Virtual Reality: the Toddler of Future Technology

VR (Virtual Reality) is being looked at as the future of technology and entertainment. Murmurings of VR have been around for years, but we are only now seeing it emerge in to our world with real potential.

A few weeks ago I found myself at a VR film festival in the heart of San Francisco thanks to a generous friend. As many events do in their wee baby forms, this festival was hosted at a nightclub. The space was half-lit and the cocktails were fruity. The lines were confusing and the people themselves were confused. I could not blame them, considering that many of them had large devices covering their eyes and ears. These people wobbled to and fro on their feet, giggling in soft manic undertones and apologizing to inanimate objects as they on knowingly jostled into them.

My exploration between pockets of onlookers brought up many questions about this new tech entertainment medium: “What is the difference between the Oculus head set and the other head sets? Where is the demonstration for Aladdin’s Magic Carpet Ride from Disney Quest in Florida? Which company here will be the first to admit they’re developing immersive virtual pornography? Is there a line for that somewhere?”

Ladies and gentlemen – the future.

 

I found a queue to stand in for a long while. It led to a green room where a couple more people with large boxes on their faces were smiling and saying “Woah” to no one.

“Excuse me” I asked, “Is this the line for the immersive volcano jumping experience?” I asked.

“No,” said the young man with a nervous laugh. “I don’t think there is one of those here.”

“Good.” I said. “That would be too scary for me.”

Following a series of nods and polite smiles with strangers, I finally made it to the front of the line. Another young man in a black shirt asked me which device I wanted to wait for. I chose the first one that was available, partially to appear like I was just happy to be there, but mostly because I didn’t know any difference.

The fellow in the black shirt spoke to me in a mumbled monotone, “Just sit here. You click the mouse to go forward and otherwise you can look around by moving your head. It’s an interactive social software, so you can meet people from around the world. You can play games with them or even just surf the internet with them.”

He placed the box over my face and then some headphones, and suddenly I was in a fancy room with no sense of the real world. My real ears were covered and so were my real eyes. There was hardly a hint of the noise coming from the real people that had been in the room with me. This new fake room was a little blurry around the edges, and I struggled not to feel too disoriented.

I frantically clicked the mouse and led myself in to a wall or two. There was a large fake television screen, and a big fake balcony over to the left overlooking a fake river. The room was full of floating robots, which I assumed was normal for a fake reality. Once I finished staring at the walls, I floated over to check out one of the robots, for observational purposes only. When it turned towards me and spoke at me with a human voice, the sense of panic rose quickly.

“Hi,” it said. It was the voice of a young male who sounded slightly uncomfortable at my forward approach. “Hi?” I responded, not even sure if it could hear me. The mouse couldn’t click me away fast enough.

It was like I had just waked in to a store to look at the clothing on a mannequin, but all of a sudden the mannequin was a bored sales assistant looking for commission pay. I hastily found another wall for my fake self to stare at and finally removed the VR device and head phones from my real cranium. With a quick Thank You Goodbye and a mixed feeling of nausea and relief at seeing people with real faces, I exited the green room and found another line to stand in.

This new line was for immersive films, in which we did not need to talk to strangers in robot form. I watched a movie called Butts, which was supposed to be about anxiety and depression but was really just about butts and some glitter. I highly recommend it.

VR is still in the stages of toddlerhood. There is a world of possibility within the medium that people are still exploring, but that does not mean it won’t cause some disorientation along the way. Perhaps I am not ready to meet people in the virtual world (put me in a bar with a drink or two and I’m much more suave. However, I do about the same amount of staring at walls), but I could get on board with the immersive film making experience for sure – even if it is about butts.

 

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Art vs. Tech in San Francisco

In the 60s, San Francisco was known as the City of Love. Streets abounded with hippies and orgies. Murals were painted using the dreadlocks of wanton hopefuls. Clothes were woven out of abandoned teddy bears and sea glass. It was a magical time – the rebirth of San Francisco and its new identity: A city of art, peace, and marijuana. Even now, just walk through the streets of Haight and Ashbury and you’ll find yourself back in the age of street art, revolutionary poster design, inspiring ceramics, custom jewelry, and professional thrifting.

