我最近在干什么？
除了重温Beatles，参加一系列关于中东历史的讲座，完成毕业答辩，读宗教书籍，和朋友们fb，坚持每周去同济游泳，偶尔看几部电影之外，什么也没干。
我老了也不煽情，毕业气氛还是留给大四的ddmm们吧。

　　今天介绍五个微博客Twitter的技巧，这些技巧将使得Twitter系统更有效率并更易用，希望大家也会从中得到启示。

　　1、使用@符号来回复其他用户

　　这是最简单的一条，但你必须记住它的价值，你甚至可以用这条命令回复那些没有follow你的用户。

　　2、回复给你的留言

　　你可以检查你的回复页（Replies），看看谁回复了你信息，这比直接看全部清单（Recent）要快一些。使用下面的方法跟踪回复留言。

• 　　使用Twittermail设置一个邮件提醒。
• 　　在RSS阅读器订阅更新的信息。
• 　　使用GoogleAlert追踪@yourusername.

　　3、更新Twitter是为了得到读者

　　即使你已经有了很多联系方式，Twitter依然不容忽视，你会意识到刷新一页并不是一种选择，利用Twitter API开发的庞大的第三方应用和解决方案都走上了舞台，来从Twitter中获取好处。

　　Twitter并不是一种电子邮件或者即时通讯工具，它是一个微博客，并不是所有信息你都要注意，甚至给你的信息也未必需要，如果你要阅读所有的Twitter更新，Twitter就会降低工作效率并让人分心，最好将其在后台默默的运行。

　　一种新的看法是，应该寻找一种只显示更新数但并不干扰工作的应用程序，建议使用Twhirl这个应用程序，使用的时候请将其声音和弹出信息关闭。

　　4、负责地在Twitter推广你的内容

　　使用Twitter推广你的个人博客内容并不是一种正常的网络礼仪，正如Adam Lasnik说的，“由于RSS的存在，如果我想要关注你博客的每一篇文章，我会用阅读器订阅你的RSS FEED”。因此，问题的关键在于，要努力带给社会价值，而不是乞求关注。

　　就如同Tamar说的那样，“到目前为之，很多Twitter新手仅仅用Twitter来推销自己的博客，那并不是Twitter的全部，Twitter是一种交互工具，要使用它”。

　　5、保持内容有趣而吸引人

　 　更新的内容应该有价值，类似“我上床了”或者“读我的电子邮件”这类的信息对于我来说没有任何意义，另外重要的使用是避免你的内容过于个人化，如果你所 有的更新都是使用@和人聊天，那对于其他人来说是很痛苦的，因此尽量发布一些大众化的更新内容，给别人一个follow你的理由。

　　我相信这些技巧都是有好处的，对于国内的饭否等服务来说同样适用，如果你还有什么其他的技巧，请你提出你的意见。

　　英文原文：5 Tips to Make You a Better Twitter User
　　中文译文：五个成为Twitter好用户的技巧
　　中文翻译：William Long

http://www.williamlong.info/archives/1221.html

总是有点后知后觉，2008 Webware 100也评出来了，详见www.webware100.com
有些获奖的和去年很类似，比如youtube, firefox, google, wikipedia。刚刚explore了一下新的东西，发现以下几样有点意思：

twitter(www.twitter.com)
就是写你正在干什么，类似于在yanxi上说bm今天干了什么，明天要干什么。和yanxi一样，它好玩是因为身边的人，让你的朋友知道你干了什么，让你知道身边的人干了什么。可惜我上面是0 followers, 0 followings

remember the milk(www.rememberthemilk.com)
就是给自己设置提醒。Outlook或者Lotus Notes可以干一样的活，为什么要RTM呢？抱歉，我的email是基于web的，更确切地说是Gmail，而google有calendar可以用，address book也凑合，就是没有一个好的to-do list,RTM正好填补了这个空白。它不仅和gmail，google calendar紧密结合，还可以发送SMS到手机（此功能没试过），在MSN，twitter，blackberry上面提醒。

