Rocky's Wild Ride

Meet Raquelle the Otter, aka "Rocky". She is our frisbee team's mascot and dear friend. This is the story of her dastardly kidnapping and daring rescue; a tale of high-stakes internet detectivery and good old-fashioned breaking and entering; of intrigue, deceit, betrayal and redemption.

Sunday 

Someone covertly steals Rocky, our team's plush pink otter mascot, from our sideline during the finals. We were on such a high from winning the tournament that I forgot to make sure she got home safe. As I'm driving home, I think "Hmm, I wonder who has Rocky", assuming K-na or Micah or another teammate picked her up to take her home. 

  

Monday

A few OnTheRockstars get emails and facebook messages from "Stolen Otter" on facebook. There is a picture of Rocky bound and blindfolded against an anonymous blue cloth. There are some demands:

Dearest OTR,

Congratulations on winning your tournament! 

btw I stole your otter. 

Please know that the last thing I want to do is harm a pretty little pink hair on her body. However, returning Rocky to safety will come at a price. I have 4 simple demands that will return Rocky to you in good health. Please take a picture of these demands and post them on this page to prove you are serious about her return. They are the following:

1) Have everyone on OTR friend request me. 

2) A picture of Pumba wearing a dress. (Heels as well if you can find them in his size.)

3) Brett wearing the t-shirt that will be provided for him at the DUDE tournament on Saturday for no shorter length than one point. 

4) Have K-Na perform a "K-Nasty rap" and post the Youtube link on this page. (Rocky will be returned faster if she looks ghetto. We're talking bandaid under the eye status.)

These are my demands. You have one week to complete. Once all photos and videos are posted on facebook, I will have Rocky the Otter dropped off at a specified location. I will send you a message of where and when. Thank you for your cooperation. Do not contact the authorities or Rocky gets it. - The Otter Thief

We assume it's someone from our friendly rival San Diego team Milkshake. I immediately suspect Karen and Paul, with possible involvement from Lemos, Bunk, Tracey, Aiza, or Darin. There is an initial flurry of emails to our mailing list as we try to wrap our heads around what has happened, and try to get everyone to friend the proper page on facebook to satisfy the first demand. 

Tuesday

I whip up an online trap for the culprits. It has two phases: 

Phase 1) Find a cute otter picture on google image search, post it to an innocuous web server that I control, and send a link to the picture to the Stolen Otter facebook account. Whoever logs into that account will click on that link, accessing my web server, and leaving behind a log of their IP address.

Phase 2) Knowing that the thieves are very likely registered on the DUDE website, alter the site to keep logs of IP addresses in conjunction with DUDE user accounts. In this way I can identify the DUDE user for each IP that connects to that site. 

After this code is in place, I just have to wait for the otter thieves to 1) click on the link I sent them and 2) check the DUDE site for their team schedule or other info. If they do both of those from the same computer, each will have the same IP address and I can cross reference them and see who they are! This is not a foolproof scheme, but it's a place to start.

Tuesday Night

I get home from DUDE around midnight. I check the online logs from both phases. There are not one, but TWO hits on the cute otter picture I sent to the Stolen Otter account. One of the IP addresses also accessed the DUDE site a little earlier in the day! That means I can track otter thief number 1. It turns out to be....  Bunk.

The other IP address that accessed the cute otter picture does NOT access DUDE, so I can't directly find out who it is. I can find out who owns the IP address, but it is just part of a large chunk of IPs owned by Cox. Without access to Cox's servers, there's no way for me to find out which of their customers was using this IP at that time.

However there was some other information I was able to glean from the second, unknown IP address. First of all, it was accessed from a normal desktop browser - not one on a mobile phone. And secondly, the unknown IP accessed the cute otter picture around 9pm. I was at DUDE all night, and I know that certain people were there all night and had no way to access a computer at 9. Because of this, Karen and Lemos get crossed off the short list of suspects.

