days at the foot of the world’s second most active volcano. Yes, it spewed lava. Yes, it was awesome to see.

From there, we headed to the Pacific coast for a few days of R&R at an all-inclusive. I was amazed at how warm the ocean was. I was also amazed at how greedy the ocean is … when I lost my $350 prescription sunglasses in the waves. Yeah … fun.

The best part of the trip? Bringing home my little girl. Having her back here in Ottawa with us. I missed her. I missed her laugh. I missed hugging her.

It’s good to have family home.

Well, this trip hasn’t started out exactly the way we expected it would. We arrived at the Syracuse airport at 11 am, fully expecting to board our plane. Marty & Roxanne, who had driven us here, left to head home.

However, we quickly learned that our flight had been cancelled. The airline claims they called last night, but they never did. Or at least, they didn’t leave a messge.

Anyway, the next available flight isn’t until tomorrow morning! So, it’s a night of hanging in Syracuse. Good thing they have an Apple Store here!

I read a great blog from a very witty biker in the U.S. … and his post today connected two of my biggest passions … I HAD to repost it.

Harley Davidson, The Geek Squad, and Mac Computers

What do Harley Davidson, The Geek Squad, and Mac computers have in common?  Well, there definitely is a relationship.  It’s deep.  It’s passionate.  And it isn’t all good.  Please allow me to explain.

A few weeks ago, I was cruising down the interstate on my Harley Davidson Road Glide.  Lost in my thoughts, listening to AC/DC belting out You Shook Me All Night Long, that big V-Twin just a hammerin’ away. . . heaven.  Pure, unadulterated Heaven.

Then my left speaker went out.

Well, that’s OK, I thought.  The bike’s still under factory warranty.  So, two hours later, I wheeled in to a HD dealership and explained the issue.  Duncan, the service manager, was polite and understanding.  Within no time I had a better set of speakers installed in my bike.  I did pay for the upgraded speakers, but he waived the labor costs since the original issue was a warranty issue.

It was painless.  It was easy.  It made me feel so good about Harley Davidson that I almost offered to pay for the labor anyway.  Almost.

Then, after a nice long ride, I return home.  I fire up my laptop computer, and discover that my Wi-Fi is no longer working.  Suck! I’d purchased that laptop; a Windows operated XP, about the same time as when I purchased that Road Glide.

So, off I go to Best Buy where I purchased the rascally little machine.  I bring the computer up to the counter of The Geek Squad.  The little nerd behind the counter reassures me that within three to five days, everything will be fixed and wonderful.  The only thing that sucked was that he needed $213 up front to cover the diagnostic and repair.

I reluctantly paid it.

Three weeks later (not three to five days later!) I finally received the call that the computer was fixed.  I picked it up, brought it home, fired it up, and, yep, you guessed it – no Wi-Fi.  To make a long story short, I ended up throwing the laptop in the closet after finally figuring out I had a bad motherboard and dead Wi-Fi card, and somehow I charmed Geek Squad into refunding me the $213 (and trust me, that took some charm!), and the final kicker?  I went and bought a Mac today.

Wouldn’t it be great if Harley sold computers?  They could install a tiny little v-twin motor to drive the fan to keep the hard-drive cool.  Think about it.  Every time you started your Harley computer you would hear this high-pitched little girl motor sound singing potato-potato-potato-potato.

Unless it was a Mac.  Then it would sound like a regular Harley of course.