last.fm(last.fm)
在线听音乐。为什么不直接在电脑上放mp3呢？因为我的硬盘不够大，如果没有学校ftp的话找音乐麻烦，说不定还有版权问题（虽然这在中国几乎不是问题），所以不妨接受ipod shuffle的概念，life is random，逮到什么音乐听什么吧。那么为什么不直接听FM广播呢？我的电脑台后面就有一台音响，这是个不错的主意，除了恼人的广告和DJ话太多之外。last.fm就没这些问题，可以听的类型很多，也能结交和你喜欢一样音乐的人。缺点是并不连贯，有时候听到一半要缓冲，这个着实不爽。

顺便说一下，RTM和last.fm都是有中文界面的。以下是一些不错的获奖web 2.0 app，但是现在我还不会用的：

mint(www.mint.com)
免费的在线账本（或者个人理财工具）。把自己的财务信息放在网上，中国人可能都不太放心的，所以我现在用的是破解版的“财智家庭理财”。不用Microsoft Money或者Quicken的原因是虽然他们对于MSFT的收盘价不在话下，但是他们并不知道今天某个开放式基金的净值是多少，或者600001的收盘价是多少。mint也有一样的问题。

kayak(www.kayak.com)
我们都习惯上ctrip订机票，但是ctrip上的价格真的便宜么。如果暂时不考虑china-sss的话，答案还真的不确定。而kayak就帮你搞定，它比较不同航空公司的价格，不仅是飞机，还有汽车票和宾馆。可惜关于中国的信息寥寥。ps我刚才查了一下到国航的网站上订机票要比在ctrip上便宜20元，以后上ctrip就查查信息吧，不订票了-.-

hakia(www.hakia.com)
一个search engine，号称可以通过字面意思search到内容。比如我输入most expensive nba rookie,google的第一个结果是Kareem Abdul-Jabbar，这个也太汗了，第二个是O.J. Mayo，这个人是谁？而hakia的第一个结果告诉我，Villanueva在猛龙对雄鹿的比赛中得到48分（这家伙当时代表的是猛龙），是自1997年来rookie单场最高分，这还有点沾边。大概在第十个左右出现了Kevin Durant，而google下面出现的是Carmelo Anthony，还有Deron Williams。当然两个搜索引擎都没有告诉我确切的答案，我猜是Durant。所以我觉得hakia还需要改进，而google则太商业化了(O.J. Mayo那个是到ebay上去买球星卡)。

今天实在比较闲，所以技术了点。至于我为什么会关注web 2.0以后再说。

zz from WSJ
中文网站:http://www.randypausch.cn/
很不错的演讲

A Final Farewell

Saying goodbye. It's a part of the human experience that we encounter every day, sometimes nonchalantly, sometimes with great emotion.

Then, eventually, the time comes for the final goodbye. When death is near, how do we phrase our words? How do we show our love?

Randy Pausch, a professor at Pittsburgh's Carnegie Mellon University, has become famous for the way in which he chose to say goodbye to his students and colleagues. His final lecture to them, delivered last September, turned into a phenomenon, viewed by millions on the Internet. Dying of pancreatic cancer, he showed a love of life and an approach to death that people have found inspiring. For many of us, his lecture has become a reminder that our own futures are similarly -- if not as drastically -- brief. His fate is ours, sped up.

Since the lecture, I've been privileged to spend a great deal of time with Randy, while co-writing his new book, "The Last Lecture." I've seen how, in some ways, he is peacefully reconciled to his fate, and in other ways, understandably, he is struggling.

The lecture was directed at his "work family," a call to them to go on without him and do great things. But since the talk, Randy has been most focused on his actual family -- his wife, Jai, and their three children, ages 6, 3, and 1.

