Part II: Hacking at Random
The following is Part II of V. Click for the beginning.
Off again. After four months in Montreal it was time to up the ante. With a one way ticket to Amsterdam, full knowledge of a terrible exchange rate (1.7 CAD = 1 EUR), and as few possessions as possible I was about to embark on a grand unplanned European adventure of a life time. First stop: hacking camp.
Nerds are amazing. I don’t know how many of you were the jerks who picked on us in high school—but let me tell you, the older I get, the more “vogue” it becomes to be a nerd. Travis Eden, who hit his high school popularity peak at my expense is still living with mom and pursuing a thrilling career in the concrete pumping industry. WHO’S COOL NOW TRAVIS!? PS: I made-out with your ex-girlfriend, yeah the one who dumped you.
The beautiful girls seem to be intrigued by a man who’s passionate about something, and we nerds are good at that. A past girlfriend of mine considered the simple act of talking about nerdy things foreplay. String a few sentences about particle accelerators, oscilloscopes, fluid dynamics, and space travel (in no particular order) “I voltage regulated a mosfet and impedance matched an inertial black hole while I was touring the large hadron collider babe.”
…and she was taking off her clothes. Nerds are hip.
The Dutch put together a hacker camp every four years. The brilliant minds from the hacker community bring out their finest laptops in the middle of the Dutch forest for a high tech camp out. I had been asked to appear to make my own contribution: a technical talk on the Eyeborg Project.
Cell phone networks hobbled together under “experimental” licenses were set up, lock picking seminars made everyone feel uneasy about their home security, laser extravaganzas lit up the night sky. Glowing quadracopters whooshed overhead while guys with names like “data wolf” assembled radio controlled and web enabled battle-tanks. Servers in retro-fitted port-a-potties sniffed the network traffic and listened for unencrypted passwords. At the last event a billboard displayed the passwords of those who weren’t savvy enough to keep them secure. …Shame on you for transmitting in plain-text.
Gigabit wireless internet was streamed over the campsite for the 2,500 attendees. The pimpled faces of campers glowed into the evening as they sat on lawn chairs and typed away on their laptops. They brought sound gear, lights, fog machines, and had “pseudo techno dance parties” roaring at all hours. I say pseudo because there were probably three girls in the whole place, so nobody danced, but it was a noble effort.
There were presentations on everything from building your own particle accelerator to eavesdropping on quantum cryptography. Rob and I presented “Eyeborg Project: Hacking the Human” to a delightful audience on the first day of the event.
When I started designing my talk it was pretty ambitious—touching on my own take on the future of humanity (a new messiah comes, builds a tower to the moon, and world hunger ends thanks to an almost infinite supply of moon-cheese.) I wanted to talk about cybernetics and the future of the mechanical man… but it became painfully apparent that your grandma with her artificial hip, pace maker, and hearing aid were about the closest thing to the bionic human mankind was ever going to achieve. I told a story instead, watch the presentation here.
Rob and I shared a small room with bunk beds, campers we were not. A lone fat Asian hacker was quarantined in the other small room—his snoring shook the walls. The “hackers on a plane” team had the larger surrounding dorm rooms- they brought plenty of whiskey, food, and network peripherals.
The experts were keeping me highly entertained: there was the guy who built the intense blinkey/sound glasses. They could simultaneously put me into a mental coma and made me want to vomit. Sasha, the security aficionado, who was so drunk he could barely stand, managed to tell a great story about defending credit card networks from hacking pirates.
I would have stayed for the whole event before I found Alice and we determined how well we got along, but the Dutch television show “Echt Niet” called. (Translates to: “really not” but according to the on-set hairstylist it’s more like “hell no.”) Anyone know anything about Dutch TV? Me neither.
I am so lost, confused, and brilliantly motivated.
(Watch on FOX) | (FOX News Photo Essay)
I’ve always aspired to be the center attention. When I was younger that meant being annoying, now it means stepping up to ridiculous challenges. I blame Rob of course. If it wasn’t for his notion– to replace his eye with a video camera, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. But now that I’m here, now that I’ve stepped up to this ridiculous challenge of building a bionic eye– things are getting cool.
There are just two simple things, and they are just two words, and they are always nestled in the back of our minds: Fear, Desire. Floating upside down, underwater, screaming. Your long hair suspended. You dove too deep, you took on too much. You’re drowning.
But really, honestly, just wait a moment. I’m not a harbinger of truth, I’m no fortune teller– but I’ve lived here for awhile and I tried this out. So let me tell you a secret, and just hold on for one more second:
We can breathe under water.
