I'm not a Luddite by any stretch of the imagination.
I work in IT. I can program in a couple of languages. I've own more computing power then most of the early space missions added together.
But I'm frightened of facebook.
I log into my facebook account so rarely that it's hardly worth having it.
My fear isn't over the nature of the beast - I have no real secrets to hide. There's a few things that might embarrass me perhaps. But nothing that would hugely surprise anyone.
It's not even a worry over the nature of social networking sites in general - I don't have a great fear of identity theft or anything like that.
No - it's the requests.
I have something like 270 requests right now. That's right...two hundred and seventy requests to do everything from be people's friend to indulge in a pirate game.
People wanting me to do things. It's enough to make me want to go and hide.
*Ducks his head under a blanket. A blue blanket*
Friday, November 28, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Double glazing salesman...
We're looking at replacing some windows - mainly because they're Old, the glazing is going and....well...this is mother....and decorating...
But because I was hanging around, I decided to help with the math.
You know me. Helpful to the last.
I don't think the salesman really appreciates this though.
Where is the possible harm in a quick spreadsheet?
But because I was hanging around, I decided to help with the math.
You know me. Helpful to the last.
I don't think the salesman really appreciates this though.
Where is the possible harm in a quick spreadsheet?
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Fairness...
For those who follow the UK news, we've just had the "Pre-Budget Report". This a time when the governing party gets to alter it's predicted economic statistics, maybe tweak things a little.
In this one, they tweaked lots, to the tune of billions.
All the time, talking about fairness. But really - what is fairness?
Imagine three brothers sitting there, watching a film. They've got a bucket of popcorn to share.
The simplest and "fairest" way would be to divide it into three bowels, meaning each gets an equal portion and can do what they like with it. Salt it, butter it, add toffee or throw it at the TV.
Another "fair" way to go would be to divide it up based on who likes popcorn more. Little Paul there doesn't like it...so give him a small handful and about HALF for me and thee. Yay!!
Or we can go by need - give the most to the hungry one, a little to the one who's just stuffed himself with chocolate and a middling amount to the guy in the middle.
Perhaps though we should look at the ability to buy more. The middle brother has a job, so he's got the most money - he gets the least. The young one gets next to no pocket money, so he gets most...and the old brother, who's into girls and goths get a moderate amount.
Perhaps though we should look at effort - it was the eldest who arranged a movie and got the popcorn - the most deserving. It was the middle brother who throw it into the microwave...and the younger brother dancing around under everybodies feet singing "Bang bang, he shot me down..." as it popped - clearly doing nothing to help, so he should get the merest crumbs.
All of theses are "fair" - from a certain point of view.
Fairness is purely, simply defined from your own moral code.
So sitting there, listening to politicians using that word - fair - I'm always hit by the fact that it doesn't mean "fair" in the sense you, me and the garden gnome means it.
To them, it means "The way I want it to be."
The gits.
In this one, they tweaked lots, to the tune of billions.
All the time, talking about fairness. But really - what is fairness?
Imagine three brothers sitting there, watching a film. They've got a bucket of popcorn to share.
The simplest and "fairest" way would be to divide it into three bowels, meaning each gets an equal portion and can do what they like with it. Salt it, butter it, add toffee or throw it at the TV.
Another "fair" way to go would be to divide it up based on who likes popcorn more. Little Paul there doesn't like it...so give him a small handful and about HALF for me and thee. Yay!!
Or we can go by need - give the most to the hungry one, a little to the one who's just stuffed himself with chocolate and a middling amount to the guy in the middle.
Perhaps though we should look at the ability to buy more. The middle brother has a job, so he's got the most money - he gets the least. The young one gets next to no pocket money, so he gets most...and the old brother, who's into girls and goths get a moderate amount.
Perhaps though we should look at effort - it was the eldest who arranged a movie and got the popcorn - the most deserving. It was the middle brother who throw it into the microwave...and the younger brother dancing around under everybodies feet singing "Bang bang, he shot me down..." as it popped - clearly doing nothing to help, so he should get the merest crumbs.
All of theses are "fair" - from a certain point of view.
