Objects are larger than they appear.

I’m not sure if I’ve been able to effectively communicate the scale of the operation witnessed during our visit to the Farmersburg Coal Mine. Through the magic of Google Maps, I will now whisk you away to a land of enchantment and heavy machinery.

This view shows piles of coal on the north side of the mining operation, waiting to be loaded onto the train:


View Larger Map

This shows the section that is currently being mined. This area will be largely depleted within the next few months, and then they will walk (yes, walk) the dragline cross-country to a new location:


View Larger Map

We’re beginning to zoom in on the dragline:


View Larger Map

Here we see the dragline up close. The tiny vehicle to the southeast of it? Yeah, that’s a pickup truck:


View Larger Map

Sadly, there is no Google Street View available.

Coal is a local resource.

On Saturday Kate and I tagged along with the Indiana University Geology Club, and went on a guided tour of the Farmersburg Coal Mine. I spent much of last semester developing WattBot, a design argument that is decidedly opposed to the usage of coal for electricity, but it was impossible to walk away from this operation without being impressed.

The jewel of the tour was the Bucyrus-Erie 2570-W dragline, an enormous crane-shovel hybrid with a bucket the side of a bus, and a mechanical unit the size of an office building. They use this machine to remove overburden, a word that means “everything that stands between you and the coal seam.”

Approaching the Dragline

We got to step up into the dragline as it was in operation, and watch as Russ gracefully dug holes with a bucket that weighs 253,000 pounds when empty.

Dragline Bucket

I could go on, but I lack the words to describe the sheer scale of this machine. Rather, check out the videos below.

This is from the cockpit of the dragline:

This is a walking tour of the machine room. The dragline runs completely on electricity, and as we staggered through it we were constantly being buffeted by hot blasts of air. The two coils of cables are the boom drum and the drag drum, which control the bucket. Don’t miss the grill, which was cooking a hearty soup:

In this shot we’re outside, between the booms. That tiny yellow vehicle on the left, just beyond where the dragline is dumping its load? Yeah, that’s a full-sized bulldozer:

Finally, here’s an overview of the controls, should you ever find yourself in a cinematic situation where the fate of mankind depends on your secret dragline skills:

This Ain’t Yo’ Mama’s Press Release

But it is ours. Hooray for fame!

Now if only I could hire someone to help me cash all these giant cardboard checks…

UPDATE: The IU Home Pages newsletter for Indiana University has picked up our story!

Things About Which I Am Exciteding.

A few notes before Kate and I dash out the door for spring break.

I am really enjoying the new shows that Phish played last weekend. According to The New York Times, Phish loved Phish circa 1995. I, too, loved Phish circa 1995, and I’m glad that’s the Phish they’re bringing back. And geez, that’s a fast turnaround in getting those shows online! Props to Brian Cash for the find.

I love my SIGG water bottle. It’s obvious they put a lot of work into getting the shape to feel just right on your mouth. The fine smoothness of the threads, the volume of the lip around the edge… kudos.

sigg

During the little free time I have each day, I can’t stop playing Zen Bound:

zenbound

Beast Pieces is the amazing blog of Studio On Fire, a letterpress company in Minneapolis who does work so beautiful it makes me want to drop out of school and sort California job cases all day.

beastpieces

Our group got into CHI, which means our six-page extended abstract will be published at an academic conference. In April we will be traveling to Boston to present our design for WattBot, a home electricity feedback system, in front of some of the most awesomest people in human-computer interaction. Here’s a preview of our poster:

wattbot-poster

Have a good spring break, ya’ll!

UPDATE: Yup, it is just a coincidence. Our proposed WattBot system is by no means affiliated with Wattbot, a home energy advisor that is available for realz!

Collapsing Navigation in jQuery

collapsing-nav-screenshot

Accordion menus, collapsing navigation, f’eh. Everyone’s got their own version, including the one native to jQuery UI. I’ve never really been satisfied with any of them, however, so I took a stab at rolling my own. I built it in two versions, one that only allows you to have one navigation section open one at a time, and one that allows multiple sections.