You’re like a fish– you’ve just forgotten, because everyone’s been telling you something else. Those damn liars, what truth do they know?! Make your own truth!
It’s an old lie that someone told someone who told someone else– and nobody took the time to dive in, and take the plunge. Because if they were wrong– can you imagine how different things would be? Can you imagine what it means to not drown in your own spit? Atlantis was never lost; we just forgot what we were capable of. And what we are capable of is magnificent.
I know, I know. You can drown in an inch of water. Your flat mate in college drowned in his own vomit. But, and I don’t really know, but perhaps those who tried and failed, they don’t see the possibilities of breathing under water– they didn’t really believe in it!
You see, I’m not crazy – I’ve just got this thing, this project.
I call it a submarine.
–Excerpted from my personal journal–
I hadn’t thought much about it. I am naive; it’s part of my personality. I say “yeah, we can do that.” without even thinking about it. My brain oozes the ideal of “anything is possible” — you just have to be convincing, or convinced, enough. My e-mail box is a testament to that. So many whirring minds have taken pause with this project and have taken a moment to tell me some story– the man who is building 3D glasses, the futurist who believes in the power of bio fuels, the artists with their own ambitions. They want to do things, they are doing things. I haven’t had the schedule– or frame of mind– to address everyone who’s taken a moment to e-mail me about the EyeBorg Project, but I am so impressed with the amount of movement– this rustle and chorus of thoughts. Who would have thought?
So people continue to impress me, all the time. I’m always impressed.
The other day a long Lincoln town car picked me up and took me to a studio. An itty bitty ear piece was thrust into my ear, a microphone was clasped to my lapel, lights were aimed at my face, and a camera was focused on my bright orange shirt. FOX News wanted to know some more details about the project, and I tried to tell them as much as I could in the three short minutes of air time. Bill Hemmer asked questions and I tried not to blow it. I think I did well. I stayed for a half hour after my three minutes of nationally televised fame and asked a thousand questions about the cameras, and the lights, and the studies. I got a tour of the place by the camera man. So neat!
On Saturday my phone rang at 1:00 A.M. and all of a sudden I was on a late night talk show distributed over Canada. It’s so strange– I’m just chatting, laughing, and telling the story of EyeBorg. But it’s so important to tell it a certain way– with candor, to give credit to the many people involved, to dissuade my ego from taking over. I’m learning; I’m learning a lot.
I am so lost, confused, and brilliantly motivated. I don’t feel up to the task of articulating any more, there’s just such a jumble in my head.
Perfection: Saturn V
(Koyaanisqatsi) | (William Orbit)
My love affair with all things space related continues. I found this footage and tacked on some music that I felt was appropriate. Please, immerse yourself in all the greatness that is human endeavoring.
Harvard School of Design
In my seemingly never-ending quest to find an educational institution that can feed my creative spirit I found myself cruising the Harvard campus and asking the pertinent questions: Do I actually have to go to classes? Do I have to take tests? Can I spend time with professors and ask them loads of questions? Am I allowed to branch off and explore? Is it okay if I don’t have a direction, a discipline, or expectation of an outcome, can I just play and learn on my own with a bit of guidance? Can I do it without having to take out an inordinate amount of student loans?
The answer was almost unanimously “No.” Harvard seems to give its students two options: 1. academic rigor in an almost stereotypical fashion, professors breeding other little professors to run around and preach their teachings. –or– 2. You will be a lawyer, doctor, dentist, or politician. Do not mix, match, or get interdisciplinary. That’s illegal.
So me, the English/art/engineer (englartineer), who couldn’t pick a direction to save his life, was out of luck. Save for a little gem I stumbled upon.
As I tromped through the Harvard school of design I spotted a blazer clad individual who looked much like a professor would look which meant the question needed to be posed: “Where is the admissions office?” because I couldn’t find it in me to ask my real question. He directed me accordingly, and then I didn’t go. I sort of ambled about and stuck my nose in the architectural models that rose up from tables– miniature buildings that inspired me to re-enact Godzilla and destroydestroydestroy.
He asked me a few minutes later as I caught his eye again, “did you find it.” To which I responded, “No, that wasn’t actually what I was looking for.”
“Then what we’re you looking for?”
“I’m looking for a professor, would you happen to know of any? You look like you know a few.”
And as he smiled at me our rapport continued on. We talked about design, he took me around and showed me the models. He explained to me why they worked or didn’t, why they were magnificent or where they needed some guidance. To me they all looked astonishingly complex and hard to make, which I could appreciate.