Fairness is purely, simply defined from your own moral code.
So sitting there, listening to politicians using that word - fair - I'm always hit by the fact that it doesn't mean "fair" in the sense you, me and the garden gnome means it.
To them, it means "The way I want it to be."
The gits.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Two (and a half) good programs a year?
I'm sitting here watching the start of this years second series on BBC television this year that might, actually, possibly maybe worth watching.
I'm seriously starting to question the value of the BBC TV License Fee. Is it really worth it...?
Doctor Who is worth watching...some of the time. Unfortunately the last season or two has been marred by the choice of companion. And now they're changing the Dr. So it's being demoted to a half.
Top gear remains entertaining every episode, with a mix of irreverent and lunatic antics. A seven hundred and fifty mile race on one tank of fuel - with the drivers picking the cars was tonight's treat.
And the final program - Survivors.
Maybe.
A remake of a classic 1970's program about The End of The World - pretty much one of my favourite story premises. The first episode is a little slow - we're 45 minutes and and I don't believe I've missed much, even though I've been surfing the net and typing this.
But then, what kills everyone really isn't the bit that interests me. True, I can pick a number of holes in the opening scenario. The progression of diseases - method of death is presented as auto-immune - quick - bonus points for anyone listing treatments that might help. (Yes, I said help, not cure).
But much of this is probably to simplify the start - limitations I'm willing to accept for a good story.
But it's not the ending of the world that interests me - it's what happens after...
I'm seriously starting to question the value of the BBC TV License Fee. Is it really worth it...?
Doctor Who is worth watching...some of the time. Unfortunately the last season or two has been marred by the choice of companion. And now they're changing the Dr. So it's being demoted to a half.
Top gear remains entertaining every episode, with a mix of irreverent and lunatic antics. A seven hundred and fifty mile race on one tank of fuel - with the drivers picking the cars was tonight's treat.
And the final program - Survivors.
Maybe.
A remake of a classic 1970's program about The End of The World - pretty much one of my favourite story premises. The first episode is a little slow - we're 45 minutes and and I don't believe I've missed much, even though I've been surfing the net and typing this.
But then, what kills everyone really isn't the bit that interests me. True, I can pick a number of holes in the opening scenario. The progression of diseases - method of death is presented as auto-immune - quick - bonus points for anyone listing treatments that might help. (Yes, I said help, not cure).
But much of this is probably to simplify the start - limitations I'm willing to accept for a good story.
But it's not the ending of the world that interests me - it's what happens after...
Friday, November 21, 2008
I'm leaving on a jet plane...
Note: Posted the next day..
--
Once again, I'm at an air port.
As per usual, my laptop was the object of close scrutiny, being x-rayed, chemically tested and turned on. But that's not what I'm writing about today.
I've seen many people object to queues. The old, the young. The disabled...mothers with babies, the blind and the blonde.
Today, I saw the religious.
In the check in queues of madness a man stormed to the front of the "Passengers in need of aid" queue. This was a separate queue, for those with Issues - the disabled and the like.
This didn't stop him. Clad in plain, stark black, with hat and two carts of luggage - enough for three normal people - 3 bags of check in, an hand luggage, a personal bag, even a hat box...
He was Jewish - clearly Jewish. An important Rabbi, no less. This was no guess...
For you see, his flight left in two hours. He not only told the person on the desk. He told me, the floor, the walls, the people on the other side of the building this, in a strong and strident voice. "I am an important Rabbi" he said, "It is imperative that I be taken to my flight at once! It leaves in just two hours and I must bless the plane at once, for the safety and salvation of all who fly upon her".
This continued for some minutes, while he invoked God, Humanity and..something in yiddish...to allow him through.
This took some time, while the poor desk girl (short, young brunette for the curious) just sat there, listening to the torrent of words.
When he seemed to pause for breath, she was ready.
"I'd be happy to escort you to your departure gate my self sir...in just a few minutes. First though sir..." (as she got up and walked a few yards) "....the queue starts here".
She got my applause.
--
Once again, I'm at an air port.
As per usual, my laptop was the object of close scrutiny, being x-rayed, chemically tested and turned on. But that's not what I'm writing about today.