For months after receiving his terminal diagnosis last August, Randy and Jai (pronounced "Jay") didn't tell the kids he was dying. They were advised to wait until Randy was more symptomatic. "I still look pretty healthy," he told me in December, "and so my kids remain unaware that in my every encounter with them I'm saying goodbye. There's this sense of urgency that I try not to let them pick up on."

Through both his lecture and his life, Randy offers a realistic road map to the final farewell. His approach -- pragmatic, heartfelt, sometimes quirky, often joyous -- can't help but leave you wondering: "How will I say goodbye?"

* * *

Maybe 150. That's how many people Randy expected would attend his last lecture. He bet a friend $50 that he'd never fill the 400-seat auditorium. After all, it was a warm September day. He assumed people would have better things to do than listen to a dying computer-science professor in his 40s give his final lesson.

Randy lost his bet. The room was packed. He was thrilled by the turnout, and determined to deliver a talk that offered all he had in him.

He arrived onstage to a standing ovation, but motioned to the audience to sit down. "Make me earn it," he said.

He hardly mentioned his cancer. Instead, he took everyone on a rollicking journey through the lessons of his life. He talked about the importance of childhood dreams, and the fortitude needed to overcome setbacks. ("Brick walls are there for a reason. They let us prove how badly we want things.") He encouraged his audience to be patient with others. ("Wait long enough, and people will surprise and impress you.") And, to show the crowd that he wasn't ready to climb into his deathbed, he dropped to the floor and did push-ups.

His colleagues and students sat there, buoyed by his words and startled by how the rush of one man's passion could leave them feeling so introspective and emotionally spent -- all at once saddened and exhilarated.

In 70 minutes onstage, he gave his audience reasons to reconsider their own ambitions, and to find new ways to look at other people's flaws and talents. He celebrated mentors and protégés with an open heart. And through a few simple gestures -- including a birthday cake for his wife -- he showed everyone the depth of his love for his family. In his smiling delivery, he was so full of life that it was almost impossible to reconcile the fact that he was near death -- that this performance was his goodbye.

I'm a columnist for The Wall Street Journal, and a week before Randy gave the lecture, I got a heads-up about it from the Journal's Pittsburgh bureau chief. Because my column focuses on life transitions, she thought Randy might be fodder for a story.

I was aware that professors are often asked to give "last lectures" as an academic exercise, imagining what wisdom they would impart if it was their final chance. In Randy's case, of course, his talk would not be hypothetical.

I first spoke to him by phone the day before his talk, and he was so engaging that I was curious to see what he'd be like onstage. I was slightly ill at ease in our conversation; it's hard to know what to say to a dying man. But Randy found ways to lighten things up. He was driving his car, talking to me on his cellphone. I didn't want him to get in an accident, so I suggested we reconnect when he got to a land line. He laughed. "Hey, if I die in a car crash, what difference would it make?"

I almost didn't go to Pittsburgh to see him. The plane fare from my home in Detroit was a hefty $850, and my editors said that if I wanted, I could just do a phone interview with him after the talk, asking him how it went. In the end, I sensed that I shouldn't miss seeing his lecture in person, and so I drove the 300 miles to Pittsburgh.

Like others in the room that day, I knew I was seeing something extraordinary. I hoped I could put together a compelling story, but I had no expectations beyond that.

Neither did Randy. When the lecture ended, his only plan was to quietly spend whatever time he had left with Jai and the kids. He never imagined the whirlwind that would envelop him.

The lecture had been videotaped -- WSJ.com posted highlights -- and footage began spreading across thousands of Web sites. (The full talk can now be seen at thelastlecture.com.) Randy was soon receiving emails from all over the world.

People wrote about how his lecture had inspired them to spend more time with loved ones, to quit pitying themselves, or even to shake off suicidal urges. Terminally ill people said the lecture had persuaded them to embrace their own goodbyes, and as Randy said, "to keep having fun every day I have left, because there's no other way to play it."

In the weeks after the talk, people translated the lecture into other languages, and posted their versions online. A university in India held a screening of the video. Hundreds of students attended and told their friends how powerful it was; hundreds more demanded a second screening a week later.