Bunk has pictures of his apartment posted on facebook, along with the address. Pictures of the outside, the inside, and the surrounding area. I can tell the whole layout of the apartment based on all of this, and can tell which windows are his and where each room is as easily as if I were standing in his apartment. I decide to swing by the next day and see if I can sneak in a window. At this point I'm pretty sure I know exactly where Rocky is. I'm convinced because of the IP data, and because it "feels" like it could be Bunk's doing. I assume the other unknown IP address is Paul, because he seems like the next likely suspect. I'm psyched. It's 3am and I can barely sleep because I'm so excited to break into Bunk's. 

Wednesday

I wake up and check the Stolen Otter facebook page. There is a new profile photo, showing Rocky perched precariously over a boiling pot of water. I take special notice of the style of stove and of the surrounding faux-wood countertop. I save a copy of the pictures in case they are later deleted. And in fact, someone does try to hide a little more detail later by changing the picture to the bottom picture below - cutting out the counter out.

   

I check the images of Bunk's apartment, and compare the stove there with the stove in the profile picture. It's NOT a match. At this point I'm a little deflated. I was so sure it was Bunk, but clearly that was someone else's stove. There was at the very least one more accomplice, and I was no closer to figuring out who that was. I held off on the sting operation I had planned. 

Wednesday Night

Talking at Porter's with Kief, Becky, Phil, Zeff after DUDE. We start talking about me raiding Paul's place the next day, possibly bringing Suzanne with me to climb through the doggy door. Becky is taking K-na's dog that night and for all of Thursday, and she offers to call Paul/Roberta to see if their dogs are available for a playdate, or more importantly whether Paul and Roberta themselves will be home that day. 

Thursday

I get notified from Becky that Paul and Roberta are in fact gone for the day, at work. I cruise over to their place to scope it out. I'm walking around their neighborhood for a few minutes before I find their place. I'm pretending to talk on the phone, walking up and down the same street, the same few driveways, for way too long if anyone in the neighborhood is actually paying attention. I'm peeking over fences, creeping through back yards. I'm basically being so sketchy. 

Finally, I find their place. I freeze for a moment because the front door is actually wide open. Crap, what if they are home? How do I explain my visit? I get to the front door and the heavy duty screen/security door is closed and locked. As soon as I get within a few feet of it, their dogs start barking wildly at me. So I walk over to the side yard, and they come out the doggy door. As soon as I reach out my hand to pet them, they shut up and start licking me. Maybe it was my soothing tones, or familiar smell, who knows. At this point I feel that I've already been around too long - I don't want to climb in the doggy door in case anyone in the neighborhood has already taken notice of me. 

So I can't get in, but I peer through the front door into the kitchen. I can't see the stove, but the countertop I can see is tile - not faux-wood - and I decide the otter is probably not there anyways. I leave. 

Friday 

Time is running out. The demands made by the otter thieves are supposed to all come out Saturday at the DUDE tournament. I've all but exhausted my options for how to try to get Rocky back on my own. Up until now I've been doing most of the legwork myself, not knowing who to trust. K-na and Micah, surely. But I had been so paranoid that I thought anyone else - even a teammate - could be in on it, just for the fun of it. 

I check for more activity on the cute otter picture, and there has been a new hit since Wednesday. This new IP did NOT access the DUDE web page, so I can't tell directly who it is. But the whois on it comes back as being owned by MedImpact. This is more promising than just being an anonymous Cox IP like the last one.

I look up MedImpact online. Facebook, LinkedIn, Google. At this point I decide I need help if this thing is going to go down. I bring the rest of the team into the fold via our team's mailing list, asking who we know that works at MedImpact. OnTheRockstars jump to action. Pebbles and Whitey were all over the internet with me, looking for clues, coming up with ideas. I go through the list of 400+ employees that LinkedIn knows at MedImpact, and don't find anyone I recognize. But LinkedIn says Sharon knows someone that works there. I briefly suspect Sharon of being in on the kidnapping (like I said, paranoid) and I text her to get more info or to smoke her out. She tells me the name of her contact at MedImpact. I look him up on Facebook and he and I have two mutual friends: Sharon (expected) and Roberta (unexpected!!) Sharon tells me that the place Roberta works had their servers co-located with MedImpact's recently. Therefore it's entirely likely that Roberta checked the Stolen Otter facebook account from work and it showed up as MedImpact in my server logs. Awesome! We now know with reasonable certainty that both Bunk and Roberta are involved. But the question remains: whose stove is in the picture?!

