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January 28th 2003 13:15CST
While pondering the marvels of latent heat today, I remembered a lesson my father taught me as soon as I could multiply; "Son, always make sure when you multiply two numbers together that you write the units at the side of the number and product of the units at the side of the answer. It's a great a sanity check for keeping your perspective."
Over the years I have heeded those words meticulously. Until today. As I was mentally waxing liberal on all the fantastic things that are possible due to latent heat, I suddenly thought that if a substances state is a function of pressure, atomic construction and temperature, then state must have a unit measurement that is related to its constituent properties.
I'm sure there is something tremendously revealing in that but I'll be buggered if I know what it is. And I think I'll just leave that little theory right where it is.
January 26th 2003 11:30CST
Airlines and Banks Stunned By Hole in SQL-Server
It beggars belief that a worm playing on a security hole n Microsoft's SQL-Server can delay planes and disable ATMs. The sys admins and architects who made the decision to deploy SQL-Server in the banking and airline industries deserve a big, collective, sloppy pink slip right on the lips. What were they thinking?
I'm a big fan of Microsoft as a desktop environment for the less technically inclined user, but not as a server platform. There are very good reasons that the majority of websites are hosted on Unix machines and that the old addage "no-one ever got fired for buying IBM" exists.
I could rant about the reason that these airlines and banks deployed SQL-Server. About how they think they are saving money by hiring Microsoft admins rather than Unix and Oracle admins. About the myth that Microsoft solutions are scalable. About the reasons that Oracle makes billions of dollars. Boy could I rant? I could, but I won't. It will bore the majority of you and infuriate me as I type.
I'm off to get the oil changed and I will not even think about stupidity at any level.
January 25th 2003 13:35CST
Zoe's Birthday
Now tell me she isn't the prettiest little girl ever...
I love Linux tools.
January 24th 2003 11:00CST
Due to a very busy and tiring week, I bring you the news at eleven...
January 20th 2003 18:05CST
Having gushed in an uncharacteristic kind of manner yesterday, I feel compelled to counter it with some levity. Unfortunately, other than the shocking discovery that the British Army numbers around 100,000 troops (26,000 or 25% are shortly to be en-route to the Middle East - let's hope we don't have a war anytime soon or Blighty will be annexed by Sean and his banana-fueled wrath), I have no suitably heavy subject to lament. I do, however, have a couple of websites that I would point you in the direction of; you may not like their politics and at least one of them has the dubious distinction of being a lawyer but damn if I haven't spat my vodka over my cornflakes on a couple of occasions over the last few weeks. Little Tiny Lies and Rantblog ooze pathos. And you know what? A little pathos goes a long way. I just hope that I never reverse into their BMWs - being a little immigrant type person with a wife and kids to support I could neither afford to pay them for the damage or pay a lawyer to defend me. Cheer up chaps - this immigrant's driving license will shortly proudly display a visa expiration date (even though I'm married to a US citizen and my kids are American). I wonder whether they do pro bono adjustments of status?
Passive aggressive aside, their blogs are good. They'll not be to everyone's taste, but I guarantee you'll either chuckle or outright guffaw as you read them. Hell, you too might spit your morning tipple onto your cereal.
January 19th 2003 18:00CST
Buy "Double Life" by Nick Harper. If you have half a musical bone in your body you need to own this. Hendrix can roll in his grave in awe of how good this guy is. No-one can play the electro-acoustic guitar as well as Nick. It makes me dizzy (not to mention sick that I have nowhere near that talent).
I've been sleeping on floors, so much blood on my paws. But gravity knows no way to get me down, no gravity knows no way to keep me down. I've been sleeping in bags, my summer coat's a bundle of rags. But I miss you. I've been thumping my tail for a kiss, I've been burying my bone and fetching sticks. I've been dreaming so hard I twitch. Because I miss you.
Oh, and we're never in the same place twice in time.