In the U.S., Randy reprised part of his talk on "The Oprah Winfrey Show." ABC News would later name him one of its three "Persons of the Year." Thousands of bloggers wrote essays celebrating him.

Randy was overwhelmed and moved by the response. Still, he retained his sense of humor. "There's a limit to how many times you can read how great you are and what an inspiration you are," he said. "But I'm not there yet."

NEW BOOK "The Last Lecture"

Years ago, Jai had suggested that Randy compile his advice into a book for her and the kids. She wanted to call it "The Manual." Now, in the wake of the lecture, others were also telling Randy that he had a book in him.

He resisted at first. Yes, there were things he felt an urge to express. But given his prognosis, he wanted to spend his limited time with his family.

Then he caught a break. Palliative chemotherapy stalled the growth of his tumors. "This will be the first book to ever list the drug Gemcitabine on the acknowledgments page," he joked. But he still didn't want the book to get in the way of his last months with his kids. So he came up with a plan.

Because exercise was crucial to his health, he would ride his bicycle around his neighborhood for an hour each day. This was time he couldn't be with his kids, anyway. He and I agreed that he would wear a cellphone headset on these rides, and we'd talk about everything on his mind -- the lecture, his life, his dreams for his family.

Every day, as soon as his bike ride came to an end, so did our conversation. "Gotta go!" he'd say, and I knew he felt an aching urge (and responsibility) to return to his family life.

But the next day, he'd be back on the bike, enthusiastic about the conversation. He confided in me that since his diagnosis, he had found himself feeling saddest when he was alone, driving his car or riding his bike. So I sensed that he enjoyed my company in his ears as he pedaled.

Randy had a way of framing human experiences in his own distinctive way, mixing humor here, unexpected inspiration there, and wrapping it all in an uncommon optimism. In the three months after the lecture, he went on 53 long bike rides, and the stories he told became not just his book, but also part of his process of saying goodbye.

* * *

Holding Logan and Chloe, with Dylan on his shoulders, 2007

Right now, Randy's children -- Dylan, Logan and Chloe -- are too young to understand all the things he yearns to share with them. "I want the kids to know what I've always believed in," he told me, "and all the ways in which I've come to love them."

Those who die at older ages, after their children have grown to adulthood, can find comfort in the fact that they've been a presence in their offspring's lives. "When I cry in the shower," Randy said, "I'm not usually thinking, 'I won't get to see the kids do this' or 'I won't get to see them do that.' I'm thinking about the kids not having a father. I'm focused more on what they're going to lose than on what I'm going to lose. Yes, a percentage of my sadness is, 'I won't, I won't, I won't.' But a bigger part of me grieves for them. I keep thinking, 'They won't, they won't, they won't.' "

Early on, he had vowed to do the logistical things necessary to ease his family's path into a life without him. His minister helped him think beyond estate planning and funeral arrangements. "You have life insurance, right?" the minister asked.

"Yes, it's all in place," Randy told him.

"Well, you also need emotional insurance," the minister explained. The premiums for that insurance would be paid for with Randy's time, not his money. The minister suggested that Randy spend hours making videotapes of himself with the kids. Years from now, they will be able to see how easily they touched each other and laughed together.

Knowing his kids' memories of him could be fuzzy, Randy has been doing things with them that he hopes they'll find unforgettable. For instance, he and Dylan, 6, went on a minivacation to swim with dolphins. "A kid swims with dolphins, he doesn't easily forget it," Randy said. "We took lots of photos." Randy took Logan, 3, to Disney World to meet his hero, Mickey Mouse. "I'd met him, so I could make the introduction."