Many aspects of the city have not changed, especially when it comes to the marijuana and orgies. Yet more and more artists are finding themselves displaced in the city as the technology industry trickles in. Let’s face it, one of the main reasons this is happening is due to the astronomical cost of living. After all, everyone knows that artists often have to live on very little. Imagine living on very little while also paying $30 for a pizza and $1200 rent per month to live in a literal closet – all while being surrounded by smiling yuppies with really white teeth who are all jogging with very happy dogs.

On the other hand, the tech industry has been a part of this area since before the .com boom. Many people have built themselves up on that microchip-filled proverbial rock. AskJeeves himself was born and died here. You can still visit his tomb right next to the Space Jam website.

Perhaps you’re one of the lucky in San Francisco who have found refuge under the somewhat financially stable blanket of the Tech Cloud. You’ve come with your own hopes to influence the city positively and spread your own kind of love.
Perhaps you are an artist seeking refuge from your expensive closet living and lack of studio space.

Either way, let’s please not forget that art can influence technology and vice versa (the Space Jam website is a profound example). Yuppies, get your big hearts out there with your cute jogging dogs and support a local artist. Yes, custom jewlery and home made ceramics are expensive, but it could be worth it knowing that you’re giving local talent the ability to stay in the area. Ask an artist about their work. Maybe they could give you useful guidance on aesthetic. You might ned it. If so, pay them for it.

Artists, let that good old fashioned San Francisco-bred love spill out of you like the paint on that rusty recycled car hood you’re using as a canvas for your latest project. Explore a start up. Get to know people who are creating from behind a computer screen. They could have some useful and influential insights.

As a city that takes pride in diversity and progression, there’s still a lot of talk lately about the spirit of San Francisco being forced out. The folks from the area may have the power to stop that from happening. Instead we can try to let it evolve in to a new kind of loving hippie era – one with fewer dreadlocks and peasant shirts, but perhaps with the same amount of self expression and a few more wax-tipped mustaches.

Support one another. Lift each other up (not literally please).
Keep the Bay Area weird.

Disclaimer: This blog entry is only partially motivated by my selfish desire to witness an app in which you can have food delivered to your house with custom artwork on the boxes and doggy bags. Well-developed pitch coming soon. All rights reserved by myself just because.

Ladies and Gentrification, Boys and Girls

There’s a term circulating around these parts lately, if you’ve heard: gentrification.
Now, unless you majored in anthropology in college, pride yourself on being a walking dictionary, or are a British sociologist from the 1960s, it’s likely that this term is not as familiar to you as your every day verbiage.

Gentrification is a phenomenon otherwise known as “Things are getting fancy.” When an area gets gentrified it means that many of the characteristics normal to the region (sometimes run down. Often, features unique to the area) gradually get replaced by other things that are more ‘upper class’ and / or that white people really love. For example: When the local dive bar gets replaced by an organic Asian-fusion tiki lounge, or when that alleyway previously known as The Neighborhood’s Natural Urban Toilet gets taken over by a series of pop-up thrift stores and craft coffee shops.

A human example of gentrification: Rugged normal man transformed via swimsuit coverup and Red Bull. White people love Red Bull.

It was not until recently that I witnessed this phenomenon first hand.

About a week ago I went to my favorite breakfast spot, a greasy spoon of a place that’s been in the neighborhood since the middle of the century. They have the best pancakes in the world there. They are fluffy, light and glorious, but not too cakey – the epitome of all things ever named hotcake. I was ready for them to be in my belly.

Up to the familiar doorway I strode. I’d even made sure I had enough cash on me, since they didn’t take credit (ah, classic). It appeared they’d made a new sign for themselves. Good for them – and in a nice minimalist sans serif typeface just reading ‘DINER’ – not what I’d pick immediately for their vibe but who doesn’t like a good taste of Gill Sans Light?
I swam through a curiously large flock of humans near the front door. Passing through the threshold I suddenly found myself looking in to a charming airy cafe reminiscent of Casa Blanca (note: I have never seen Casa Blanca).

“Excuse me,” I said. “Is this the Full House Diner?”

“It was,” said the pleasant blonde hostess, her demeanor bolstered by the extensive sensitivity training she probably had under her belt. “The owner retired and sold the business in February.”

“My God!” I cried. My head was reeling. “I haven’t consumed pancakes from this establishment in 7 months?!” My misguided neglect was appalling. The shame was apparent and bone-deep. I shed a single tear.