I've seen many people object to queues. The old, the young. The disabled...mothers with babies, the blind and the blonde.
Today, I saw the religious.
In the check in queues of madness a man stormed to the front of the "Passengers in need of aid" queue. This was a separate queue, for those with Issues - the disabled and the like.
This didn't stop him. Clad in plain, stark black, with hat and two carts of luggage - enough for three normal people - 3 bags of check in, an hand luggage, a personal bag, even a hat box...
He was Jewish - clearly Jewish. An important Rabbi, no less. This was no guess...
For you see, his flight left in two hours. He not only told the person on the desk. He told me, the floor, the walls, the people on the other side of the building this, in a strong and strident voice. "I am an important Rabbi" he said, "It is imperative that I be taken to my flight at once! It leaves in just two hours and I must bless the plane at once, for the safety and salvation of all who fly upon her".
This continued for some minutes, while he invoked God, Humanity and..something in yiddish...to allow him through.
This took some time, while the poor desk girl (short, young brunette for the curious) just sat there, listening to the torrent of words.
When he seemed to pause for breath, she was ready.
"I'd be happy to escort you to your departure gate my self sir...in just a few minutes. First though sir..." (as she got up and walked a few yards) "....the queue starts here".
She got my applause.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Wow
Things that are missed...
As you might have noticed from some of the comments that have been left around here the expansion of the World of Warcraft has been released, again.
And, once again, I've missed the "fun" that this heralds.
No, really. "Fun" is appropriate.
Why do I say that?
Well, let's see. The first person to level from 70 to 80 (the new limit) did so in 27 hours.
Yep - that's right. They played for 27 hours, locked away from all normal distractions (like sleep, other people and sunlight) to obsessively level a character to the limit.
But where's the fun in this?
Or there's the queues...back in the "bad old days" on my server there used to be queues on a daily basis - and it wasn't fun. You logged on, having to wait 20 or 30 minutes to actualy get through the front door. Perhaps a hundred or two people...
Now it's simply madness. Queues of people seven hundred long just to log on. Having to wait so long that I could - yep, I, Me, the obsessive fan of long hot showers - could go for a run of a couple of miles, shower and get changed, make a cup of tea and sit back down at the computer.
And it still wouldn't be ready yet.
Or then there's the starting zones. Here again the problem is people. If you have a quest to kill Some-Nasty-Git, everyone will want to do it at some point.
Because it's the expansion there's hundreds of people wanting to kill Some-Nasty-Git at the same time. These people won't want to queue nicely...touched with the same madness that twisted the mind of the 27 hours guy, they will surge forwards to slay him as fast as possible themselves.
The result is chaos.
When I play a computer game I want to play it for fun. When I get back to England, the expansion might begin to be fun...perhaps.
Maybe.
As you might have noticed from some of the comments that have been left around here the expansion of the World of Warcraft has been released, again.
And, once again, I've missed the "fun" that this heralds.
No, really. "Fun" is appropriate.
Why do I say that?
Well, let's see. The first person to level from 70 to 80 (the new limit) did so in 27 hours.
Yep - that's right. They played for 27 hours, locked away from all normal distractions (like sleep, other people and sunlight) to obsessively level a character to the limit.
But where's the fun in this?
Or there's the queues...back in the "bad old days" on my server there used to be queues on a daily basis - and it wasn't fun. You logged on, having to wait 20 or 30 minutes to actualy get through the front door. Perhaps a hundred or two people...
Now it's simply madness. Queues of people seven hundred long just to log on. Having to wait so long that I could - yep, I, Me, the obsessive fan of long hot showers - could go for a run of a couple of miles, shower and get changed, make a cup of tea and sit back down at the computer.
And it still wouldn't be ready yet.
Or then there's the starting zones. Here again the problem is people. If you have a quest to kill Some-Nasty-Git, everyone will want to do it at some point.
Because it's the expansion there's hundreds of people wanting to kill Some-Nasty-Git at the same time. These people won't want to queue nicely...touched with the same madness that twisted the mind of the 27 hours guy, they will surge forwards to slay him as fast as possible themselves.