January 19th 2003 14:00CST
So, Natzoid has been gone for 36 hours and the effect of that is beginning to show. Having deemed the DVD player dead, I decided I would try to get the DVD player on my Linux box working. Why not just swap out the DVD player doofus? I managed this only to find that Ogle doesn't sync properly and I couldn't find anything that would change the read rate so that was a non-starter. Eventually I gave up and swapped out the nice DVD player that Beanie has broken for the cheap and cheerful one that we had bought for our bedroom. Pleased with my work, I put in Black Hawk Down and cranked up the volume on the surround system. Middle Eastern music filled the room and I ducked as the bullets flew. Helicopters buzzed around the living room so rapidly the dogs flinched. The next thing I knew, it was 2:30am and I awoke on the sofa. Never ever leave a man on his own with a bottle of vodka (even though I only had one bloody mary).
I've been fiddling around trying to find all my communications with Natzoid from the time I was in the UK and she was in the US, without any success. I attempted to log in to my hotmail account (where most of the correspondence was) only to discover that I haven't logged in for over 30 days so they have nuked it. Bugger. In retrospect, it was a bizarre time in my life. The world was falling apart in front of my very eyes as I spiralled into a potentially unrecoverable mess, yet the one thing that kept my perspective in check was Natzoid. It's still the case. Without her, I'd be a blubbering wreck, trying to solve all my woes in software rather than just doing the obvious. I've been checking her blog as if she's likely to have posted, even though I know she's at her mother's and is unlikely to do so. It's a good job I'm married to her - she could otherwise accuse me of being obsessive and stalking her.
Anyway, I'm off to do something before I degenerate further.
January 17th 2003 20:00CST
Natzoid, Sam, Zoe, Nic and Stella have left for Illinois for the weekend, it being Sammy's half-sister's birthday. I've been left with just two (very gaseous) dogs. I had intended to kick back tonight, drink a few beers, stick 'Black Hawk Down' in the DVD, turn up the surround sound and generally enjoy myself. Great plan. The sad reality is that the Bean has broken the DVD player so no films for me. Out of 4 DVDs that were randomly grabbed and a cleaning CD, none of them will play. Add to that the fact that the sound on my Linux box has decided to not play the game and I think I'm a bit miffed. I suppose I have a weekend to dismantle things and fix them, but fixing things seems a far cry from sitting back and watching films. I suppose tonight means a night of cable TV viewing. Ick. I feel an early night coming on.
January 12th 2003 16:05CST
Because I'm dull and cannot think of 100 things about me, I thought I'd list 100 songs that please me greatly. Notable omissions are Eminem, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd, all of which are vastly over-rated. OK, I lied, I did the 100 things.
January 11th 2003 17:25CST
Twenty minutes ago, I was hugging and kissing Bean wondering how on earth such a fantastic little bundle of perfection could be my offspring, smitten as I have ever been, heart pounding with love and pride.
How quickly that little bundle of perfection becomes a bundle of attitude as I explain to her that she cannot live on cookies alone. I'm worried that if Noggin goes out on the cable again, she may be the youngest child ever to face charges of patricide.
January 11th 2003 10:35CST
Spurious Saturday Subjects
Isn't it always the case that the one day of the week that you know you don't need to get up ends up being the day that you do need to get up? If Murphy is asleep, there's always his understudy O'Reilly. Nothing says good morning like a big ol' pile of dog poop smiling at you from a corner of your bedroom, oozing a putrid stench in a straight line, right at you and noone else.
At 21 months old, these dogs still occasionally lose it and do what they want where they want. And when they do, I lose it and do what I want. They're big enough to take a whacking from me.
Regular reader (and I mean that in the singular) will be surprised to learn that for the first time in nearly four years, I'm actually enjoying my job. That is not to say that should I net $1m in the powerball tonight, I wouldn't be disappearing from the joint like one of my dogs taking off after a squirrel. It's a perfect mix of techie, marketing, doing and managing.
Natzoid's outing of me a few days ago as having stopped reading hit a nerve. I spend too much time reading the sometimes inane and sometimes illiterate contents of the internet and it's taking its toll on me. I used to have a writing style. I used to read like a proverbial bugger. The day I stopped was the day my sense of humor started to degrade, my writing blurred, my handwriting wobbled and the old me (with perfectly balanced left/right brain) disappeared. I've said before that I don't get subliminal messages or metaphors. I wonder whether that personal revelation combined with a sense of inferiority derived from Natzoid's fantastically easy and perfectly articulate writing skills triggered some kind of defense mechanism that said "You're as good as you ever will be and it's really not enough so just let it lie won't you?".