“The wait is about 30 – 45 minutes. Did you want to put your name down?”

Add a black and white filter and you’re immediately Humphrey Bogart

I surveyed the comfortable spacing of the tables. None of the booths had holes in their cushions. The walls did not sport any memories of bacon grease or splatters of coffee. Even the ceiling seemed higher, and – was that a skylight? The cafe’s sans serif logo stared up at me from its artfully laid out, perfectly laminated menu.
It was disgusting.

“Sure, why not?” I shrugged. She handed me a menu and penciled my name in to the finely organized sign-in sheet. I surveyed the situation with a new sparkle in my eye. Perhaps their sustainable organic pancakes would be lightly topped with a seasonal peach compote. Maybe they’d be peppered with cinnamon or a lemon and rhubarb drizzle and dolloped with homemade creme fresh. Perhaps they’d be called “Flapjacks.”

My eyes reached the end of the list. There was a hollow pit in my stomach that was not exclusively from hunger.
There were no pancakes.
This establishment did not have pancakes.
I was standing in a johnnycakes-less joint, a crepeless cafe, a hotcakeless hashery. If it weren’t for a lonely, pathetic whole wheat waffle starting out at me from the page I would have crumpled to the floor right then and there.

With a numbness in my fingertips I returned the menu to the podium. A light had gone out in my heart. Screw the skylight and the really, really nice ceiling fans. I wanted my sweaty greasy spoon back. I bet this new place’s coffee wasn’t even watered down… not to mention the diner was named after a tree. A tree we don’t even have in the East Bay. What nonsense.

Needless to say, I didn’t eat at Insert-Tree-Species-Here diner. I have little time for places that don’t consider pancakes to be a legitimate breakfast choice. Instead, I walked past a few boutique shops that had just opened up, passed a new gourmet popcorn store, and slumped in to the sticky bar stool of another diner down the road.

Sticky-bar-stool-diner pancakes were nothing compared to the magic that had once been Full House.
I wept, knowing that someday I’d probably go back to that fancy new cafe up the road. Despite my shame, I’d probably end up ordering that damned whole wheat waffle. It would probably be delicious.

SF, No Reservations: No, there really are no good restaurants that will take reservations

The Bay Area is a progressive region of the United States. We take pride in shaking things up: We make apps dedicated to securing street parking, sell “totally-and-completely-normal” brownies at free music festivals, purposefully challenge gender norms, and will protest any war by riding bicyles through the city while completely naked.

Years ago, one such progressive made a change to the SF Bay restaurant scene that no one will forget. 

“What?!” Shouted Franklin “CrankymcCrabbypants” Beauregard one evening outside Señor Guapo’s Pupuseria. “These people planned ahead? That’s absolutely preposerous. I think everyone should make sure they earn their time in the good restaurants of this town, see? Everyone should have to stand around for two hours during peak times just to get a look at the damned food! I want to feel like I’ve fought a valiant battle! I want my nose to be running and my bones to be quaking in this brisk June fog before I reach the warm embrace of shelter! Kids don’t know how to earn nothin’ these days!”

And with that, Mr. Beauregard spit his cigar out on the ground, adjusted his suspenders, and grabbed his pet teacup pig named Nancy. They stormed down the street, shouting and squealing about life’s difficulties (namely the stock market and the price people charge for gourmet pig slop – “Where can a pig get some decent organic food scraps these days?”) The restaurants in San Francisco and Oakland were never the same.

If you decide to explore a restaurant in San Francisco or Oakland and it happens to have any sort of positive name for itself, it might be best to check ahead of time if they take reservations. Better yet, if they have a positive reputation and they don’t take reservations, it might be wise to look in to a completely different location. There is nothing more frustrating on a first date than waiting 2 hours for macaroni and cheese. No matter how delicious the end product ends up being, Franklin Beauregard wasn’t kidding when he said the waiting would be a battle.

Unless you’ve snacked beforehand, the 1.5 hour wait before you pay $18 for a bowl of environmentally sustainable noodle soup will be a true test for your hanger. Suppress the hangry hulk. Just don’t let it break free.

Luckily, these things can usually be overcome with a positive mindset. And of course a couple of delicious $11 cocktails.