The result is chaos.
When I play a computer game I want to play it for fun. When I get back to England, the expansion might begin to be fun...perhaps.
Maybe.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Hand me the garlic bread and no one gets hurt
Morning all
This evening (last night?) we went out for a meal, because, well, it's better then me (attempting) to cook something.
We ended up in "The Keg", which specialises in steak and ribs. The steak was wonderful....soft, juicy...still bleeding just the right amount. So thick that they claim they can't cook it any further then medium rare!
I should apologise to the vegetarians among you...but I'm not. It tasted too good.
The baked potato that accompanied it was dreamy - buttery, with just the right amount of salt for taste, but enough to start a doctor frothing at the mouth, babbling about blood pressure and cholesterol.
A Caesar salad with enough cheese, bacon and crispy bits to feed a starving African child for a week - and that's before he starts on the leaves.
But the best part - no question - was the garlic bread.
This wasn't just some bread with garlic butter.
It was warm and tender, crust slightly crunchy. Garlic suffused the butter, the bread...the cheese topping was made with three different cheeses you could pick out separately, each melting into the others arms like a trio of lovers, all melding as one into-
No, stop there.
Children might read this.
But hand me the garlic bread and no one gets hurt!
This evening (last night?) we went out for a meal, because, well, it's better then me (attempting) to cook something.
We ended up in "The Keg", which specialises in steak and ribs. The steak was wonderful....soft, juicy...still bleeding just the right amount. So thick that they claim they can't cook it any further then medium rare!
I should apologise to the vegetarians among you...but I'm not. It tasted too good.
The baked potato that accompanied it was dreamy - buttery, with just the right amount of salt for taste, but enough to start a doctor frothing at the mouth, babbling about blood pressure and cholesterol.
A Caesar salad with enough cheese, bacon and crispy bits to feed a starving African child for a week - and that's before he starts on the leaves.
But the best part - no question - was the garlic bread.
This wasn't just some bread with garlic butter.
It was warm and tender, crust slightly crunchy. Garlic suffused the butter, the bread...the cheese topping was made with three different cheeses you could pick out separately, each melting into the others arms like a trio of lovers, all melding as one into-
No, stop there.
Children might read this.
But hand me the garlic bread and no one gets hurt!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Numbers
Numbers are simple.
Numbers are predictable - roll 2 dice a hundred times - a thousand times - and they fall in a statistically predictable pattern.
Today, while Isabelle had to go to work I played Settlers of Catan - now, I've played this before...once....such a long, long time ago that I couldn't even remember the rules properly...
Still - it's a fun game - it really is. Good enough that if we manage to arrange a Christmas Meal this year I'll pick it up and the expansion.
A game of diplomacy and cunning. Well, mostly.
Only catch is I might have to relax a little...too much obsessing over probability really doesn't make for a fun game. A winning game...
..but not a fun one.
Numbers are predictable - roll 2 dice a hundred times - a thousand times - and they fall in a statistically predictable pattern.
Today, while Isabelle had to go to work I played Settlers of Catan - now, I've played this before...once....such a long, long time ago that I couldn't even remember the rules properly...
Still - it's a fun game - it really is. Good enough that if we manage to arrange a Christmas Meal this year I'll pick it up and the expansion.
A game of diplomacy and cunning. Well, mostly.
Only catch is I might have to relax a little...too much obsessing over probability really doesn't make for a fun game. A winning game...
..but not a fun one.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Rituals of life
When we do things in our daily lives we often tend to do them without thinking.
We build up a form of ritual - the way that things should be done, beyond which we feel uncomfortable. While there might be no significance to them - we can't help ourselves.
An example...take filling the car with petrol.
Pull up and park, remove the cap, pour in the fuel - so far, so normal.
But - when do you stop? When do you say "Yep, that's a full tank"?
I always fill it up till the pump stops...wait a second...then do so again. Until that second click of the pump, a moment after pulling on the lever - it's not done. That extra few cubic inches of gas...
Even then the ritual isn't done. Before I can leave I must - yes, must - work out the MPG of my last tank, reset the trip meter and drive away.
A simple task, transformed to mindless ritual...