Randy also made a point of talking to people who lost parents when they were very young. They told him they found it consoling to learn about how much their mothers and fathers loved them. The more they knew, the more they could still feel that love. To that end, Randy built separate lists of his memories of each child. He also has written down his advice for them, things like: "If I could only give three words of advice, they would be, 'Tell the truth.' If I got three more words, I'd add, 'All the time.' "

The advice he's leaving for Chloe includes this: "When men are romantically interested in you, it's really simple. Just ignore everything they say and only pay attention to what they do." Chloe, not yet 2 years old, may end up having no memory of her father. "But I want her to grow up knowing," Randy said, "that I was the first man ever to fall in love with her."

* * *

Randy and Jai on their wedding day, 2000

Saying goodbye to a spouse requires more than just loving words. There are details that must be addressed.

Shortly after his terminal diagnosis, Randy and his family moved from Pittsburgh to southeastern Virginia, so that after he dies, Jai and the kids will be closer to her family for support. At first, Jai didn't even want Randy returning to Pittsburgh to give his last lecture; she thought he should be home, unpacking boxes or interacting with the kids. "Call me selfish," Jai told him, "but I want all of you. Any time you'll spend working on this lecture is lost time, because it's time away from the kids and from me."

Jai finally relented when Randy explained how much he yearned to give one last talk. "An injured lion still wants to roar," he told her.

In the months after the talk, while chemo was still keeping his tumors from growing, Randy wouldn't use the word "lucky" to describe his situation. Still, he said, "a part of me does feel fortunate that I didn't get hit by the proverbial bus." Cancer had given him the time to have vital conversations with Jai that wouldn't be possible if his fate were a heart attack or car accident.

What did they talk about?

For starters, they both tried to remember that flight attendants offer terrific caregiving advice: "Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others."

"Jai is such a giver that she often forgets to take care of herself," Randy said. "When we become physically or emotionally run down, we can't help anybody else, least of all small children." Randy has reminded Jai that, once he's gone, she should give herself permission to make herself a priority.

Randy and Jai also talked about the fact that she will make mistakes in the years ahead, and she shouldn't attribute them all to the fact that she'll be raising the kids herself. "Mistakes are part of the process of parenting," Randy told her. "If I were able to live, we'd be making those mistakes together."

In some ways, the couple found it helpful to try to live together as if their marriage had decades to go. "We discuss, we get frustrated, we get mad, we make up," Randy said.

At the same time, given Randy's prognosis, Jai has been trying to let little stuff slide. Randy can be messy, with clothes everywhere. "Obviously, I ought to be neater," Randy said. "I owe Jai many apologies. But do we really want to spend our last months together arguing that I haven't hung up my khakis? We do not. So now Jai kicks my clothes in a corner and moves on."

A friend suggested to Jai that she keep a daily journal. She writes in there things that get on her nerves about Randy. He can be cocky, dismissive, a know-it-all. "Randy didn't put his plate in the dishwasher tonight," she wrote one night. "He just left it there on the table and went to his computer." She knew he was preoccupied, heading to the Internet to research medical treatments. Still, the dish bothered her. She wrote about it, felt better, and they didn't need to argue over it.

There are days when Jai tells Randy things, and there's little he can say in response. She has said to him: "I can't imagine rolling over in bed and you're not there." And: "I can't picture myself taking the kids on vacation and you not being with us."

Randy and Jai have gone to a therapist who specializes in counseling couples in which one spouse is terminally ill. That's been helpful. But they've still struggled. They've cried together in bed at 3 a.m., fallen back asleep, woken up at 4 a.m. and cried some more. "We've gotten through in part by focusing on the tasks at hand," Randy said. "We can't fall to pieces. We've got to get some sleep because one of us has to get up in the morning and give the kids breakfast. That person, for the record, is almost always Jai."

Making memories with Dylan, 2007

For Randy, part of saying goodbye is trying to remain optimistic. After his diagnosis, Randy's doctor gave him advice: "It's important to behave as if you're going to be around awhile." Randy was already way ahead of him: "Doc, I just bought a new convertible and got a vasectomy. What more do you want from me?"

