As many of you are familiar, when writing software for users, one of the first things you do is gather requirements. "What problem are you trying to solve?" "What about this problem is hard, and how could it be easier?" Etc. You get a general idea, and you get to work designing and implementing what you think is the best solution.

The problem, though, is that this is a really awful game of telephone. Users (myself included) are bad at enumerating requirements. The real process of a given task is hard to distill into bullet points. There are a million little things that are impossible to remember in the abstract. It's also often difficult to really outline how a process or procedure works to precise enough a degree, which means translating that into a functional program from those early conversations is next to impossible.

I found, time and again, that the only way to make software that /truly/ solves problems is to sit with a user for a while and understand their needs and how they approach the software you've made. I learned this first-hand with my own software projects which evolved from stilted and stiff literal translations of requirements into more natural and comfortable tools that enhance someone's work, not dictate it. I've also learned this by working on countless support cases alongside caring and empathetic developers.

As a developer, doing support allows you to really see where the proverbial rubber meets the proverbial road. In fact, to a very large degree, it's the closest to genchi genbutsu you're likely to get. Let's face it - as the developer of a technology, most of the time you probably aren't also a user of that technology. If you are creating a medical records system, or a database, or an API gateway, odds are you aren't actually using those yourself day-to-day. (There are exceptions to this, of course. Sometimes developers are also the users! That's often the case for single-contributor open source utilities and similar, but it becomes less true the larger the project becomes, and it's especially true when the product is commercial).  So the next best thing you can do is get in close, from time to time, with the folks who do use your software every day. See the way it comes together; feel the pain points.

First-hand exposure to usage patterns allows for invaluable perspective and context, which makes you a better developer, the code you produce more thoughtful, and when it's a cultural part of your organization, it leads to the development of features and behaviors and interface points that are more intuitive and more delightful to use.

"But," you might say, "we already have a support team, who can relay this information back to us." Yes! That's true! And hopefully, your support team /is/ bringing you pain points and feedback from users and common issues that crop up. These are all great, and as long as the lanes of communication are open, that helps a lot too. But your support engineers are also missing some context. They aren't the ones who are writing this code or thinking about a new feature, or a refactor of some bit of syntax. So they may not know exactly what to bring to you, or they may not be able to connect all the same dots you, as a developer (see also: product manager) can, just because we all have different bits of information. First-hand experience in the support world lets you, as the developer, bridge those gaps.

If your organization doesn't have a program for this, just ask! I can pretty much guarantee that any good support organization out there would jump at the chance to let you sit in and help out. And any engineering manager should also encourage the opportunity for you to gain some broader perspective and skill-up on one of the least-applauded subjects in development: user empathy.

I studied English language and literature in college, which included a fair bit of rhetoric and philosophy. One of the things that really stuck with me was The Dialogue, a concept introduced by Russian philosopher and Rhetorician Mikhail Bakhtin. The central tenet of the Dialogue is that all literature (indeed all language) is connected, and every word informs and is informed by other words, just as a work of literature informs and is informed by other works of literature.

I have found this holds true for most things that happen in technology as well. To give a support-centric example: A user says their email isn't working. Let's think of why that might be: the computer has no network connectivity; they mistyped a password; etc. These are the sort of immediate, more obvious ones. But it could also be that their local system clock is somehow very out of sync with reality, and certificate checking fails as a result. That last one is pretty esoteric, and there are a lot of steps to get there (But one that I and many others have also experienced in real life!). But troubleshooting something like this takes a holistic view of the systems involved. You have to think about each of the very many moving parts, and how those parts influence each other to effectively troubleshoot it.

But I think this is a beautiful example of the technical dialogue all software systems are in. Software is connected, it influences and is influenced by the other software around it. In the case of this weird email issue, let's look at what all is in dialogue with each other: Since time in the universe is (more or less) fixed, systems must generally agree on what time it is. One way to do that is: NTP servers tell NTP clients what time it is, which set the system time accordingly. The decryption libraries in your email client use this time as part of the algorithms they use to calculate the correct hashes that let your email client know it's connected to a safe server. When these don't agree, the hashes on the server side and the client side don't align. Each of the individual parts has its own meaning and gives you its own piece of information; however, the meaning changes when taken holistically, and you pay attention to the way they influence each other. These are complex, dynamic systems. And to solve problems in these systems effectively, you've got to listen to that dialogue.

In my case, I attribute my history and experience doing literary criticism and analysis across many works of literature to helping build these kinds of holistic thinking skills. And to be very clear: recognizing that things are more than the sum of their parts and tuning into those problems more holistically is a learned skill. You don't have to have gotten an English degree to acquire it. That skill is, though, imperative to thriving as a good support engineer because there's another voice in the dialogue here: the user.

User issues are, of course, sometimes fairly simple and straightforward: I did X, and it resulted in error Y. In the most ideal case, action X repeatedly results in error Y. These, then, follow a pretty direct and simple pattern. But what if the user request is more, well, human? "I did X, and it was slow."

This is a pretty common kind of request and illustrates exactly why a holistic approach is the only way to answer such a question well. To start with, the question is immediately subjective: what is slow? And what is acceptable? Next, there's a whole host of connected information to gather. How did you do X? What does the architecture look like? There's also log information, available system metrics, data definitions, and the list goes on.

All of these individual parts of the system, and the connection points between them, are all in dialogue with each other. And they're also in dialogue with the user, their requirements, and even their feelings.

A good support experience considers all of these things and synthesizes just enough of them to help the user get what they're after. Even, and especially, when they may not know for sure what they're actually after. "Slow" leaves a lot of room for interpretation! So what you have to do is listen to all the voices. Really understand the user's position, gather the technical data, and help them make sense of the noise. Sometimes that means giving them a very clear-cut answer (e.g. You are on dial-up, downloading a photo is going to take a while.). Sometimes that means asking some pertinent questions that lead them in the right direction and they discover the answer on their own (e.g. Q: How does Server A usually communicate with Server B? A: Oh! We recently updated our firewall rules, and that's why they couldn't connect). But in nearly all cases, the difference between good support and bad support is synthesizing all of that information and tackling the problem as a function of the whole system.