Action 

I spring into action. Kief and I had previously fleshed out a plan for what to do if I found Rocky. I needed to be able to send Milkshake a message. 

It's arts and crafts time. I pack a few screwdrivers, an exacto knife, sharpies, and rope with me. I cut out some little Master Shake hands. I go to Von's, buy bendy straws. I go to a cheap-o mexican place and get a big old styrofoam cup (and a bacon burrito, naturally). Then I put it all together into a Master Shake replica that I can swap out with Rocky once I find her, which I WILL do, today. 

First stop: Back to Paul and Roberta's. Last time I was there I didn't actually see the stove, and Roberta's newly verified involvement via the IP trace means I need to be actually see her stove to be sure. I check with our email list to see if anyone knows if Paul or Roberta are home. Alicia comes back with this gem:

I have it on good authority that they are both at work today. and also, that their dogs are easily distracted by ham.

So this time I go back, feed the dogs some ham (c'mon, we've all seen heist movies before), crawl in through the doggy door, and search their apartment. The stove is not a match, and there is no otter to be found.

Next: to Bunk's! Maybe he got a new stove since the reference picture I saw on facebook. It's worth a shot. I get there, but there are so many people around, and his place is pretty out in the open, so I can't get in. I can't even see in the windows. I leave, still thinking Rocky could possibly be inside.

Then: To the Lemos Pad! His roommates let me in. I'm making conversation with his roommates and making my way casually towards the kitchen. It's past noon and one of his roommates is cooking eggs on the stove. The stove, which is not a match. I excuse myself to leave. On my way out, one of his roommates says "I'll tell Scott you stopped by." I turn around and say "You know what? Don't. This was going to be a surprise." I flash him a disarming grin and walk out.

Lastly: To Karen's. Yes, she had an alibi for not being available to check the Stolen Otter facebook account at 9pm on Tuesday, but I still can't rule out her stove until I see it. I email the list to get her address. Alisha responds again:

I have it on good authority that Karen also likes ham

I giggle. Pebbles comes through with Karen's address. I can't get into her house, but I can peek in the windows and see her stove. She's clean. The whole team has been following my progress on the mailing list, and providing motivation and help. They've been emailing me addresses for these houses, offering to call people's workplace to make sure they are at work (and not at home). Now I have to head home and have to face facts that, again, I'm out of options.

Out of Nowhere, Drewbop!

Who even knew Drewbop was still on the OTR mailing list? Not me. With one simple email, Drewbop reinvigorates the search:

Bunk has moved in the past couple months. Facebook pic might be his old one.

I check the uploaded date on Bunk's house pictures. They were uploaded about a year ago. That means that if Bunk moved recently, the pictures I had been using for his place are way out of date. That means that he lives somewhere else now. That means.... that I almost broke into some random person's apartment earlier today. Wow.

It also means we need Bunk's new address. Now I'm SURE Rocky is at Bunk's. It all makes sense. I start texting anyone who knows Bunk. Griffin, Molly, Drew, but no one has his new address. Surely people on Milkshake have it, but I can't ask them. We try Facebook and LinkedIn again. I text Sharon to try to get her to tell Bunk she has a job in mind for him and to ask for his resume. She doesn't respond in time so we bail on that idea. Jamie suggests getting a fellow alumni from his school to look it up in their alumni database. I assume that he doesn't keep his alumni association updated, and we don't know another alum anyways, so we bail on that idea.

Time to get serious. I text Maddie.

I need a big favor ASAP. Do you know Bunk enough to text him and ask for his address so you can send him a postcard?

Within 10 minutes I have Bunk's current address in PB. It's getting late in the afternoon. There's a party later that night that I know Bunk will be at, so the backup plan is to try to get his keys from him at the party and then go back to his house. But first, I want to try to get in there NOW. 