I’m paraphrasing here and quoting horribly: “You know fashion designers that make those clothes that are wild and garish? Bows, feathers, plastic, wild stuff? We do that here– it’s the cutting edge. And then someone more realistic comes along and takes our ideas, and makes them feasible. Like shoulder pads, when they first appeared on the runway they were gigantic bulging things, but soon they were everywhere– smaller and simpler of course. We do that, we make the future.”
And then he whisked me up the stairs to meet the students. We stopped by cubicles, and he narrated: “You see the tension in this one?” he picked up a small piece of folded mesh cube “It’s a-symmetrical, isn’t that wonderful?” I made the not-so-brilliant decision to think aloud, “it looks like the letter “A.” I could see a whole alphabet of buildings coming from this.” To which I envisioned the next generation of corporate campus’ being built to spell out things to passing airplanes. Imagine the Japanese creating industrial complexes in haiku… Genius. Unfortunately, the student whos work was being investigated did not look particularly pleased with the notion that she had just re-envisioned letters. I guess I couldn’t blame her, only Andy Warhol could be content with reducing his vision to alphabet soup.
He stopped in front of some students and handed me off, “ask them, they’ll tell you what the design program is like.” They all perked up and smiled at me, then started pelting me with questions. “Are you his nephew or something?”
“Who?”
“Preston Scott Cohen, the guy you were with.”
“Nope, no relation, what’s his story?”
Apparently I had just been given a guided tour of the design school by the chair of the Harvard architecture department. And who would have thought! He was so down to earth!! The students let me take some photos, and they really couldn’t chat much. They spend 12+ hours a day getting down and dirty with CAD and laser-cut paper models that are meticulously hand assembled hours/minutes/seconds before they are due. It was 8 o’clock at night and the place was packed, intense. Quite a place, quite an experience.
I don’t think Harvard, or architecture, or the both of them together is right for me. But I do think I’m getting a clearer idea of what I’m looking for. I like people, I like to know what they are doing and how they do it. I like meeting a person who can show me worlds that I’ve never seen before. I have this one life to experience as much as I can, perhaps the best way to make the best of it is to join others in their experiences, to see the world how they see it for a brief moment.
Preston Scott Cohen said he knew he wanted to be an architect from age five. At age five the only thing I was almost positive about was that playdough was not particularly suited for human consumption. He’s accomplished in a number of ways, and all I want to do is grab a lunch with him and pick his brain, take some photos, and write a story about how he sees and experiences the world around him.
Exploring the passions of others just might be something I’m passionate about, we’ll see how far that takes me.
Balloon Project LAUNCH!
This article is a bit old. For a full writeup on the project please visit the Balloon Project Page.
Carry on, and thanks for visiting iamkosta.org
The Balloon Project LAUNCH! was nothing less than a complete success in so many ways. If you’re not to sure what the project is feel free to explore the technical write up (pdf) and the movie of the systems in action, the launch video, and lest we forget the kajillion photos of the project being built.
On Friday the 11th setup began for the launch of the project the very next day. A photographer was there to document the pre-Balloon Launch adventure for an article that was published in the Ventura County Star. Obviously I had to look muy importante so I sported my cellphone for the majority of the photoshoot.
Actually that is a complete lie, I was on the phone with the FAA and I would have rather not been. To make a long story short, very short in fact, the waiver that gave the balloon clearance to fly at 2500 feet had a clerical error on it. Because of that error it was impossible for the waiver to go into effect because, well, I don’t know– ask the FAA. Basically planes would crash and people would die as far as I understood it.
This means that the Balloon Project could not fly legally on Saturday, under any circumstances. Fantastic…
You’d think I would have stopped doing whatever I was doing but to be perfectly honest, I had a mission, and with all that FAA talk aside I went back to what I was doing with the photographer on that Friday morning.
…and my roommate Pat was wearing his sexiest V-neck, just for me, so it was easy to get distracted from all the FAA mumbo jumbo.
We were doing a helium fill of a large balloon I had bought just two days prior. To make another very long story short, the Balloon that I had ordered a whole month earlier, a big fat yellow 13 ft diameter balloon that was being shipped from China, had been lost in the mail. In fact the
balloon had been lost a grand total of three times. Fortunately for me a wonderful man in Chatsworth California- a quick 30 minute drive from my location, just so happened to have an extra balloon he was selling on ebay. Granted the balloon was only ~10 feet in diameter but I had hoped it would have enough lift to do the job…
And of course because Murphys’ Law has to rear it’s ugly head at every turn, something went wrong.
The balloon did not have enough lift to carry the 13.5 lb payload… Greaaat. I’m in a panic. I run to my dorm room/lab, I check ebay for other balloons, try my hardest to call the freight company in Beijing China to see if the balloon will ever be arriving. I send e-mails, and I am just about to get in my car to drive to the Los Angeles Airport because the tracking information on one of the shipments says it has arrived in LAX and is just held up in customs.