Doing that synthesis is an investment. It's time-consuming and difficult. Sometimes it's even frustrating, in the beginning, because it can seem slow, and it's not always clear how some of the data a support engineer may request is relevant. But the end result is a consistently exceptional support experience, which solves the real problems users are having, and gives both sides an opportunity to learn something. Taking our email example again: When the user says "My email is broken," and your answer is "Let's fix your system clock," that can be something of a shock. Certainly fixing their clock isn't what they asked, but it's the right answer to their problem, even if they didn't know to ask.

This is the natural next step of practicing the go and see method I discussed in my last post. First, you observe and learn and practice to pick up on the parts, then you explore them with your users. Granted, it's a big step. In fact, it's a never-ending process of refinement, learning, and getting more and more in tune with the Dialogue as you learn. But it is the goal, and simply striving for that goal will set support engineers and support organizations on the path to giving truly exceptional service.

I have been following this principle, innately, for the vast majority of my career. I don't attribute this to any particular wisdom or even being particularly precocious when it comes to doing user-facing (IT) technical work. Instead, it's because I am extremely stubborn when it comes to the kinds of problems that arise in and around technology, and I will bang my head against as many walls as required until I figure something out. So no, not wisdom, but that stubbornness lends itself well to Genchi Genbutsu. It means I have done things, manually and the hard way, so I have an appreciation for how the basics work, and how the underlying pieces fit together.

It's this experience, this willingness to dive in and get in the weeds and see first-hand how the proverbial sausage gets made that, in my opinion, is the first step toward true differentiation between good technical support and bad technical support.

I have spent most of my technical career in user-facing technical roles: First as a repair tech in a small local computer shop, building and fixing PCs, installing and configuring routers and managing small business networks. Then as a member of the university IT staff, doing regular helpdesk work as well as creating and deploying images for whole computer labs, then as a systems administrator, then as a support engineer for a few pieces of open-source software. These days, I'm not an engineer anymore, but I am responsible for running a global team of support engineers.

As part of that, as you can imagine, I am immensely concerned with the quality of the support that we offer. I think we've all had some pretty awful experiences with support teams in the past, and it's, unfortunately, all too rare to have a truly exceptional experience. While I do think in the high-tech industry at large, quality support is becoming a focus - as the industry has shifted to product-led grown paradigms, the game becomes giving users a top-notch experience from cradle to grave. That often means putting in a lot of work to help make sure they're successful, which means good support is a must.

The best thing a support experience can do for you is not, believe it or not, to just answer the question(s) you ask. That is, really, table stakes. That's the minimum that should happen. What makes for a better support experience is when your question not only gets answered but also the next one you're likely to have gets answered as well. Sometimes that even means finding out the question you asked was the wrong one to begin with!

Software systems are (usually) large and complicated. As you're investigating the usage of something new, it's very common to take a naive approach to the usage of that system. That is normal and expected, and very much a part of the lifecycle of adopting pretty much any new thing. But when you end up working with support, the best outcome is the one that helps you not only solve your immediate problem but also build your own skill and understanding. This is where Genchi Genbutsu enters into the support experience.

The better a support engineer knows their software in ways that are not pure theory, the better they can anticipate your needs and can anticipate the places you're like to go next. They have gotten their hands on the software and used it. They've built things with it, and they have traveled that path from naive to sophisticated. This isn't merely knowing the docs or the syntax. It's understanding what it's like to type a command in, what the response looks like, and what comes next.

Suddenly instead of a lecture or recitation of some piece of technical lore, it's a shared experience. And shared experience breeds empathy. I don't think you can be truly exceptional in any user-facing technical role without empathy. These things are hard - if they weren't, chances are good folks wouldn't be coming to you with the questions they do. And not knowing something is frustrating enough as-is. No one wants to be lectured at or brushed aside and given a link to something that might address their problem. They want to be heard, and they want to learn. (Note: This is not universal. Some users just want an answer, and for you to do it for them. That's another issue, the handling of which will have to be another post)

What happens, when you are intimately familiar with not only the theory but also the practice, of using a software system is you begin to think of problems more holistically. A problem with a feature changes from "try this syntax" to "try this syntax, and you can also use Y feature to make this more efficient." Chances are the user was going to start looking into Y next, anyway. And when you've done it yourself, you know that.

So then the best support experience has become a few things:

1) Learning something new.
2) Having a human connection by shared experience.
3) Having your needs met, even (especially!) the needs you didn't yet know you had.

Any good support organization should try to work themselves out of a job. If you get a user to the point they no longer need you, then you've won. And the company has won, because now that user not only deeply understands your technology, they've almost certainly become successful with it. And that's the kind of story that spreads. "They really helped me get this project off the ground." "I talked with their support, and they not only helped me out but gave me advice on how to better architect our whole approach."

These are true differentiators for your product and your business. They're every bit as important as differentiating features and novel technologies you may also offer, because what good are those features unless folks are successful in using them?

I see no other way to get there than to put yourself in the middle of things. See the reality of using the thing you're trying to support by using it yourself. This should be core to the training and onboarding of, not just all technical employees in the company, but also (in my opinion) all non-technical employees too. The length and depth of such a program will vary, of course, by role, but again, creating these shared experiences creates a conduit for empathy, and empathy between business units is the best lubricant you could ever ask for.

Stats:
March 27 Starting Weight: 425
January 27 Weight: 269
March 27 Pants size: 56
January 27 Pants size: 44

Total weight lost: 156 pounds (70.76kg)
Total clothes now too big: 14.67 tons

This is complicated by the fact that I have no sense of hunger anymore. Prior to the surgery, I felt hungry nearly all the time. Often when I wasn't, in a biological sense, hungry. They explained to me that the cells of the stomach release a hormone called Ghrelin, which signals to the brain that the body needs food. Since I no longer have the majority of my stomach, and therefore the majority of the cells that produce that hormone, I don't feel hungry. This means I have to remember, or remind myself, to eat. This is such a foreign concept, I'm still struggling to come to terms with it, a month in.

So this was all expected, though. I knew there would be challenges, and that this was not going to just be an easy button. Now that I'm at a point where I can eat pretty much anything, I've come up against a new challenge. I'm having to face just how unhealthy my relationship with food was. I mean, I knew, at least to some degree, that it wasn't healthy. You don't end up weighing over 400 pounds without some sort of unhealthiness going on. But I've realized the degree to which I used food for everything from celebration to emotional support when things weren't great. It was a source of comfort and happiness and entertainment and who knows what else. It also wasn't just the flavor–I still enjoy things with a lot of flavors, or familiar, comfortable flavors.

