I see patterns about everywhere. It occurred to me today when I was opening and closing large sets of Firefox tabs, it became like a card game. Fanning them out, then sweeping them back into the deck. (Thank goodness I beat my gambling addiction.)

Usage of new tools: always a process. I remember becoming acclimated to Second Life in the beginning, and even today, the rough edges haven't smoothed out on me. That keeps me alert. I also remember using JIRA, our issue tracker, and initially being very confused. But—no truer way to say it, experience made a difference, and after having simply used it for hours and hours, it's grown on me like a second skin. I'm finding the same is right after learning more tools.

In time, I find it hard to believe I was ever apprehensive about getting started, but it's true. I think that all too often in this world, someone gets started making something with a tool, and then has their efforts trashed by someone else, so they get scared, hurt, and don't continue. I used to be more concerned about making crap, but I realize that crap is the first step into quality, provided I keep at it. And plus, it's inspiring to see what some crap, aka early works of renowned artists, gets to sell for. Or the early possessions of a celebrity, or draft versions of a document that'd go on to become historically significant.

Forget about hindsight for a sec: how do you ever learn to stand without crawling, getting up on your hind paws, and falling? Does a good parent beat their kid for not being able to jump right out of Mommy's womb and do cartwheels? Absolutely not. There's patience, but at the same time, there's progress.

One longtime frustration of mine is being told what I see or mention is irrelevant, when it's as clear as day to me: I don't think my observations take a great deal of observations intelligence either; they just require sitting down and watching as an insectoid fleet of battleships reveals themselves, optically uncloaking before your eyes. That's a metaphor for what is "hidden" in plain sight.

(Again, I'm surprised I haven't heard the suggestion of adding "More Info…" links to our inworld Classifieds—it'd be a big value add win, plus, an extra baby step tying together Second Life and the Web.)

What really used to turn me on was deconstructing electronic music compositions into their fundamental pieces: beat, baseline, riff, cheeky sample here and there. And it's never ceased to amaze me how one sample can make such a difference, how it can even be the centerpiece of a song, and when taken away, the rest just feels like a bed that's never had anyone sleeping in it.

I had a crazy dream once (one of many): it was like that game, Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?, but containing thefts of notable techno clips. Like the delayed pseudopiano riff from Underworld's "Born Slippy" (as heard in Trainspotting!), the jubilant drinking chant outta Enigma's "Return to Innocence", and even the meaty Hoover growl from Pendulum's "Slam". But wait, there's more! All of these stolen pieces ended up having a tea-party of some sort, like beads on a necklace of "electronic music's finest", and made their own new song together. Surprisingly, it didn't sound like the brown mess you might expect.

I can just as easily relate and apply this to fantasy sports teams, where athletes dead and alive, great stars, come together across the ages. "What if?"

Off the bat, I made music because I wanted to hear something out there that I couldn't find. Same goes for what I'm doing in Second Life now—I can't keep wait for someone else to do it, or to hope I might stumble on it (altho that happens to), so what I can achieve, I run up the hill on… in baby steps. I stumble, I fall, I keep getting back up, and sometimes the dirt has the best turnips. I carry those, slung over my back, and—