If you have poor impulse control and just want to skip to the code demos, you can check out the implementations here:

Stylized “One-At-A-Time” Collapsing Navigation
Stylized “Many-At-A-Time” Collapsing Navigation

Making the magic sauce.

Here’s the basic code that makes it happen. I’ll only outline the “one-at-a-time” implementation here, but the “many-at-a-time” version is remarkably similar. All these code examples are available on the demo pages as well.

First, use this HTML code, or something similar to it. Basically, what you need is a series of double-nested unordered lists with the proper ID.

<ul id="collapsing-nav">
	<li><span>Main Nav One</span>
		<ul>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav One</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Two</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Three</a></li>
		</ul>
	</li>
	<li><span>Main Nav Two</span>
		<ul>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav One</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Two</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Three</a></li>
		</ul>
	</li>
	<li><span>Main Nav Three</span>
		<ul>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav One</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Two</a></li>
			<li><a href="#">Sub Nav Three</a></li>
		</ul>
	</li>
</ul>

Next, these are the raw CSS styles that you’ll need to create the effect. Once you understand what’s going on, feel free to customize these rules however you see fit.

<style type="text/css">
	ul#collapsing-nav li a {
		color: #00f;
		text-decoration: underline;
	}

	ul#collapsing-nav li a:hover {
		color: #f00;
	}

	body.enhanced ul#collapsing-nav span {
		color: #00f;
		text-decoration: underline;
	}

	body.enhanced ul#collapsing-nav span:hover {
		color: #f00;
		cursor: pointer;
	}

	body.enhanced ul#collapsing-nav li.selected span,
	body.enhanced ul#collapsing-nav li.selected span:hover {
		color: #000;
		cursor: default;
		text-decoration: none;
	}
</style>

Finally, insert this JavaScript in the <head> of your HTML page. Also, grab a copy of jQuery and make sure this code points to that file as well.

<script type="text/javascript" src="jquery.js"></script>
<script type="text/javascript">
function collapsing_nav() {
	$("body").addClass("enhanced");
	$("#collapsing-nav > li:first").addClass("selected");
	$("#collapsing-nav > li").not(":first").find("ul").hide();
	$("#collapsing-nav > li span").click(function() {
		if ($(this).parent().find("ul").is(":hidden")) {
			$("#collapsing-nav ul:visible").slideUp("fast");
			$("#collapsing-nav > li").removeClass("selected");
			$(this).parent().addClass("selected");
			$(this).parent().find("ul").slideDown("fast");
		}
	});
}
$(collapsing_nav);
</script>

The above code adds an “enhanced” class to the <body> element, marks the first navigation section in the unordered list with a “selected” class, and hides all the remaining sections. When the user clicks on a section heading it hides any open navigation sections, reveals the section that corresponds to the clicked heading, and marks that section as selected.

If you want to see this basic code in action, visit the basic demo page or download these code examples for your own nefarious purposes.

There are a few things that make this collapsing navigation better than a lot of the other crud out there. While I certainly wouldn’t purport that this is the best of the best, I’ve found it to be perfectly suitable for many of my purposes.

It’s easy to implement and customize.

Just add the proper ID to a double-nested unordered list with the proper HTML markup, and you’re good to go. You’ll have to do some work with the CSS to get it to look good and behave just the way you want, but in the basic code example I’ve sketched out the behavioral CSS scaffolding that you’ll need to get off the ground. In the designed example I’ve compartmentalized the CSS rules across a few files, to clearly delineate what code applies to the navigation, and what is purely ornamentation.

It’s compatible.