In facing this new information, I've had to start coping with a real sense of loss and actual grief for the loss. I cannot eat a lot of the things I like. I cannot eat a whole meal with friends. I cannot really have a drink with a meal. So many things that were such a big part of what I used to do. Of course I can still go out and have dinner with folks, but I'm done in just a few bites. I can't share an appetizer and then have a main course. I can't share a dessert. And even as I type this, I have an overwhelming feeling of "So what?" and yet, I can't help but grieve for the loss of these things.

I'm hopeful that at some point, I will settle in better to this new reality, and I'll find comfort in the few small bites, in the company of friends. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm only a month into this, and part of what I'm discovering is just how significant this change is for me, personally, as I go through this journey. And maybe I'll find new, healthier comfort mechanisms that aren't just large quantities of food.

That said, the weight loss is undeniable. In total, since the end of March, I'm down 62 pounds. People are noticing the weight loss, and while I don't feel particularly different, I can feel it in my clothes, which are becoming almost hilariously ill-fitting. I'm having to dig old clothes out of the back of the closet to find things that had become too small. That feels good.

I'm hoping that the changes will become apparent to me, and I'll start to feel different, better than before. So far, nothing yet, but I'm holding onto the few things that I can see, and am going to continue on the path. I mean, it's not like I have a alternative. It's a life-long physical change that I can't undo. So I guess I'll have to figure it out.

Stats:
March 27 Starting Weight: 425
July 6 Weight: 363
March 27 Pants size: 56
July 6 Pants size: 52

My grandparents had a cabin way out in the boonies in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. A large, cedar-clad A-frame with a wrap-around deck. The great floor to ceiling windows on the Southern side looked out over the trees into a ravine which housed a spring-fed pond, stocked full of rainbow trout all Summer long. Sure, there was the occasional bear on the deck looking in at all the little human morsels packed into the two hide-a-bed sofas on the other side of that thin glass. Sure there was the occasional four-wheeler you almost flipped or drove off a cliff, but the real magic happened in Winter.

The cabin was part of a secluded collection of similar properties. There were roughly maintained trails to get vehicles through in the summer, but in the winter, you could only drive to the Lodge. The Lodge was a bar / restaurant / general store / small hotel that sat at the entrance to the trails. From there, you had to load up your stuff (food, clothing, etc) onto sleds and pull them to the cabins via snowmobile. There's snow in all directions, drifts over your head. The trails were maintained to a degree, but if there was a heavy snow, things could be a little slow going. In the end, though, the the view of snow-covered mountains in the distance and the sparking fresh powder snow was worth the effort.

We would ride snowmobiles, have snowball fights, drink hot cocoa, stay warm by the fire, and relish in our winter paradise. Oh. I forgot to mention the sledding. Hills and valleys and fresh snow galore made for the most excellent sledding. We would drag the sleds to the best, smoothest, most varied spots and just fly down the hills.

This was normally done with some supervision, but as we got older, we were more and more often left to our own devices. One day–I was eleven or twelve–my brother and older cousins decided we should sled down the ravine to the (now frozen) pond. The trail down was steep. Steep enough we often called it Death Hill, because it always felt like the four-wheelers were going to flip over on the way up and down it. Maybe this should have been a clue, but off we went down Death Hill anyway.

As we raced down the mountain, we were flying. Sometimes literally as we bounded over high spots. the trail was narrow and had several switchbacks to facilitate vehicles getting up and down to the pond. So we raced each leg, careful not to plow into the trees just beyond the corners. All in all, we had great fun for the fifteen or so minutes it took us to reach the bottom. Tired, and laughing uncontrollably, we took a small respite on some rocks before we started back toward home.

It didn't take long for us to realize the error of our own wild ways. We radioed up to the cabin to tell the adults (my parents, aunts, and uncles) of our predicament. A couple came down to the pond on snowmobiles. Instead of being there to help, they were at first relieved that we were all okay, and then angry that we had been so foolish. It was dangerous and irresponsible, no doubt. Any one of us could have easily been hurt by an errant tree, rock, or losing control down this steep grade. No, indeed, they were not there to help; rather, they were there to make sure we were okay and safe on the long, arduous trek back up the ravine, sleds in tow. What took fifteen minutes to go down, took hours to go up. Snow often up to our knees, sometimes up to our waists, not solid enough to stand on meant rather than walking (or crawling) back up, it was more like digging our way back up to the packed snow of the maintained trails.

After we made it back, our parents helped us get out of our wet, cold clothes; had a fire going and ready; and some hot food to help us warm up. They didn't say much. They didn't have to. We knew, then, maybe it's best to consider the whole of a plan before just diving into the fun part. Everything has consequences. Sometimes they're worth it, sometimes they aren't, but now we all knew: Be sure of what lies on the other side of a decision and make sure you're ready to deal with it when you get there. If you aren't, maybe don't fly down that hill just yet.

That's not to say that taking risks is always bad. Sometimes you don't know what's next. And sometimes you don't have a choice. These things all happen. Life is messy. What's more important is to at least be mindful of the choices, and its possible consequences, and if possible, prepare for the outcomes. I know this isn't profound wisdom, but it's something that guides how I do a lot of things in my life. And it's something I think back on frequently because it keeps me grounded and mindful of thinking through what comes next. I'm not always successful, of course. Sometimes I'm at the bottom of yet another proverbial hill, after taking a foolhardy leap. But in the worst moments, I think back to little me struggling through the snow, and it gives me a brief smile as I go back to digging myself back up to solid trails.

Turns out, it wasn't anything severe. Just some sciatica, largely due to being overweight. As part of the normal routine, the doctor also called for some bloodwork to just check up on things. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I got a call a few days later to a nurse sounding awfully concerned, telling me that they were sending an order to an imaging center so I could get my liver imaged. Turns out, the levels of the liver whatsits that they measured were off the charts. They were concerned I had developed non-alcoholic cirrhosis, a complication which can occur from having too much fat in the liver. When I weighed in at that doctor's appointment, I weighed 425 pounds.

That was something of a wakeup call for me. I'm not stupid. I know that being overweight is unhealthy. That's not to say that people can't or shouldn't be respected and loved regardless of their size, but objectively, scientifically, being severely overweight is an unhealthy condition. That's the reality of it. I am, you are, everyone is free to make that choice, and for some, it isn't a choice, but a result of medical problems beyond their control. I understand all of this. I'm not making a judgment of anyone, or of myself. The simple fact is: being overweight, especially as severely as I am, was leading me on a path to being dead.