Calling for backup

I scout out Bunk's place online, but can't come up with much. Google maps doesn't really show it since it's off the street a little bit. I don't know if he's home, and there are just a lot of unknowns at this point. I need help. An accomplice. I call up Philthy. 

me: "Hey, what are you doing this afternoon"

phil: "Oh, I'm just about to..."

me: "Nope. No you're not. You're coming with me to break into Bunk's house to find my otter."

And he jumps at the chance. This is why Phil and I are friends. We toss around some slightly off kilter ideas about how to see if he's home without giving ourselves away. Phil suggests throwing tennis balls at his door while hiding across the street. We think about asking a passing stranger to knock for us. We consider simply overpowering Bunk if he answers the door. Or maybe we could have someone make an excuse to come over before the party, and leave the bathroom window unlocked before leaving. I try to get Maddie to find out if he's home, but Bunk is not answering texts. K-na tries to text him about the party and what he is doing until then, but no answer to that either. So Phil and I agree to meet up near Bunk's place, at Von's, and walk over and go from there with very little of a plan in mind.

We get to Bunk's, and find his apartment building behind a vacant house with a For Rent sign. On our way back, we stop at his mailbox and find out he has a roommate, and we get his name. We walk into his apartment's courtyard and locate his door, but don't stay long enough to arouse suspicion or let ourselves be seen. We walk away, trying to hatch a plan. We go to Jamba Juice to mull over our options. As I'm ordering a delicious banana berry smoothie, Phil snaps his fingers, clearly with an equally delicious idea: Let's order a pizza. 

Let's Order a Pizza

I told him I wasn't that hungry, and he told me I was missing the point: we can order a pizza and have it delivered to Bunk. That way we can see if he's home without giving ourselves away. Brilliant! We hammer out the specifics, and put the plan into action. We specifically didn't order a bacon pizza so as not to give my involvement away.

So we go back over to his place and wait. Just two sketchy guys waiting in front of someone's house, on the street, in broad daylight. You know, no big deal. After about 10 minutes a neighbor comes out and approaches us. We say we're interested in renting the house in front, the one with the For Rent sign, and ask him all sorts of questions about it. We're so smooth. The only problem is, now this guy has answered all our questions and we have no real excuse to stick around, but we still have to wait somewhere for the pizza. So we loop around to the alley behind Bunk's. 

Just two sketchy guys waiting behind someone's house, in the alley, in broad daylight. You know, no big deal. People are coming and going, eying us but not approaching us. I'm a little nervous at this point. I think about canceling the pizza order and just trying the backup plan for the party that night. 

Just then, the pizza delivery pulls up. She's a mid-40's mexican woman in a Papa John's uniform. I ask her if she'll do us a favor. We're trying to play a prank on our friend, but we don't know if he's home or not. I tell her to go up there with the pizza: if no one is home, then great, come back down. But if someone does answer, they'll be confused about not ordering a pizza, so just pretend you have the wrong apartment and come back down. Meanwhile, my friend and I will hide behind this tree so we can watch who comes to the door. Not sketchy at all, right? Well the delivery woman totally goes for it. She goes up, and nobody is home. So we pay her, take the pizza, and send her on her way. With nobody home, it's time to break the fuck in and get Rocky back. 

Breaking the Fuck In 

It's an upstairs apartment. We bring the pizza and go up the exterior stairs. I try the door; it's locked with a deadbolt. Phil tries the one window we have access to, above the stairs. The screen pries off with a little effort and the window, unlocked, easily slides open. Phil boosts me into the window. I dodge the large flat screen TV which is just inside the window, and I'm in. Phil closes the window behind me and I go to work inside while he tries to look inconspicuous outside.

I run into the kitchen to check out the stove. The image of poor Rocky suspended over a pot of boiling water was burned into my memory at this point. I recognized the stove immediately. THIS WAS THE RIGHT PLACE. I search the kitchen for Rocky. Not there. Around the corner to the bedroom, and I immediately see her on the bed. JACKPOT. Grab Rocky. She's safe. Now the fun part.