I’ve tested these examples and they work perfectly in Safari 3.2.1, Firefox 3.0.6, Opera 9.63 and Internet Explorer 7.0. They work in IE 6.0 as well, with one small caveat: IE6 doesn’t support the :hover pseudo-class on any element other than <a> elements, and since the section headings use spans instead of hyperlinks, the hover state doesn’t work. This is a bummer, but if you tweaked the JavaScript to add an “ie-hover” class to the <span> element on hover, and if you defined that class in the CSS, you could totally work around this. For me it isn’t worth the effort, as I believe that IE6 users should be forced to browse the web in constant agony. For you, this activity could be a learning experience.

It’s lightweight.

Simply bring in 46KB of jQuery hotness, and the JavaScript and CSS to make this puppy work weighs less than 5KB.

It degrades gracefully with JavaScript turned off.

All nested lists are displayed wide open by default, so all navigation items are available to the user. Additionally, when JavaScript is disabled the section headings are not hyperlinked and are not clickable, as one would reasonably expect, considering that the only reason they should be clickable is to toggle the list. Without JavaScript to collapse and uncollapse the navigation, the hyperlink would serve no purpose other than to confuse the user. Indeed, if something isn’t clickable in a particular use case, it shouldn’t have an affordance that suggests otherwise. This lack of attention to detail in so many slipshod JavaScript snippets annoys me to no end.

I achieve this effect by using <span> elements (rather than <a> elements) to wrap the first-level list items. These spans could certainly be replaced by something like a header element that would more semantically descriptive, but such is a task I leave up to the reader. Then, with JavaScript I add an “enhanced” class to the <body> element, which calls in the basic CSS styles that control the presentation of the first-level list items and make them behave as clickable headings. This abstraction of presentation and behavior ensures that the collapsing navigation works as expected in most cases, and that those browsing without JavaScript will enjoy an experience unsullied by irrelevant controls.

It behaves the way you think it should.

Which is more than you can say about a lot of collapsing menus out there.

The section headers aren’t clickable when they shouldn’t be clickable, such as when they’re already expanded in the “one-at-a-time” example, or in cases where JavaScript is disabled.

As with all of the things I design these days, I didn’t start with code when I set out to build this navigation. I started with sketching, which helped me better grasp the behavioral requirements of such a navigation scheme.

collapsing-nav-sketches

Sketching helped me realize one core problem that needed to be solved, that the first item in the list needed to be expanded by default. Indeed, there’s no reason that all navigation items should start out closed, as that’s lazy and inane. Second, this offers an affordance to the user, suggesting the behavior that can be expected from the other navigation items.

So that’s that. Visit the demo page to see the hotness stylized, or check out the basic code that makes the magic happen.

Just Another Day In HCI/d

Yesterday we celebrated Jeff’s birthday in his favorite “Hello Kitty Goth” fashion. Binaebi and Emily baked him a pink watermelon Jell-O cake, and Lynn got him, among other things, a pink balloon that said “Princess”. This was in reference to an email that Lynn had sent him once, where she accidentally called him “Dr. Bardzell.” He replied that never, under any circumstances, should anyone call him “Dr. Bardzell.” Further, one could go so far as to call him “Princess Pumpkin” on his birthday, but never “Dr. Bardzell.”

And so, Princess. Meanwhile, Brandon rickrolled Jeff the moment he walked in the door. The entire event was all very experience-y and was definitely “an experience,” as defined by Dewey. Perfectly appropriate for our Experience Design class.

Type

Three weeks ago, I packed up my Subaru and left Minneapolis in one heck of a hurry. It was Monday, we had just been socked by a winter storm over the weekend, and another one was forecasted to hit on Tuesday. Thus, making it back to Bloomington in a timely fashion required that I gracefully duck between competing storm systems. Just as when I drove to Minneapolis for winter break. Just as when we drove to Madison for Thanksgiving.

My plans in Bloomington were about as time-sensitive as they were ambitious. As soon as I arrived home I placed myself under house arrest and spent the next two days writing and typing. Indeed, twelve hours a day I did nothing but write, drink green tea, and draw down the already-vanquished stores of our refrigerator.