I started doing some calorie counting, which I'd done in the past with some success. I also started thinking an awful lot about the fact that I was slowly killing myself and not doing anything about it. I'd had this realization before. Again, not stupid. But in the past, I cared a whole lot less. I was miserable a lot of the time. I had little sense of self, and work, which I tie my sense of worth to greatly, was not great. So I told myself, well, some folks smoke or drink themselves to death. I guess my vice is food, and I resigned myself to just kicking back and enjoying the ride.

But suddenly, it occurred to me that I did care. I really cared. I was happy, I was in such a better place. Not just with work (which is a big thing, even still), but personally. I have plans; I have things I want to do. I was beginning to realize all the things I wasn't doing because of my weight. I wasn't going on group outings on work trips. I wasn't playing golf. I wasn't planning trips that I was afraid might be too difficult while being obese.

Given that, I was terrified that this sudden moment of inspiration was fleeting. I've yo-yo dieted for years. Been down as much as 80 pounds before gaining it all back and more after even the smallest setbacks. I realized that I needed help. Help for a medical issue, like I needed help for my anxiety and depression.

So I took this moment of inspiration and made a decision that's going to affect the rest of my life. I'm scheduled for gastric sleeve surgery. This isn't a panacea. It's a tool, a way to help me with the medical condition that is my relationship with food, sugar especially. It's going to create some new complications in my life. It's not something that's reversible. It's going to be with me forever, to help me be healthier. More active. More alive.

I'm writing this as much for myself as any of the 4 people who might read this. Because at the bottom of this pit, I feel trapped, and that I don't have a choice, and I worry that I'll blow it off once I'm not at the bottom. It's hard to feel excited about the possibilities of something you don't feel like you have a choice not to do. But I'm trying to stay positive and think about the improvements to myself and my life that this will lead to.

All of this is shrouded, though, in intense shame. Embarrassment that I failed so far. That I just wasn't strong enough to do it on my own. That the problem is me, and why is it so hard NOT to just eat too much junk all the time? I know, deep down, that I'm making the right decision for me (it isn't the right decision for everyone - only you know you enough to say), but this is wrapped in so much emotional baggage that I'm writing this here, and hope to write about how things are going as I go along. If only so I can look back and see it. And to let some of this shame out.

So as an initial progress statement: Since I went to the doctor, I'm down 21 pounds. I'm down about 5 pounds since I started the pre-operative diet (super high protein, super low fat and carbohydrates). I've got about 2 weeks of this diet left before the surgery. Then a life-long commitment to being a better me. Whatever that looks like.

Throughout my career, I have had to solve many problems for people with fuzzy requirements, or a poor understanding of what it is, exactly, they have a problem with. This is typical of the kind of work I have done in the systems administration, IT, and technical support fields of various industry verticals. It's my kung fu. My super power. I tend to consider problems holistically, and objectively, and help guide people to not only the answers they want, but more importantly the questions they should be asking.

When faced with a project or problem set that is not well defined, the first step is always to seek clarity. And while most people may not know what their problems are specifically, they often know what they want to have happen. So a common starting point for me is to ask someone what success means for a given question, project, etc. Knowing what success means helps to frame the current reality, highlighting where it falls short, or isn't quite efficient, or whatever. It's the goal. Agreement on the measurable outcome for success helps everyone frame the situation, and it focuses future conversation, thought, and effort.

None of this is particularly novel or insightful, I think. But I have been having some conversations lately with my best friend about life and goals and getting healthy both physically and mentally. As we have asked each other questions to break down and work through some of the struggles we have each been facing, it has dawned on me, with no small amount of shame, that I have utterly failed to ask myself even this most basic question.

I have career goals and aspirations and a very clear idea of what is and is not success as I work and grow and learn in my profession. But, of course, this is only a small part of what it means to be successful as a person. I have so deeply conflated these two things I have completely lost sight of myself outside of this professional capacity. I have many ideas why. It's easier, for one. The deliverables are clearer and I have others to be accountable to. Not so in the realm of Tyler. Only me. Just me. And due to a lifetime of struggle with anxiety and depression, I am too apt to believe the lies that I am not worth the effort, for my own sake.

The title of this post is stolen from the Tom Petty song wherein he sings,

Had to find some higher ground
Had some fear to get around
You can't say what you don't know
Later on won't work no more
. . .
Square one, my slate is clear
Rest your head on me, my dear
It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears
Took a long time... to get back here

So that's where I am. Square One. Finally admitting that I have pushed these questions so far down brings me to the beginning. What makes a successful Tyler? What do I want? Am I doing the things to get there?

I don't know yet. It's going to take an awful lot of thought and introspection and trial and error and help, but I know I want to answer them. And that's a start.

To Whom It May Concern:

I have been having a time with my business service to my neighborhood, and I know many others are as well.

I'll start with numbers, but I'll follow those with the narrative that led to me doing this.

Service has been up and down for the past few days, and here's what it looks like, on a per minute basis, from a server 70 miles away. This starts a 00:00 On Monday, and goes to about 18:30 today.

Total bad service time since Monday: 233 minutes.
Total bad service percentage since Monday: 6.74%
Total uptime percentage: 93.26%

• 230 minutes completely down.
• 3.83 Hours.
• 6.69% downtime.
• 3 minutes of slowness (defined as ping from a server 70 miles away >50ms).
• 0.06% Slow time.

Wondering how that compared, I also ran the numbers since January 3, when I started tracking average ping:

Total bad service time since January 3: 49.57 hours.
Total bad service percentage since January 3: 1.16%.
Total uptime percentage: 98.84%

• 1479 minutes completely down.
• 24.65 hours.
• 0.58% downtime.
• 1495 minutes of slowness (defined as ping from a server 70 miles away >50ms).
• 24.92 hours.
• 0.58% Slow time.

What led me to start tracking this, minute by minute, was a 3-month stretch of just abysmal service. My ping times would soar into the thousands, my internet would cut out almost every day. In fact, at one point, I called into support for 11 days in a row without a fix. Eventually, I have gathered, there was a hardware refresh of some kind which seemed to mostly stabilize things. But because it was almost impossible to get phone techs or local techs to catch or admit a problem, I decided I needed to take it upon myself to quantify the quality of the service.