I put a pot of water on the stove and get out the Master Shake replica I made. I tie it up, shove a knife through its head, and leave it suspended over the pot of water for Bunk to discover. BOOM. And that's how you prank a prankster.

Time Machine backups over network share

The next time something catastrophic happens to my MacBook Pro and I need to restore from a Time Machine backup, I want to remember this link.

Most pages that come up when google researching tell you to...
1) enable unsupported drives with
defaults write com.apple.systempreferences TMShowUnsupportedNetworkVolumes 1
2) create a sparsebundle locally
3) copy it to your network share

...but forget the last crucial step:

In the root of the sparsebundle, create a file com.apple.TimeMachine.MachineID.plist containing:

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<!DOCTYPE plist PUBLIC "-//Apple//DTD PLIST 1.0//EN" "http://www.apple.com/DTDs/PropertyList-1.0.dtd">
<plist version="1.0">
<dict>
    <key>com.apple.backupd.HostUUID</key>
    <string>YOURUUIDHERE</string>
</dict>
</plist>

where YOURUUIDHERE is a string containing dashes which can be obtained from
> system_profiler | grep UUID

I could have saved myself a lot of hours of frustration if I could have found this link more easily. The bash script hosted there in particular works wonders. With this knowledge I was able to change an existing Time Machine backup's UUID to match that of my current machine and get into the backup to restore files. I can't explain how happy I am about that.

Karma

I live in my car. I was robbed of thousands of dollars worth of stuff. I got a speeding ticket. I'm more and more frequently getting woken up at some ungodly hour and told to "move along".

A friend of mine said to me "You are so due for a good week".

Due? Karma? Nonsense. At least I hope its nonsense because otherwise I'm due for something horrible.

I live in San Diego, the city of constant 70 degree weather. I have a job that pays well and challenges me. Twice a week I get to do my two favorite things in the world (play ultimate and karaoke). I travel often. I had an amazing weekend at Potlatch. I have awesome hair. I meet interesting new people all the time. I have two coasts worth of friends who love me and care about me. I'm in great shape.

How awesome do I feel? How good do I have it? If I believed in karma, I'd be walking around in a helmet and a full body, flame retardant, protective suit.

With a parachute.

Relax.

We coined a phrase on the AT: "Relax, you're rolling with the Sobohobos now."

Sobohobos was the palindromic website Shian and I created for our trek. It then became our first trail name of sorts. We'd sign it in trail registers we passed a few times a day in probably the most misguided attempt to drive traffic to a website. (SEO's have nothing on writing your web address on a notebook in the middle of the woods!) The phrase we coined was to further the mysticism that only good things happened to the Sobohobos. We might meet a stranger on the trail and within the hour be sitting in their hot tub at their house, full from a home cooked meal, or maybe we get in to the shelter just when the skies open up and drench any non-believers lagging behind.

To the uninitiated, it might seem that we had really great luck. Of course, it wasn't luck, and even if it was, there was as much "good" as "bad". Our prosperity boiled down to a few key outlooks on life / the trail: Be friendly and courteous and fun. Have lots of options. Don't require things you don't require.

When you adopt this philosophy, good things happen - almost just by redefining the terms. It's like looking at the bright side of everything. If you really accept new opportunities and don't judge too harshly or require too much out of a situation, everything comes up roses. Note that the tradeoff is, for instance, being willing to sleep on the floor of your first San Diego apartment for 8 months because you don't have a bed or a lease. But if you truly don't require much, then don't sweat it.





April 1 I quit my job at athena. April 15 I packed up my apartment and put it all in storage in San Diego. I didn't have any solid plans for where I was going to live or work. I had plenty of options: some very nice friends offered couches or spare rooms, plenty of exciting things to consider. Move? Get a job? Hike the PCT? Go back to school? Options options options.

I started halfheartedly following some of these options. I got transcripts from UNH and researched what requirements and timelines were for San Diego schools. I cruised craigslist for places to live (with Tank and Alan). I put out a single resume for a position in San Diego. I got literature on the PCT.