Today we learned that all our hard work finally paid off. Our extended abstract paper for the CHI 2009 Student Design Competition got accepted, and we will be presenting at the CHI conference in Boston this April. We spent the bulk of last semester working on this project, and after a series of fits and starts and upsets came upon the idea for WattBot, an energy usage feedback monitor for the home. Enormous thank yous and shout outs to everyone who helped make this possible.

Meanwhile, this semester is off to a strong start. In one class we’re working on designing a new wayfinding/wayshowing system for downtown Bloomington, and in another class we’re getting all philosophical about what “experience” actually means in the context of HCI. I’m also taking a typography class in the School of Fine Arts that continues to blow my mind every day. We sketch letter forms and talk about counters and tittles and finials, and bask in the glow of 46 new Gothams. Tomorrow we will start working in the type shop with real mechanical type, and I will probably pee my pants the first time I open a California Job Case.

On the weekend Kate and I have gotten out hiking at McCormick’s Creek State Park and Brown County State Park, and we are duly impressed with the quality of outdoors available in Indiana. There is some beautiful country tucked into this state, and kudos to Indiana for doing such a wonderful job maintaining their parks and trails. Indeed, we will vehemently defend this bluff country from any west coast douche bag who wants to talk smack.

UPDATE: Yup, it is just a coincidence. Our proposed WattBot system is by no means affiliated with Wattbot, a home energy advisor that is available for realz!

Works Cited

I’ve been running an intellectual marathon for the last four months, but today things have finally calmed down enough to get my wits back about me. After spending Monday and Tuesday under house-arrest writing twelve hours a day, our team has finally submitted our paper for the 2009 CHI Student Design Competition.

The CHI conference is kind of a big deal in the research and academic community, and it’s where a lot of the intellectual powerhouses in human-computer interaction like to hang out. Don’t beat yourself up if you haven’t heard of it, though. I have been violently active in the web design industry since 2003 and I went to SXSW three years in a row, and I had never even heard of CHI until enrolling in the HCI/d program at Indiana University.

And this program. Wow. I felt like I was on a reality show for much of the first semester. My mind was destroyed, quite literally destroyed at a few points during the last few months, and let me tell you how great it feels to finally be on the other side. That said, I believe it had to happen. Even given the fairly sophisticated understanding of design I already had upon entering this program, I realize now just how naïve I still was.

So I’m better. Now. I grew a beard, and I shaved it off after it had served its purpose.

Schmortfolio.

In other news, I updated Brainside Out with a new online portfolio, in my quest to fetch coffee and shine shoes as an interaction design intern somewhere this summer. All the old versions still exist, including Terra, Rosco and the old weblog Siskiwit, but I wanted to revamp the whole thing to better reflect where I am right now, and where I think I am going.

The process of building it is a story unto itself, but I can offer the Cliffs Notes version right here, right now. In planning out the portfolio I wanted to feature my work, certainly, but I didn’t want to do so in a cookie-cutter sort of way. I realized that I have worked on a ton of incredibly diverse projects, and the last thing I wanted to do in sharing them was shoehorn this eclectic collection into a standard portfolio template. You know the drill: header, screenshot, description. Lorem ipsum, only with more references to branding and marketing.

It took discipline, but I forced myself to describe each project, and write out the primary content for each before putting down a single line of code. I collected all my photographs, sketches and screenshots. I re-photographed all my sketches, on a day when the low winter sun was shining perfectly through our deck door. I dragged our dining room table into the living room, shined it up with Pledge to bring out its wonderful wood texture, and stood on a chair with my camera photographing paper. Why not a scanner? Because design is deliberate, man.

I created sketches of what I wanted the layout of the portfolio to look like, of course. However, I wanted the design to emerge from the content it would be cradling, not the other way around. Thus, each of my primary projects came out with its own unique layout, as determined by the work itself. Jason Santa Maria’s latest website turned out to be a huge inspiration for me, and while my work can’t hold a candle to his, I can still recognize a real man of genius when I see one.

Better push up your nerd glasses.