In December, Randy went on a short scuba-diving vacation with three close friends. The men were all aware of the subtext; they were banding together to give Randy a farewell weekend. Still, they successfully avoided any emotional "I love you, man" dialogue related to Randy's cancer. Instead, they reminisced, horsed around and made fun of each other. (Actually, it was mostly the other guys making fun of Randy for the "St. Randy of Pittsburgh" reputation he had gotten since his lecture.) Nothing was off-limits. When Randy put on sunscreen, his friend Steve Seabolt said, "Afraid of skin cancer, Randy? That's like putting good money after bad."

Randy loved that weekend. As he later explained it: "I am maintaining my clear-eyed sense of the inevitable. I'm living like I'm dying. But at the same time, I'm very much living like I'm still living."

Since Randy's lecture began spreading on the Internet, he has heard from thousands of strangers, many offering advice on how they dealt with final goodbyes.

A woman who lost her husband to pancreatic cancer said his last speech was to a small audience: her, his children, parents and siblings. He thanked them for their guidance and love, and reminisced about places they had gone together. Another woman, whose husband died of a brain tumor, suggested that Randy talk to Jai about how she'll need to reassure their kids, as they get older, that they will have a normal life. "There will be graduations, marriages, children of their own. When a parent dies at such an early age, some children think that other normal life-cycle events may not happen for them, either."

Randy was moved by comments such as the one he received from a man with serious heart problems. The man wrote to tell Randy about Krishnamurti, a spiritual leader in India who died in 1986. Krishnamurti was once asked what was the most appropriate way to say goodbye to a man who was about to die. He answered: "Tell your friend that in his death, a part of you dies and goes with him. Wherever he goes, you also go. He will not be alone." In his email to Randy, this man was reassuring: "I know you are not alone."

* * *

The chemotherapy keeping Randy alive took a toll on his body. By March, he was fighting off kidney and heart failure, along with debilitating fatigue. Still, he kept a commitment to go to Washington, D.C., to speak before Congress on behalf of the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network.

He spoke forcefully about research needed to fight pancreatic cancer, the deadliest of all the cancers, and then held up a large photo of Jai and the kids. When he pointed to Jai, he told the congressmen: "This is my widow. That's not a grammatical construction you get to use every day.... Pancreatic cancer can be beat, but it will take more courage and funding."

Randy has now stopped chemotherapy, and as he regains his strength, he hopes to begin liver-specific treatments. He is engaged in the process, but expects no miracles. He knows his road is short.

Meanwhile, I feel forever changed by my time with Randy; I saw his love of life from a front-row seat. He and I traded countless emails, and I've filed them all safely in my computer. His daily emails -- smart, funny, wise -- have brightened my inbox. I dread the day I will no longer hear from him.

Randy daydreaming, circa 1968

Randy rarely got emotional in all his hours with me. He was brave, talking about death like a scientist. In fact, until we got to discussing what should be in the book's last chapter, he never choked up.

The last chapter, we decided, would be about the last moments of his lecture -- how he felt, what he said. He thought hard about that, and then described for me how his emotions swelled as he took a breath and prepared to deliver his closing lines. It was tough, he said, "because the end of the talk had to be a distillation of how I felt about the end of my life."

In the same way, discussing the end of the book was emotional for him. I could hear his voice cracking as we spoke. Left unsaid was the fact that this part of our journey together was ending. He no longer needed to ride his bike, wearing that headset, while I sat at my computer, tapping away, his voice in my ears. Within weeks, he had no energy to exercise.

Randy is thrilled that so many people are finding his lecture beneficial, and he hopes the book also will be a meaningful legacy for him. Still, all along, he kept reminding me that he was reaching into his heart, offering his life lessons, mostly to address an audience of three. "I'm attempting to put myself in a bottle that will one day wash up on the beach for my children," he said.

And so despite all his goodbyes, he has found solace in the idea that he'll remain a presence. "Kids, more than anything else, need to know their parents love them," he said. "Their parents don't have to be alive for that to happen."