Some people might have been more nervous or anxious about being homeless and unemployed, even for a short period of time. I'm beginning to recognize that I thrive on it. When my back is to the wall, I can do some pretty cool stuff - I think we all can. But too seldom is my back against the wall. Right now, I feel alive and excited and free.






A few days before I moved out, Jenn and I decided that she would fly out here and we'd drive up to Boise together. Without anything chaining me down anywhere, I felt like I should have some adventure. San Diego, Vegas, Zion, Salt Lake, Boise. Keep slowly pursuing options and feeling things out. Open road ahead, wind at my back, song in my heart, free for an adventure whose nature and conclusion were uncertain.

And then that Sobohobos luck phoned me in Vegas at 8am (hrough the voice of Julie the HR recruiter). That resume I put out was potent. May 3rd, for a fun company and a good salary, I'll rejoin the workforce - in a self-employed contract position. I still don't know where I'm going to live. And that's awesome.

No stress, low effort, high yield. Just relax and let the good things happen as they may.

Thomas Hoving, pilot extraordinaire

Thomas Hoving died today. Before you read his obit, I would like to tell you a story about him.

Thomas Hoving, his wife in the passenger seat, stopped along a winding country road outside of Pawling, NY on a dreary day in 2005 to pick up two hitchhikers.

"Where are you two headed," he asked as they got in the car.

The two damp travellers looked at each other. "We're not sure. Town I guess. Is there a taxi service in town?"

"Where are you trying to go," he asked again.

"Well," a pause. They exchanged glances again. A shrug, as if to say it couldn't hurt to ask.

"We're hiking the Appalachian Trail. And at the last road crossing, we..." Here, the speaker received a quick glare from his companion. He gulped and continued guiltily, "I... kind of... left our camera on the side of the road. It has all our pictures on it - all the way back from Maine. It was about 10 miles back. It's not exactly an expensive camera, but..."

This time it was the sound of the rain against the roof of the car that caused his distraction.

Having doled out the proper amount of shame, his companion picked up the story in a brighter tone. "And it is in a ziplock bag. Anyway, best case scenario, we get a ride into town, and then find some way back out to that last road. We can see it on our map, and if we could just get a taxi from town or something, we might be able to get it, get back here, and get back on the trail with enough time to make it a few more miles to a shelter for the night."

Now it was Mr. and Mrs. Hoving's turn to exchange glances. Having settled the matter wordlessly as only long-married couples (and apparently some pairs of AT hikers) can, they spoke up.

"Nonsense," said the wife.
Mr. Hoving added, "We'll drive you wherever you need to go. We're not doing anything anyway. And look at your clothes! You must be drenched."
"And hungry, I'll bet," added Mrs. Hoving. "First things first though, where's your map? Show us where that camera is."

---

That was Shian and I 5 years ago. I have to admit that I was the guilty camera-leaver.
Actually it was more complicated than that. We had a custom of taking pictures of ourselves at the state lines. The night before, we knew that we would cross out of New York and into Pennsylvania in the morning. Looking at the map, we could tell it was right at Hoyt Rd. We also knew that the state line was a short few miles into our hike - and we didn't hike together in the mornings.

We decided that in order for us to each have a picture of ourselves at the state line, Shian would take the camera with him in the morning, as he left early. He'd take a picture of himself at the NY state line, and leave the camera for me to do the same. We agreed on a spot - knowing nothing about and never having seen the area - defined by these guidelines: it should be on the right side of the trail, just before the road, near the biggest tree around.


When I got to the spot, it was already raining. I didn't think Shian would leave it out in the rain, but I looked anyways. I didn't find it. After not too long, I gave up and hiked on. I caught up with Shian some miles down the trail.

"So, did you get the camera?"

What ensued was probably pretty amusing, in a cheesy sitcom kind of way. We thought we were joking. With increasing gravity, each of us tried to convince the other that we were serious and that no, YOU must be joking. It turns out I was serious that I actually didn't get the camera, and Shian was serious that he actually left the camera.