The technical underpinnings are fun, and I’ll give ’em to ya even though they hardly define the experience of the website. Brainside Out uses Blueprint CSS for its pixel-perfect grid layout, and it is served up by the lightweight CodeIgniter PHP application framework. I maintain the codebase in a Subversion repository hosted at Beanstalk, which I interact with via Versions for OS X. I wrote all the XHTML and CSS by hand in TextMate, which I will continue to do until someone convinces me that I can do the same work in CSSEdit, only ten times faster.

Cabel Sasser’s FancyZoom made the killer image effects possible. Any other JavaScript wizardry is courtesy of Prototype, if only because no matter how hard I try, I cannot wrap my brain around the documentation for jQuery. Believe me, if I could learn how to do what I needed to do with a 56KB JavaScript framework, I would be all over it.

While the entire site works perfectly in Internet Explorer 7, I had initially hidden all but most the basic Blueprint CSS styles from Internet Explorer 6. I tested extensively in IE7, but since I couldn’t get my standalone installation for IE6 to identify as anything but IE7, I was unable to test compatibility until I configured a fresh install of Windows XP under VMware Fusion. Once that was settled, however, I was startled to discover that nearly everything rendered just fine in IE6. So, for all 7% of you who browse Brainside Out in Internet Explorer 6, you’re welcome.

That said, I did try to fix the transparent PNGs in IE6 using this handy script, but ultimately abandoned said efforts. There were a few isolated rendering glitches, where a normal PNG <img> would stretch to fill the full width of its containing element, and the fix didn’t behave well with FancyZoom. Hey, I tried.

Future work.

So anyway, that’s where all that has been. My time back in Minneapolis over winter break was wonderful, Kate is on her way back from Hawaii as we speak, and our new semester starts in three days.

Let’s make this a good one.

Your Darkest Hour, Part III: Shattered and Healed

In January 2004 I started my job as a phone support jockey for a small web software company. Five days a week, eight-or-more hours a day, I went to a regular job and got a regular paycheck. I didn’t want to give up all my privileges at the mountain, however, including good friends, a season pass and bragging rights, so I continued to work as a snowboard instructor on the weekend.

Every Saturday and Sunday I would wake up early, catch the employee bus, and spend my weekend teaching kids how to snowboard. This went on for two months, where I would literally work for thirty days in a row before I happened to get a day off. On a fateful day in March it turned out we had too many instructors scheduled for the afternoon, so I finally got to clock out and go riding.

I was ecstatic. When you’re an instructor you’re on the mountain every day, but you’re always limping around the bunny hill and softly cursing under your breath. The opportunities to ride for fun are few and far between, so my friend and I quickly snatched up this rare gift and went straight for the terrain park. I was blowin’ huge and hitting everything, kickers, rails and the like, and I was lining up to throw down some serious air on the spine.

A spine in a terrain park is a very steep jump, perhaps twelve feet in height, that is sharp at the top like a shark’s fin. The intent is that your forward speed gets converted into upward motion. You ride up the launch side, pop nearly straight up in the air, and ride down the landing side. It’s almost like a half pipe, only you don’t need to spin around for your landing.

I was going hard at the spine, giving myself plenty of speed so I could really get up there this time. I hit the launch, but instead of going up I got shot straight out over the flats. Here I am, fifteen feet in the air over completely flat snow, with no transition for my landing. Shit. I waved my arms to reorient my body, “rolling the windows down” as we call it, shifted my weight onto my back leg so I could land the tail of my snowboard first, and hopefully cushion my impact.

The tail hit hard. I felt a snap in my back leg, and my body hit the snow in a sickening heap. I knew immediately that I had broken something, so I crawled to the edge of the run to avoid getting hit by any other errant, irresponsible riders. My friend rode up, and I told her to go call ski patrol.