During the days when I was in England and Natzoid was in the US, I would read. I would also write, sometimes melancholy due to separation and sometimes humorous to lift both mine and Natzoid's spirits. I still have some of those electronically somewhere. It might be a good exercise to read them. Then again, it may prove to me that I really should give up any aspirations of ever doing anything more creative than being a product manager.
Anyway, after all that self-indulgent twaddle (first class indulgent twaddle that it may be) today's recommended reading is Julie Burchill who, in general, I dislike as a person but have to admire as a writer.
January 9th 2003 08:30CST
You know your nine year old kid is cool when, as you leave for work in the morning, you say "See you on the dark side after the revolution" and she looks at you and says "Yes, I'll see you later too" with a look that says "You're the biggest dork I have ever met. Get out of here. I really can't cope with you in the morning".
January 7th 2003 20:00CST
We've been suffering from the terrible two's now for, oh, about two years. As Beanie strides towards her third birthday (in a couple of weeks time), her assertions of her will become stronger by the day. This is unfortunate in many respects not least of which is that the following mathematical construct applies - they can sense weakness:
The Bean is currently of the opinion that Beans can live on bread alone. At dinner, she steadfastly refuses to eat anything savoury with the exception of bread. Some hippies (no disrespect to hippies - they're dirty, they're nasty and they smell - and all of my best friends are hippies - sorry, shamelessly ripped from the Young Ones) would advocate just letting this phase of childhood slide, knowing full well that the situation will rectify itself in due course. To those that would recommend such a path, I offer the opinion that many children could have been saved from many illnesses were their parents a litte more strict on the diet front. For example, had George Bush Senior insisted that Junior watch the Dukes of Hazard as well as Dallas, you might wonder how things might have turned out differently. See, all oil and no fast cars or police chases may make George W a rich (presidential) man, but could he fix his limo when it broke down? It's this lapse in discipline that gives younger generations the impression that they can pretty much do whatever they want whenever they want to, and that's a phallacy. Better that they learn at three that they need to eat their meat and potatoes than them wander into adulthood thinking that they can avoid paying taxes (which is what the limp-wristed liberals would have them believe when they fail to inflict the Christmas Brussel sprout on them). It worked for me God dammit - look at what a fine, well-adjusted, perfectly rounded reasonable and self-disciplined individual I turned into.
Seriously though, if you can send Natzoid and I Kendal Mint Cake, glucose pills or just spare a week to convince the Bean that she needs to eat a carrot, a thousand blessings upon your socks of cotton. And if you've any way to reason with a two year old and explain why bedtime comes at the same time every night, why they shouldn't be surprised and why screaming at a glass-shattering pitch is not going to allow them any more play-time, please write it down on the back of a valium or brandy bottle and post it to us.
January 5th 2003 18:40CST
This weekend has to go down as the most unproductive of the year thus far (I know we're not very far into it, but come this time next year I bet this will still be top 3 material). I've done absolutely nothing even vaguely constructive or useful, prefering instead to vegetate. I really don't hold with having a random day off during the week. New Years day threw me out of sync to a massive degree, to the extent that I was looking for Boomtown on the TV (a Sunday show).
As some of you may have noticed by reading Natzoid's blog, a small crisis has been festering chez nous. As will be evident, I have a terribly addictive personality. That doesn't mean other people cling to my every word, it means that give me a vice and the vice has me as a loyal follower. An addiction that I kind of knew was there but ignored because of how seemingly trivial it is (when compared to the old coffin nails) is tea. Without tea, I'm a mess. I can't think, I can't do, I can't even just be. Deprive me of my vices and I become erratic, sketchy and generally dangerous. Coffee is no substitute for tea in the same way that nicotine patches are no substitute for that glorious extended suffocation that costs monetarily and ultimately. During Natzoid's pregnancy, I tried the patches. After 8 hours of consciousness, I was in the fetal position in our bed, shaking and crying like a heroin addict doing cold turkey. Not pretty. When it comes to tea, I'm very picky too; only PG Tips or Co-op 99 are good enough, neither of which are readily available in the US. To hell with your Liptons and your Twinings. So the crisis is this: we have exactly five tea-bags left and both Natzoid and I are partial to a double bagger in the morning (insert your own smutty joke here). The bad thing is that I arrived back in the US on December 20th with a box of 160. That is how badly I am addicted. I drink tea from the moment I wake until the moment I get home from work. I have placed an order today for a 'shipment' from Florida that should be here by Wednesday but in the meantime, some horridly tea-deprived days loom.