So I setup a server in a major city 70 miles away, which pings my house 5 times every minute, and averages the result. I've saved all these results, and these numbers are the result of those. Would it pass muster under scientific scrutiny? No, it wouldn't. But it gives a pretty clear picture anyway.

I know this problem is affecting others in my neighborhood, and I would love to track their data as well, but it's difficult with dynamic IPs and a general ignorance to how these things work. But I know many of them are similarly frustrated.

At any rate, I thought these numbers might be interesting to you, and I'd be happy to discuss this, or provide any other data that might be useful for you. I think you can agree that when things get to the point where your customers need to run metrics like this to prove there's a problem, it's gotten a little out of hand.

I don't claim to understand the ins and outs of cable internet service, but especially as a business customer, I feel like there's definitely some room for improvement in the level of service being given. I'm a Systems Administrator in charge of infrastructure across the globe, and if I had only 98% uptime, I'd be out of a job. I'm sorry to say, but if there were any other options in town, I'd likewise fire Cable One, but as you well know, I don't have a choice. But that doesn't mean Cable One should be lax in the level of service they offer their customers.

Thank you for your time, and I hope I hear from you.

I want to preface this whole post by saying this is a non-academic, non-scientific, unbased set of predictions based on how I view current trends. I won't be making citations. I may reference some things to show a trend; however, the great majority of what follows is through personal observation, some little logic, but a great deal more speculation and conjecture.

This will be pretty heavy. It'll involve some very uneducated thoughts on economics and society and politics. Also, I have done much reading and much thought on this. It is invariable that I will have some ideas here that I thought were mine, but I've lifted from someone else. If I say something and it turns out to have been your idea, feel free to let me know. I'd be happy to give attribution, but a lot of what I'm going to say is really pretty sensical, if not bordering on bleedingly obvious. With all that out of the way, let's proceed.

My vision isn't quite so ambitious as Ray Kurzweil's, but I do think we're teetering on the brink of an enormous socio-economic shift. The impetus for this shift is largely technology based. If you think about how technology has affected humanity for the whole of its existence, you can see how many such shifts have happened. Think fire. Think agriculture. Think math and writing and history. Each of these world-changing in their impact. Well. World-changing eventually. Things moved slowly in the ancient world. Humanity was small, fragmented, and the individual groups didn't play nicely together.

But that's not the case today. Expanding on the ideas of writing and history and books and the printing press, we've become an intractably connected species. Almost every part of the world is instantaneously in contact with nearly every other part of the world via the Internet. Both the internet and other global communication systems--both terrestrial and not--have made for extremely rapid spread of ideas. The nearly instantaneous and almost infinite iteration of ideas has been the impetus for great change. See the Occupy movement. Egypt. Libya. Beijing. And countless others. These are the first pieces of a greater sociopolitical shift: The active generation is getting younger in many places. They're technically savvy, and that gives them a major advantage. This trend will continue, and the ability of protesting groups and unheard minorities to effect change will continue to grow. It's hard to stop a movement when you can't stay ahead of their communication.

A common factor between the protests that happened in the last year or two is a large feeling of disenfranchisement in many younger groups. This has happened for a number of reasons, different in the different places in the world, but is an important catalyzing factor. We'll get back to that in a moment.

Communication, however, is not the only aspect of modern society technology has made far more efficient. We're entering an era of great automation. To some extent, we're already there. Many factories are highly automated. Robots build the robots which drive our cars. But many of these tasks are so highly deterministic that automating them is, relatively, easy. The automation in a factory doesn't have to do much in the way of problem solving. Rather, it looks for a very specific, very defined set of parameters and if those aren't met, it signals the humans around to fix the aberration or it removes the offending piece and tries the next one. In either case, factory automation has a very specific, very limited set of rules.

But think about the other industries in which that also applies. Almost all fast-food is in a similar state. No doubt the factories that produce the food which gets assembled in the restaurants are largely automated by the same dumb machines as the auto factories. But the part where there are some differences, the assembly built to order, still has a human touch. Though, really, there's not much need for that human touch. The set of parameters in fast-food burger making are pretty simple. As for the logic, there's just a few choices, all of which are easy to turn on or off. The assembly-line style work in McDonald's could be done by a single, self-contained machine. As long as it's kept stocked with ingredients, it could happily churn out burger after burger built to order at a pace both much faster and much more accurately than the minimum wage workers who make them now. If for no other reason than the machine won't suffer the ennui of mind-numbing menial labor. So, from there, you lose your 3-4 people on the line. You lose your cashiers, who are error prone in both their money-counting and in their order inputting, and you're left with a person to stock the robot and some people to keep it working.

Now, you can have far fewer people working to keep far more machines running making far more burgers that make customers much happier because they will, almost invariably, be of higher quality. This, at some point, means a significant reduction in operating overhead. It seems to me that currently, the only reason this isn't already being done is that the robots are still prohibitively expensive. But guess what happens when the robots that make these robots are cheaper? Well.

So then, there's a shift here. For more burger-making robots, there'll need to be more burger-making robot designers and programmers. There's a massive reduction in the need for unskilled labor and an increase, though much more modest, in the number of skilled labor both in design and programming. In the past, this has led to a largely net gain the the sophistication and intelligence of the population. The new technology leaves time for self-investment, in social investment. It allows a society to focus a little less on survival and a little more on edification. From this sprang poetry and art and history and literature and song and so on. Now, however, I'm afraid we're in such a state where this process has been retarded to some extent. There's little to push people into self-improvement. Little to push people into social improvement. Little arts funding, little patronage. At least, relatively. It exists, to be sure, but seemingly not in the same way as it once did.

As automation continues to sweep across the less-skilled positions--transportation, janitorial services, logistics, etc--there will be a larger and larger gap between the haves and the havenots. This goes further than just income inequality. It also encompasses the skills gap, the locus of power for political change, and many other aspects of modern Western society. Some of this has already come to pass. However, these things will get worse as more and more unskilled workers are found without gainful employment.

As we progress, automation will work its way up the skill chain. Artificial intelligence will improve and soon computers will be able to handle nondeterministic problems. Some of them already can, to a degree, but much of this is very specifically handled and they're given a very broad set of conditions. Ultimately, these systems are still largely deterministic, but they're getting smarter and determinism is less important every day. In fact, a number of scientists and technologists, have pledged to make sure that AIs help humanity. The question remains, though: does "good for humanity" mean "good for the status quo?" I would almost have to think not.