I sat and waited for fifteen minutes, feeling like an idiot. The patroller showed up, and he packaged me in a yellow tarp on an orange sled, and dragged my sorry ass off the mountain. At the mountain clinic they x-rayed my leg, and sure enough I had broken my fibula, right at the top of my snowboard boot. The boot acted as a fulcrum, and my leg became a doomed see-saw.

fibula-01

It wasn’t a bad break, but it was enough to put me on crutches for eight weeks. I was done for the season, done at the mountain, and done with anything outdoor-related. The management at the mountain was understanding, and no doubt stoked that I broke myself off the clock so they weren’t financially responsible. They offered to reassign me as a yurt attendant, serving dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets to four-year-olds. I turned them down, as I already had a job and didn’t need the extra work. I wanted my knuckle-dragging friends. I wanted the free season pass. I wanted the social scene. Without snowboarding, though, all I wanted was to be left alone.

In a matter of moments I had gone from being incredibly busy and active in the outdoors, to being a bored shut-in. My roommate affectionately called me “Gimp”. At least I think it was affectionate. Just a few weeks prior I had bought a new car with a manual transmission. With my cast I sure as hell couldn’t operate a clutch, so every day I limped to work on my crutches. My co-workers bought me a bag of frozen corn. Forcing myself to remain inactive was one of the most difficult things I have ever done, and I knew I needed to find a new activity to stay occupied and keep my mind busy.

dsc02459

I decided to learn web design. All of it. I redesigned my personal website, and then I redesigned it again. And again. This was back during the CSS renaissance, when Doug Bowman, Eric Meyer, Jeffrey Zeldman, Dan Cederholm and Dave Shea were all actively inventing the techniques that we still use today. It was a very exciting, but also very frustrating, time to be a web designer. We still had to support Internet Explorer 5, and there were a few times, especially in regards to whitespace parsing errors, where I nearly jumped out a window as a result of that damn browser. Nevertheless, before long I was rarely answering telephone calls at my job, and instead carving up Photoshop comps into beautiful tableless XHTML/CSS.

I was so irrationally stubborn about working at the mountain that it took something as extreme as bodily injury to make me withdraw from that gambit, and to understand that working myself to the literal breaking point wasn’t a healthy way to live. I realized that if I depended not on my brain, but on this frail little body for my livelihood, that it could all be stolen from me in an instant. I knew I needed to do some intellectual investment in myself, and I used this new free time to refocus my priorities and crawl out of the trenches of phone support.

Indeed. The leg would heal, and it would be a beautiful summer.

dsc02809_2

End Part III. Review Part I or Part II.

Your Darkest Hour, Part II: Salvation

When I said that all I wanted to do for the winter of 2003-2004 was work as a ski town bum, I wasn’t being completely forthright.

As Hood River emptied out that fateful fall and all my surf bum friends left town, my life got real slow, real fast. I had a lot of time to ponder, I had just finished reading Zeldman’s Designing With Web Standards and Eric Meyer on CSS, and my experience tuning up the website at our windsurfing shop gave me the confidence that hey, I could probably do this web design thing professionally.

I looked up Portland design agencies. I lived on Monster.com. I researched every single outdoor sports company that interested me, and got into contact with them. By the time all was said and done, I had sent off more than a dozen resumes and cover letters to companies all over the west coast. Given my diverse experience and proven coding skills, I was confident that something would come up.

Nothing came up. All I got for my efforts was a friendly rejection card from Outside Magazine. I still have that card, and I still have my subscription to Outside, even though I’m not part of the Rolex-laden jet-setting adventurer demographic. From the other companies, though? Nothing. Not a peep. Not even an acknowledgment of receipt. Later I learned that this was the game, that perhaps I had an order of magnitude more work to go if I actually wanted to hear a response for someone.

So that didn’t work. Indeed, my life is full of these false starts, where I’m sure that this bearing, this here bearing that I’m holding right now, will take me to land. Many times it doesn’t happen, and I get turned and spun around and forget where I am, and drift lost and listless before bumping into something.

It was only after my brief interlude with this unbroken circle of rejection that I hatched the hair-brained scheme of working at a ski resort. And then it happened. And then I suddenly was employed by a ski resort, subsisting on hot cider and “40% off” fries, but not really working for a ski resort.