And yes Dad, please do fill up the car...
We build up a form of ritual - the way that things should be done, beyond which we feel uncomfortable. While there might be no significance to them - we can't help ourselves.
An example...take filling the car with petrol.
Pull up and park, remove the cap, pour in the fuel - so far, so normal.
But - when do you stop? When do you say "Yep, that's a full tank"?
I always fill it up till the pump stops...wait a second...then do so again. Until that second click of the pump, a moment after pulling on the lever - it's not done. That extra few cubic inches of gas...
Even then the ritual isn't done. Before I can leave I must - yes, must - work out the MPG of my last tank, reset the trip meter and drive away.
A simple task, transformed to mindless ritual...
And yes Dad, please do fill up the car...
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Everywhere you go...
Up until now I've had no complaints what so ever with the weather.
It's been sunny and warm almost all the time - the worse was when it was misty and cool...which wasn't that bad.
But we decide to go to a museum - honest to good tourist behaviour - and it rains, and rains and rains.
The temptation to crawl back into bed...
It's been sunny and warm almost all the time - the worse was when it was misty and cool...which wasn't that bad.
But we decide to go to a museum - honest to good tourist behaviour - and it rains, and rains and rains.
The temptation to crawl back into bed...
Quick post
Please note that the post mentioned below was finally published and is below this one. Don't ask me why...
This is not the intended post for today - but I'm waiting on a pair of photos before releasing the already written one - so this will have to do.
It's about fuel. In the UK we feel hard done by if petrol costs more then, say, £1/litre. Here, they are breathing a sigh of relief, now that prices have dropped below $1.20 Canadian.
Take a deep breath people.
Calm down.
It gets worse.
Prices are now about $0.90/litre in the morning here, which is about 45p. Hey - you at the back - stop frothing at the mouth.
Relax. Chill.
It gets even worse.
Because here there is actual competition for customers. Just in case you didn't know (as there really doesn't seem to be much of in the UK - certainly not from where I'm standing!) competition is where you lower prices and offer other incentives to come buy the fuel here, rather then over there.
But here? Here prices drop by the hour....it drops from about 90 cents in the morning to (lowest seen yet) 80.2 cents per litre. This goes on till the next morning, where it jumps up.
A bit.
This morning, I saw 82 cents or so - at 8am. That would cost me £18 to fill my fuel tank.
From bone dry. Compared to about £39.
Goes looking for some emigration paperwork
This is not the intended post for today - but I'm waiting on a pair of photos before releasing the already written one - so this will have to do.
It's about fuel. In the UK we feel hard done by if petrol costs more then, say, £1/litre. Here, they are breathing a sigh of relief, now that prices have dropped below $1.20 Canadian.
Take a deep breath people.
Calm down.
It gets worse.
Prices are now about $0.90/litre in the morning here, which is about 45p. Hey - you at the back - stop frothing at the mouth.
Relax. Chill.
It gets even worse.
Because here there is actual competition for customers. Just in case you didn't know (as there really doesn't seem to be much of in the UK - certainly not from where I'm standing!) competition is where you lower prices and offer other incentives to come buy the fuel here, rather then over there.
But here? Here prices drop by the hour....it drops from about 90 cents in the morning to (lowest seen yet) 80.2 cents per litre. This goes on till the next morning, where it jumps up.
A bit.
This morning, I saw 82 cents or so - at 8am. That would cost me £18 to fill my fuel tank.
From bone dry. Compared to about £39.
Goes looking for some emigration paperwork
Friday, November 7, 2008
Visitations
There are many upsides to staying with a friend whist on holiday.
The most minor of fringe benefits are beyond their weight in gold - knowing where to go, transport....introductions to others...
But here in also lies a risk you must face - the chance, however small, that they may introduce you to a friend.
This friend, however likeable or personable stands a chance - tiny, perhaps - of having dedicated their life to a Purpose. A Purpose that cries for attention every day.
A Purpose that can destroy sleep night after night.
A Purpose that needs to be shown: Marie-lyne
...and Aryanne.
Of course, any such visit may end without incident. There's a good chance that they might not trust a relative stranger to hold their only child.