Now, the question is twofold. How do we get to that point of automation, and what do we do when we get there?

Now, I will freely admit that my views on how we get there, and what's holding us back currently, are maybe a little colored by some science fiction I've been reading recently, Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson. To some of the scientists there, trying to terraform Mars for colonization, the only thing of import is releasing kilocalories into the system. Energy. Energy is the big thing. It's the big thing for humanity now and forever more. As it sits, while we may have an abundance of energy-producing resources, we won't forever, and certainly not as our use of them continues to increase. This, of course, not accounting for the devastating affects of climate change (which, admittedly, is an argument I am not prepared to have. Nor do I really wish to. It seems reasonably certain to me, but I also believe that we'll figure some way to contain it. We're an adaptable species. But for the sake of this essay, we'll otherwise leave it alone.).

That's, almost be necessity, got to be the next great human achievement: sustainable, clean, cheap energy. I am not a scientist. I don't have any idea what that looks like. Words like cold fusion and whatnot are bandied about, but I don't know if that's actually a real possibility. Ultimately, it doesn't much matter WHAT it is. It could be a system by which we harness the immense energies in the ocean, or the ever-increasing efficiency of wind and solar plants. Who cares. But this is the thing real galvanizing agent for the future. It seems it must be. If we have the energy, there's really no limit to almost anything else.

With enough energy, desalination is suddenly very cheap, highly sustainable. If desalination is cheap enough, we can turn vast swaths of land into farmable land. We can then rebuild rainforests and other places which were destroyed in the interest of farmland.

With enough energy, we can make sure water and food are available to everyone for, relatively, little money. With enough energy, we can do the work necessary to reduce the effect of greenhouse gases. With enough energy, we could scrub it from the atmosphere if we wanted. With enough energy, creating the machines for the aforementioned automation would be made drastically cheaper, both in terms of the construction but also in the collection of raw materials since the energy costs of recycling and reclaiming such materials.

So, then, what about those jobs? The ones for building the desalination plants and the water pumps and the air scrubbers? Well, initially that might be human-based, but like many other physical jobs, they will either be augmented by exo-skeletons or replaced entirely by robots in time. And why shouldn't they? They're taxing and dangerous for humans, so why not mitigate that?

But that brings us back to the idea of the haves and havenots. It seems to me that we're on the cusp of living a truly post-scarcity life. Honestly, the pinnacle of any species, I think. There's no shortage of life-sustaining material for the entire species, and we've figured out how to make that happen with a minimum of required human intervention.

But see, the way we live our lives now, the way the world works, is based entirely on the idea of scarcity. On the idea that some things are more valuable than others because I have it, you want it--or more severe--you NEED it. When we can lord life-saving medicine or food or water over other people because we have the energy capital required to create or manufacture it, we're not living post-scarcity. Because the maker had to expend part of her supply to do the making.

Once we've entered post-scarcity, the tune of the world, it seems to me, will be required to change. No longer will the idea of wealth accumulation make sense. In fact that very idea will be obsolete. Indeed the idea of almost all wealth accumulation is based on the idea of future prosperity. While there's some sense of "I want all of this to be mine," the idea of a legacy or other personal extension is a large part of having money. In a post-scarcity society, none of that will be necessary. Because in "retirement" the social system at large--made much more efficient and self-sustaining by technology--will be fully capable of caring for everyone in terms of both food and medicine and comfort.

But that's the problem. Creating all of these world-changing and humanity-enriching systems will cost money. And a lot of it. The haves will be fine with spending money to enrich themselves, but many won't care a whole lot about spending money to help everyone. Ironically, the more they work toward that end, the better off they will be, at least in the long run.

The movement to create such systems and technologies will be highly contested. There will be much shouting about socialism and entitlement. There will be a great deal of strife, indeed, I'm afraid, there will be war and violence. Such has been the way of the world, and until such time as the idea of having and not having are made obsolete, I'm afraid I don't see that changing much.

The transition will be long, and it will be painful, and it will almost undoubtedly result in the loss of much life and progress toward the very end that will ultimately move humanity forward to the next great human era. The real irony, I think, will be the grassroots fighters will be using the technologies that made the old regime so rich in the first place, much like the protesters in the last few years have been using new technologies against the stodgy old powers who don't yet understand their power.

At the end of the day, in the next 25-50 years, we'll be seeing a great many changes to our world, to our society. Many of our current professions will be phased out as ever-improving automation takes them over, and we'll see a temporary increase in unemployment, generational disenfranchisement, and general social anxiety. This will increase until we hit our next major human achievement with some form of clean, cheap, sustainable energy and the whole of our economic and sociopolitical structure becomes quickly obsolete. Then we'll start seeing the fireworks.

This is, of course, assuming we don't do something stupid and put ourselves back in the stone age. Climate change, atomic weapons, drought, infighting, who knows. But if we don't somehow screw that up, this is just my view of our near future. Sorry if it looks bleak to you. It looks exciting and wonderful to me. Or at least the potential end result does. I'm a little afraid of what may happen in the interim.

This past weekend, my wife and I took a little road trip to visit some old friends. It was 10 hours of driving each way, and instad of some rare and exotic locale, we were making our way though the plains of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Southern Nebraska to get to the fly-over city of Omaha.

While we were excited to visit friends, we were laughing about what we could possibly find to do in Middle America, but I have to admit: Omaha is a bustling, interesting city. There's plenty to do, plenty of shops, and no shortage of charm.

The real life of the city, it seem, is centered around the Old Market district. These brick streets are lined with a plethora of small, independant stores of almost endless variety. Antiques, boutique clothing, consignment, hand-made candy, iron works, you name it. There's also a burgeoning craft beer and microbrewery scene. In the old market alone, I think I counted four different microbreweries, and the bars and restaurants all praised their selections of craft and microbrews.

To be quite honest, while much smaller, Omaha had the feel of some kind of proto-Austin, and I think the culture of this city, while maybe fledgling yet, has the potential to become a true destination point for many looking for a quieter, slower-going getaway, without having to sacrifice ammenities and choice of activities.

There were two places in this Old Market district, in particular, I was absolutely smitten with. One was this sprawling, dusty, cluttered, filled-to-the-brim used bookstore, Jackson Street Booksellers. If you have ever read Stephen King's Dark Tower series, you would be instantly reminded of the stacks and towers and dust of the Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind.