Landscaping. Despair. Another downward spiral. A picture of me clutching a McDonald’s apron in my tiny little fist.

I continued combing the Bend Bulletin’s online classifieds, and then without warning something came up. There was an opening for a web support specialist at a software company in Bend, that specialized in website management and targeted email marketing. I visited their website, which turned out to be a horrid face-stabbing mess, but by this point I had already fallen so far that I had no standards left. This company was obviously a spam house, and I was determined to become their new spamming telemarketer.

With these expectations I began filling out their online application form. It started out fine, requesting the usual personal information and job histories, but quickly descended into a carnival of the grotesque. After every submit button I was greeted by a new page filled by a fresh set of forms. This gauntlet of pain was made all the worse by the fact that whatever awful code they were using for their application process, it had disabled the delete key in my web browser.

After thirty minutes of agony, with no indication of how long I had left, I became increasingly snarky. I called them out on the delete key. I insulted their development team. I swore a lot. And damn if after all this they didn’t want me to explain, in detail, “How to build a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” I refused, I fucking refused, and instead told them how to supercool a can of Guinness. In all seriousness, this is what I pasted into my job application:

Say you want to spend your evening with a few cans of Guinness, because you live in the States and the only way you can get semi-decent Guinness is from a can. Have you ever been discouraged by the requirement that you must chill a can of Guinness three hours before cracking it open? Of course you have. Here’s a bad way to supercool your pint of Guinness, so you can enjoy it in less than an hour.

First live somewhere cold, have it be winter and have snow on the ground. Make sure you are really tired after a hard day at work, and fairly delirious. While still in your house take off your shoes and socks because you’re sick of wearing your shoes all day. Roll up your pants so you don’t get them crusted with snow. Grab a paper grocery bag and some mittens and head outside.

Be sure you have an old tin can of corn to prop the door open, so it doesn’t lock behind you and you need to walk around the entire building, though snow drifts, in your bare feet. Be sure you know how to use the tin can. Go outside, try repeatedly to prop door open, and flee back indoors every time your bare feet get too cold on the ice. When you finally have the door figured out, kneel down and fill the grocery bag with snow. Scamper back inside and dump the snow in your sink. Open Guinness four-pack and dump in snow. Fill sink with water, and turn snow into a superconductive slush.

Sit back and smile. You are a genius.

I expected nothing back, figuring I had put them in their place.

As it turns out, however, the company wasn’t a spam house at all. They were a small seven-person software shop that built web-based content management systems, and offered website development and hosting to regional businesses. They spent all their time working on building websites for paying customers, and ironically invested nothing in their own web presence. Despite their lousy web-facing appearance the company was legitimate, and I got an interview partially because I called them out on the delete key. My complaints had settled an age-old argument in the business, that fixing their delete bug in Opera was a waste of time because no one actually used Opera.

Once I learned about their business I was stoked. Seriously, working for a software startup? Unlimited snacks and soda? I didn’t care if I would be doing phone support for pissed-off customers, this was everything I wanted! Web design! Crazy, creative people! Small company! No hierarchy, no bureaucracy, no bullshit!

They offered me the job.

I was conflicted, though. This was everything I wanted, yes, but this was everything I wanted two months ago. I wanted to work for a web design shop in September, back during my resume bonanza, but now I wanted to be a snowboard bum and live on the mountain. The job was 40 hours a week, and they didn’t want to budge on that. They wanted commitment. The mountain was zero days a week right now, but would become seven days a week over the holidays. Right when the web company wanted to hire me on.

In a matter of days I went from nothing to nobody, to everything for everybody. I accepted the position, worked the holiday season at the mountain, and in early January started my job as a full-time web support specialist. It was bliss. In a matter of months I would find myself working as a full-time web designer, and soon I would be their marketing director.

But first, I needed to break my leg.

End Part II. Review Part I or read Part III.