You never know if he might drop it.
Or use duct tape in some strange and twisted way, to ensure peace while he drinks his tea.
But sometimes, sometimes an unreasoning trust can develop. Ignoring all reason and experience they might trust their child to someone who hasn't held a baby in the last 10 years.
Someone like me...
Monday, November 3, 2008
Of all the things to talk about...
Today for a few minutes, I logged into warcraft.
Yes, I know I'm on holiday. That I should be relaxing and enjoying myself...well, I am. But that's not what I want to talk about.
On both sides - horde and alliance, they asked me the same question...everyone, asking the same question.
Of all the things they could ask..."How's the weather" - I just find this....disapointing....
--
NB - Even I'm capable of being sensible. No, really. Me, sensible.
Instead of carrying away with me to Canada my token that generates my minute by minute code, without which my accont is useless....I left it behind me in the UK.
And took the code off my account for a few weeks.
Yes, I know I'm on holiday. That I should be relaxing and enjoying myself...well, I am. But that's not what I want to talk about.
On both sides - horde and alliance, they asked me the same question...everyone, asking the same question.
Of all the things they could ask..."How's the weather" - I just find this....disapointing....
--
NB - Even I'm capable of being sensible. No, really. Me, sensible.
Instead of carrying away with me to Canada my token that generates my minute by minute code, without which my accont is useless....I left it behind me in the UK.
And took the code off my account for a few weeks.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Oh, the pain
There are many downsides to traveling.
You can get lost.
You can loose your luggage.
You can accidentally get on the wrong plane and end up in, say, Afghanistan.
True - I admit, this last one might be a challenge. The airport staff will probably notice. But I'm sure it could be done...
But of all of these, there is something worse.
Worse then uncertainty, doubt, having no toothbrush and crazed UN peacekeepers trying to deal with a tourist in a warzone. Sorry, peacekeeping zone.
No - it's when you look out the window at 0630, knowing that you should be asleep.
But also knowing it's 1130 and that sleeping, now, is as likely as G. W. Bush apologising for being as intelligent as his namesake.
Its the headache that crys out "Oh, for a few hours of sleep. Ten of them - whole, peaceful hours of sleep". At 1500.
Oh...jetlag.
Of course, if you're sensible you can fight this killer of joy. You can sleep on planes. You can arrange your flights to try and avoid it.
Which is fine, if there isn't a damned 8 year old sitting next to it's 3 year old demon sibling - you can image, this works fine...for about 30 seconds. Ok. Maybe 2 minutes.
Now imagine this fight continuing for some 7 hours, with the occasional cease fire, cry in their suffering mothers arms and blessed silence as they stuff their tiny faces with more E Numbers then you can shake an equation at.
Oh, jet lag.
I would wish it on my worst enemy.
Happily. They can have mine!
You can get lost.
You can loose your luggage.
You can accidentally get on the wrong plane and end up in, say, Afghanistan.
True - I admit, this last one might be a challenge. The airport staff will probably notice. But I'm sure it could be done...
But of all of these, there is something worse.
Worse then uncertainty, doubt, having no toothbrush and crazed UN peacekeepers trying to deal with a tourist in a warzone. Sorry, peacekeeping zone.
No - it's when you look out the window at 0630, knowing that you should be asleep.
But also knowing it's 1130 and that sleeping, now, is as likely as G. W. Bush apologising for being as intelligent as his namesake.
Its the headache that crys out "Oh, for a few hours of sleep. Ten of them - whole, peaceful hours of sleep". At 1500.
Oh...jetlag.
Of course, if you're sensible you can fight this killer of joy. You can sleep on planes. You can arrange your flights to try and avoid it.
Which is fine, if there isn't a damned 8 year old sitting next to it's 3 year old demon sibling - you can image, this works fine...for about 30 seconds. Ok. Maybe 2 minutes.
Now imagine this fight continuing for some 7 hours, with the occasional cease fire, cry in their suffering mothers arms and blessed silence as they stuff their tiny faces with more E Numbers then you can shake an equation at.
Oh, jet lag.
I would wish it on my worst enemy.
Happily. They can have mine!
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