---

Anyways, as we drove along with the Hovings - out of the rain, on our way to our lost camera, things looking up - we got back to our normal conversational selves. That is to say witty, engaging, cheerful, energetic, and synergy-powered. We asked what Mr. Hoving did with his time. He said he was retired - and that he was an amateur pilot. Cool enough but nothing ground breaking. Simple, modest.

Later in the conversation, he started a sentence with "Back when I was the director of the MET, I..."
Um what? Yea, he was the director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the 70s. And yea, that didn't make the cut in an answer to "What do you do with your time?"

Later, "Yea, and when I was the NYC Parks Director, I..."
Um, ok.

Later still, "Yea, when Malcom Gladwell was interviewing me for his book Blink, I..."
Yup.

Some pilot.

---

The rest of the story only needs a summary, really. We got the camera. The Hovings took us to their spacious and well decorated house. Mrs. Hoving did our laundry and cooked us a meal. We took showers in a shower that must have had a 10' square footprint. We talked about art and Mr. Hoving's life. They drove us back out to the trail and sent us on our way, richer by one chance experience.

Mythical McRib

Last night I conjured a McRib out of thin air.

Driving Noah home after the PB game, I drove by McDonalds.

Had a fantasy in which I drive up to the drive-thru and order a delicious McRib sandwich. Know full well it's not on the menu anymore. Headset wearing cashier tells me they haven't had that in months, years. Am displeased by that answer. Demand they make me a McRib at any cost. Say the magic words. Miracle ensues. McRib arrives - sans pickles and onions, of course. Glorious day!

After dropping off Noah I head back towards the Golden Arches, resigned to ordering my second favorite fast food meal: 10 nuggets with sweet and sour sauce. I pull into the drive-thru and spot a sign proudly announcing: McRib is Back!

Glorious day!

fetchMMS

Receiving MMS on an iPhone sucks. I'm notoriously bad at returning texts, calls, and emails. Any added friction in the process and I'm, in a word, fucked. The process for retrieving MMS on the iPhone is so full of friction that I've all but begged my family not to send me picture mail.

I've written about this before:

Here's the workflow:

• Receive text message
  
• Find a scrap of paper and pen
  
• Write down two arbitrary 8-10 character sequences (message id and password)
  
• Go to viewmymessage.com by clicking the link in the text message
  
• Type in both sequences
  
• See picture
  

I really can't believe that this is the status quo for receiving picture mail. The message IDs I'm supposed to commit to short term memory are things like "u08lr1rdz" and "o1xe34c87". Ludicrous.
iPhone OS 3.0 brought with it the ability to receive MMS directly, and in fact this feature is enjoyed by many iPhone users in other countries. But AT&T has yet to enable their iPhone plans for it. There are some unofficial methods for routing your texts through third party systems in order to capture and email you any MMS you may receive. There are also ways to accomplish MMS on a jailbroken iPhone. None of these methods appeals to me, however. They are too complex and hamfisted for my taste.
We're told by AT&T that MMS is coming soon and it's coming free. But in the meantime, iPhone OS 3.0 also brought with it a way to work around the nuisance of memorizing those godawful message IDs: copy and paste.

It didn't dawn on me that copy/paste could be useful for MMS retrieval until one day when one of those dreaded MMS notifications arrived:

I sent you a multimedia message. You can view my message w/in the next 7 days via the web at www.viewmymessage.com/1 using MSG ID w14xxu4ff Password you5sews

I sighed heavily. Frustrated, alone, and confused, I stared at the screen, wishing there was a better way. And then, there was: http://bit.ly/fetchMMS. The instructions are simple:

1. copy an entire MMS text message ("I sent you a multimedia message. You can view my message w/in the next 7 days...")
   
2. paste
   
3. fetch
   

See it in action: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=op1xxOsOWFw.

No data is sent to or collected by my server. It's purely client-side - you're redirected to your MMS after a quick javascript parse of the message you paste in. This "No Data Left Behind" policy was partially inspired by David Friedman's Google Voice Speed Dial Bookmarklet Generator, which is similarly simple, functional, and private.

I hope others find this as useful and liberating as I did. Let fetchMMS put the "mmm" back in MMS.

P.S. Mom, you can send me picture mail again. Love you!