Every surface was covered in books, the floor was littered with stacks upon stacks. The back area was likewise covered in books, and the restroom was also filled with boxes of books. In fact, due to a finicky door, the shopowners invited you to grab a book and wait for rescue in the event you found yourself locked in.

This is the kind of store I could spend days browsing. They had so many books on so many different subjects, I feel fairly confident I could spend all of Warren Buffet's money there, much less my own.

The second place was a microbrewery and distillery called Borgata. They have a number of craft beers they brew, as well as an, as yet, very young whiskey. They have both an unaged white whiskey, which is interesting. Perhaps not good for sipping, but slightly sweet, a very subtle fruity flavor, and very smooth, so great for mixing. They also have a 6-month barrel aged whiskey, which loses some of that sweetness, but has picked up a lot of great flavor in the short 6 months it has aged. Despite how young it is, it's very smooth and retains that very subtle fruit flavor. I'm definitely excited to see where this whiskey will be when it hits 3 and 5 years. I'll be keeping an eye on it.

But, the brewery itself was gorgeous. Industrial building, exposed brick, some copper tiles, the two large copper stills sat in a glass room near the back. We also got to tour the brewery portion, where they explained their process, a little about beer making, and was an all around good time.

These were just two examples. Omaha also has the Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium, which was phenomenal. Potentially the best zoo I have ever been to. Really great exhibits, and the habitates were built in such a way that it looked, to my untrained eye, that the animals were well cared-for, and not stressed or anxious as you often see in zoos.

Anyway. Omaha! Who'd have guessed? It was truly an excellent city, and I would definitely go back to see some more and get a better feel for the city and its culture.

Today I attended the funeral of a friend I had in high school. Our friendship wasn't, admittedly, that deep, and we hadn't had any contact since high school was over.

To put that in context, my 10 year reunion is coming up next year, and suddenly, his is a face I won't be seeing there. This has, as these things often do, had me thinking about death and what that means and how to react to it.

I'm not so naive to think that I'm still young and invencible, but this situation is just so . . . strange. 28, ostensibly healthy, and his heart just quit. It immediately makes one remember just how fragile we are as a species. So many moving parts; so many things that can go wrong in an instant.

In such times, I always take comfort in the words of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself,

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at

     the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed,
     and luckier.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die,
     and I know it.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd

     babe, and am not contain'd between my hat and boots,

And peruse manifold objects, no two alike and every one

     good,

The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all

     good.

I am not an earth nor an adjunct of an earth,
I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself,
     (They do not know how immortal, but I know.)

Whether I had stayed in contact with him or not, having ever known him has helped shape the person I am now. He influenced me, he was a part of my life, and I of his. And I will go forth and be a part of others lives, having had the indelible mark of his life upon my own.

He, nor I, nor Walt Whitman, could ever be "contain'd between [our] hat and boots."

I think this shall, henceforth, be known as Soda Sunday. I started this trend and explained my new obsession last week. So without further adieu, here are 4 new soda reviews.

Dang! That's Good Buterscotch Rootbeer 3.5/5

This was another one of the ones I found at World Market. Having looked it up, the Dang! That's Good Brand is made by the Imperial Flavors Beverage company. They have a number of products outside of the Dang! That's Good bottles, including a number of soda fountain syrups, snocone syrups, and a few other sugary delights.

Upon opening the bottle, I didn't detect much other than that classic, spicy root beer flavor. It smelled good, but not anything particularly special. But then I tasted it.

At first, you just get a really great rootbeer flavor, but on the back of that, subtle as can be, you get that creamy, caramel butterscotch flavor. It's subtle, which is good because a full-on Worther's Original soda might be a little too heavy. The drink is perhaps a little too sweet, though, but overall a great, novel flavor. I'm looking forward to trying their regular rootbeer and other Dang! That's good flavors.

Dublin Black Cherry 2/5

Well, this is the first soda in my new soda adventure I really thought wasn't very good. I mean, it's got real sugar, and there's a clear cherry taste that doesn't have those chemical aftertastes that many fruit sodas have. So in that sense, it's good, but I don't know. Compared to the others I've had, the flavors of this one were just weak.

The cherry was very muted, and it really just tasted more just syrupy sweet than anything else. I also felt like it was overly carbonated, and the tiny fine bubbles didn't do much to enhance the flavor. For my money, I think there's better cherry-flavored sodas to be had.

Durango Soda Co. CocoFizz 1/5

I have to admit, I was pretty excited when I saw this one. Chocolate soda? THAT SOUNDS AMAZING! So after a hard day at work, I felt like I deserved a little bit of that chocolaty goodness and decided to give it a shot.

This drink is super carbonated. The cap came off with some force, and there were noticeable bubbles coming up just from opening it. Immediately, I smelled the chocolate. It was sweet and rich, and I couldn't believe this smell was coming off of a soda and not melted chocolate.

I poured it in a glass because unlike most of the other sodas I've been trying, this one was in a brown bottle, so I wanted to see the color of the soda. This was something of a mistake. It was a kind of vegetable-oil yellow, only thinner and with the carbonation bubbles in it. Not to be put off because it smelled amazing, I gave it a sip. And, well, I was disappointed.

While the chocolate parts of the flavor are pretty spot-on, it also came with a little bit of a sour, bitter note. I think this largely has to do with the carbonation. It tasted a little like chocolate and the slightly acidic taste of club soda. It really took away from the chocolate, leaving this weird aftertaste that I just couldn't quite get over. Texture difference aside, which I came to terms with pretty quickly, this soda just misses the mark if you're looking for something that might sate that chocolate craving.

Dublin Orange Cream 5/5

Heading back to that good ole Texas company, Dublin Bottling Works, I decided to expand my new-found cream soda obsession and give the Dublin Orange Cream a shot.

As you might expect, upon opening the bottle, you're met with that delicious, nostalgic dreamsicle smell. That orange and vanilla deliciousness from the halcyon days of youth. I haven't had a dreamsicle in years, but as soon as I smelled this soda, I was instantly transported back to flagging down the ice cream truck that was really just a van, and maybe I shouldn't have been near it without adult supervision. But that aside, I couldn't wait to give it a try.

The taste, if you can believe it, was better than the smell. The orange was bright and flavorful, devoid of the typical orange-chemically taste of most orange sodas. And the vanilla was subtle, but well-balanced against the acid of the orange. It was sweetened just right, and it also had that almost creamy quality that the Dr. Brown's Cream Soda had. I don't know how they do it, but Dublin's Orange Cream is a must-try for any soda lover.