…and then I get a phone call from my favorite faculty advisor Phil Hampton: The balloon from China has arrived.
FRANTICALLY Phil and I build a system to pump the two tanks of helium (thank you praxair for your generous donation) from the already filled balloon into the new yellow balloon. We started by using a small pump, then we moved to a bigger pump, then we just got a large piece of PVC, connected the balloons together, and squeezed the helium from one balloon into the other. Does that even make sense? I hope so.
And then it got complicated. Well, it was already complicated– it just got more complicated. I don’t know who’s bright idea it was to fill the balloon away from the launch site (probably mine) but driving a huge partially inflated balloon up the windy and windy (windy as in wind and windy as in wind, oh wait, that doesn’t make sense either…) hill in the middle of friday evening traffic was a terrible idea.
The wonderful (and hot) Liz was generous enough to donate her truck to help facilitate the transportation of the balloon. She doesn’t know this yet but none of us can really drive stick shift.
As bad as I felt for stalling her truck after every stop I felt worse for Zack in the bed of the truck doing the honors of acting as a human tie down.
Of course Kyle and I pretty much spent the whole drive laughing at the silliness of the situation as a line of cars piled behind us. Every once in awhile we did the ol’ pull over to let them pass, it wasn’t often enough though, I can guarantee that.
Once we arrived at the launch site, the Santa Monica Mountains National Park and Mountain Range (that’s a mouthful) we proceeded to unload Kyle who had made his way to the back of the truck and Zach.
blog/arrival.jpg
We topped off the balloon with helium
And then we somehow managed to get a tarp over the balloon, setup a few things, and then we called it a day.
Now, if you do recall, a while back I mentioned that the FAA had not cleared me to fly due to some small clerical error. That was still a bit of an issue. Well it was a big issue. I wish it had magically gone away but I ended up working with the wonderful Robin from the Camarillo Tower till 11:30 in the evening. I wish I could be more descriptive about the experience but to be perfectly honest, it was stressful beyond belief and if I could delete it from my memory I would die happy. In the end we finally got the approval to fly from a sleepy manager somewhere in a land far away.
SATURDAY, 4:30 IN THE MORNING MY ALARM CLOCK DISTURBS MY REST. I grab my lamp from my room, evacuate the air sampler with a giant vacuum I borrowed from the chem department. If you’re wondering why I grabbed my lamp– it was dark outside I was afraid I wasn’t going to be able to see.
I get to the launch site. I fire up the generator. Damnit. I turn off the generator. I get in the van and I drive back the dorms because I forgot something. I drive back to the launch site.
I start setting up. I was surprisingly easy. It was if I had setup and torn down the balloon project systems for the last 2.5 years. Strange.
The parents showed up with the good eats and then the paparazzi entourage arrived. The good thing about being friends with photographers is that they are down to shoot any cool thing you’re doing–and they make it look even cooler because they always have high end equipment that makes the whole thing look important. The bad thing about being friends with photographers is that you have to sort through gigs of photos (because they shoot in RAW) trying to find the best ones, and then when you’ve gotten everything out of order and mixed up you remember that it’s very important to give them photo credit. So here goes… Many thanks to: JR Goleno, Eric Suliga, Shawn Mulchay, and my parental units.
Another tank of helium arrived courtesy of the CSUCI Chemistry Department and we proceeded to top off the balloon whilst Phil brought himself back to prepubescence.
With all the systems up and running…
We sent the balloon on its way to explore really high places.
And then the winch jammed and the bottom of the gondola cracked in half…
And if that wasn’t bad enough, a very upset park ranger started asking very loudly to see our permits. Apparently we were trampling the native California grasses.
But all was not not lost. Duct Tape came to the rescue and saved the gondola.
and we befriended the park rangers enough to have them come out with the balloon for a photoshoot– trampling their own precious native grasses which was kind of funny. They were really great though, you could tell how dedicated they were to their jobs.
We prepared to launch the balloon again with the gondola repaired. Zach was prepared also.
It went up, we took a sample, cheered wildly, and then we called it a day.
I want to give a very big thank you to everyone who showed up at 7 a.m. for the launch when they should have been sleeping, all of the folks at the FAA and the National Park Service, the faculty and staff of CSUCI, World Class Manufacturing, my roomates who lived amongst balloon project paraphanalia for far too long, and everyone else who helped me over the last 2.5 years to bring this project to life. It’s been an amazing experience.
Check out the gallery for some sweet pics.
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