Well, that's all we've got for this week. Stay tuned next week to see what else we've got in store. Please keep your suggestions coming, and if you've got access to some soda you'd like to see me review, get in touch! My twitter and Ello are in the footer.

Since I got a new job in May I have, for the first time, had any kind of significant commute. I drive about 45-50 minutes each way to get to work and back.

Despite the fact that I drive alone, I've made a friend. A brother in arms. A fellow Road Warrior on the grand MMO that is the daily commute.

I call him Bill, since that's the first name of the man who owns the HVAC repair company this van belongs to. He's much larger than I am, but far less agile. I like to think he's the tank to my rogue. But I see him every day, and we share the commute for about 70% of the way.

I meet up with him as he gets on the highway just a few minutes from my house, and he takes the exit just before I do. I don't know if he notices I'm on the road next to him, but since his large van is emblazoned with his company colors, it'd be hard to miss every day.

I don't know if it's just the small joy and comfort that comes from sameness and routine or if it's just nice knowing I'm not the only one too tired be on the road, but I rather enjoy the time I get to spend with Bill in the mornings. Because I know that I've ever got an HVAC emergency on the way to work, he's got my back.

Well, I have to admit that I've come under the spell of yet another fascination. Usually these things aren't very long-lived; however, I think this one might stick around because it has the distinct advantage of being fun AND delicious.

Yes, as the title says, I've gotten into non-major brand sodas. Why? Well, why not? They're usually all-natural, and they're cane sugar instead of High-Fructose Corn Syrup, so while the health implications of that are debatable, it at least tastes a lot better. Why Soda? Well, I saw this video, and I had to look into it.

So, of late, I have been purchasing some craft sodas to try, and I thought I would record my thoughts on them.

Fentiman's Rose Lemonade - 3/5

Fentiman's Rose Lemonade is one of many from the Fentiman's Brand. It bills itself as "botanically brewed" and like most of their drinks is based on their classic fermented ginger mixture. The Fentiman's Brand has been around since the 1800s, and their time-honored traditions have made some of the most favored sodas today.

The Rose Lemonade is, as you might expect, lemon based, with a strong citrus flavor. The Rose oil offers a very aromatic note, but not a lot of flavor. So that leaves the lemon, the sugar, and the fermented ginger mixture. On first taste, I was a bit surprised. It wasn’t nearly as acidic as I had expected a lemonade to be. It wasn’t overly sweet, either, but a very light, refreshing citrus flavor with a bit of earthy spice from the ginger. And the rose oil made the whole thing smell amazing. The carbonation is nice, super small bubbles, which effervesce nicely. While this might not really be to my taste, it wasn’t bad. I’ll give it 3/5 stars.

Dublin Vintage Cola - 4/5

Everybody knows the big colas: Coke, Pepsi, RC, but lately I had been wondering what else the cola world had to offer. In the video above, Mr. Nese spoke of Fentiman's Curiosity, and a few others, but I haven't been able to find those yet. So, when I saw Dublin's Vintage Cola, I knew I had to pick it up.

What makes the Dublin sodas especially intriguing is they're made right here in Texas. Dublin Bottling Works is a small soda bottling plant in Central Texas, who is committed to continuing to use real cane sugar. So being from Texas, I had a natural inclination to try these.

Initially on opening it, I noticed that it had a much stronger cola smell than either CocaCola or Pepsi. What I never knew about cola was how much spice it had in it. It's hard to describe exactly, but there's some definite aroma coming off this soda that you don't get from Coke or Pepsi.

What it has in aroma, it has double in flavor. Deep, rich flavors that aren't washed out by the sometimes over-bearing acidity of Coke and the overpowering sweetness of Pepsi. It was sweetened just right, and carbonated perfectly. The use of the real cane sugar puts Dublin Vintage Cola way ahead in my cola standings. I'll give this one a 4/5.

Dr. Brown's Cream Soda - 4.5/5

For a long time now, I have just assumed that I did not like cream soda. I'm not 100% sure why, but I suspect that at some point a long time ago I conflated club soda and cream soda, and they both became the bland, tasteless club soda. Oh, what I have been missing for all those years.

On a whim recently, I decided to try cream soda again at a soda fountain at a restaurant. I immediately fell in love with its creamy, vanilla flavors, light carbonation, and delightful sweetness.

So as I was searching for new sodas to try, I found Dr. Browns, and I had to give it a shot. Upon opening the bottle, I was immediately greeted with a strong vanilla smell. It wasn't that sort of chemically vanilla you sometimes get from vanilla flavored liquids either. It smelled like fresh, good vanilla beans, freshly scraped.

Tasting it, I was glad to find the aroma carried through into the flavor. Big, bright fresh vanilla flavor, without any unsavory aftertaste. The soda was very creamy as well, lightly carbonated so you really got to get that creamy feel instead of the harshness you sometimes get from fizzy drinks. Absolutely delicious, probably the best cream soda I've ever had.

Mr. Q Cumber - 5/5

Okay, so in the video above, Mr. Nese mentioned a cucumber soda that some kid went crazy for. I wasn't so sure about that, but I decided it sounded interesting enough to give it a shot. While searching for some of these sodas, I discovered Mr. Q Cumber Sparkling Cucumber Beverage, and I knew I had to give it a shot.

Having absolutely no idea what to expect from a cucumber soda, I will admit to being a little hesitant to try this one. But then Rachelskirts told me it was a favorite drink of one of the Gilmore Girls crew, I decided I should quit being a baby about it.

As expected, it smelled exactly like cucumbers. Which was initially a little off-putting, because cucumbers are delicious, but I wasn't so sure about liquid cucumbers. Especially liquid cucumbers with sugar and carbonation added. But, I gathered my courage and took a swig.

Immediately, I was met with a sweet, strong cucumber flavor, with all that mild spice that comes from cucumber. The drink was reasonably heavily carbonated, which only served to enhance the power of the flavors.

I have to admit, this might replace Cream Soda as an immediate favorite. A favorite, but admittedly one I don't think would be good all of the time. The flavors are strong, and very distinct, so it's one of those best enjoyed infrequently, when you need that extra refreshment.

I hope to make this a regular feature here, as I keep discovering new sodas. If you know of any others or you have any favorites, craft or major brand, let me know about them, and I'll try to give the a review.