Should I sketch out in the next couple of days, you'll know what is happening. Normal service should be resumed later in the week.
January 4th 2003 18:20CST
YATESCENTRAL WINS IN WAR ON SOUND
Minneapolis, January 4th 2003 (Yateswire) -- Yatescentral today announced that the sound on Redhat was finally working, proving that an open source operating system is a viable alternative to the other operating system.
"The long-held opinion that sound on Linux is impossible has been thrown aside." commented Kenny, "Those that advise using ALSA are imbeciles. The OSS sound program was a breeze to install. Only one hitch was encountered during the whole process; the speakers really do need to be switched on to activate sound."
Yates, a long time veteran of the computer world, is reported to be 'cranking a beer' in order to celebrate.
About Yatescentral: Yatescentral is a portal for all things banal, specializing in ranting, raving and random ecstasy or gloom. All forward looking statements are made with the implicit assumption that wine and beer levels remain consistent, nicotine is not outlawed and that earnings do not materially degrade. Yatescentral has limited liability in all respects.
January 4th 2003 13:50CST
Jesus H Christ I'm thick today. I can't even finish the Guardian's quiptic crossword so I'm not even going to look at the cryptic one (well, OK, I might). Call me shallow (shallow) but I took a great deal of satisfaction from 21 across, not because it was difficult, but because of the quality of the answer.
I'll take some comfort from Monty Python's Galaxy Song (we've been listening to Nick Harper's version) and pray for some intelligent life out in space because there's bugger all down here on earth.
January 3rd 2003 19:30CST
I was tempted to elaborate on Natzoid's comments about various beatings I've received over the years, but it would be a long and tiresome list. The problem with being a smart-mouth is that under certain circumstances, people take it entirely the wrong way. In Manchester, this inevitably meant some intoxicated fuckwit trying to beat my brains out in many varied and imaginative ways. Sometimes they didn't manage it; the majority of the time, they did. I've actually lost count of the number of times I've had my nose broken. I've lost count of the number of times I've escorted friends to the hospital with broken limbs.
These days my smart-mouth gets me into trouble with entirely different consequences. Today, during a meeting with my boss, I entirely rumbled the whole American corporate conspiracy. A few guarded metaphors were used to explain a particular process and the proverbial lightbulb lit. The irony is that it's not that complicated. You just need to know the rules. It's tiresome to play by the rules but I now see why I have to. Fortunately for me, I ran my mouth off in the company of people who also appreciate how ludicrous it is. In previous times, I've been very naive in my dealings with the whole 'board' thing. I foolishly assumed that honesty, pragmatism and presentation were the issues. Not so. Playing the game is the issue. Suffice to say that I'll not be running my mouth quite as much now I know the rules.
And it took me nearly four years to understand that. I could blame it on bad management or I could blame myself for being one stick short of a bundle but I think I'll stick to the former. You see, that's what smart-mouths do. The beauty of it all is I can now play the system. Bliss.
While I was in the UK, I constantly found myself mentally phrasing things for American corporate consumption. I assume that was the start of this lightbulb being lit. It's probably a good thing that I got to where I am in this learning process prior to thinking about branching out on my own in the US. Given that venture capital has been virtually removed from the English language, organic growth is the key. Don't you just love the buzzwords?
Another little thread that has been nurtured over the past few days is one on the divisions that have surfaced with reference to stem cell research (I know, a massive change of subject). Listening to the Bishop of Oxford (I think) who is a member of the House of Lords in the UK, I suddenly understood the religious differences that govern how the UK and US differ on the subject of abortions and embryo research. His view is that England had a monarchy that it didn't particularly like. The monarchy was replaced by a puritan regime which outlawed anything that could conceivably be termed fun. After a time, the puritans were edged out of society in England and took to the seas to colonize America. With their departure, whoring, drinking and debauchery returned to the English way of life (along with an incidental monarchy) and all was good. The English returned to the way they wanted.
This explains why an astonishing 96% of Americans (in one survey) are religious while only 45% of the UK claim any religious belief.
I happen to quite like that theory. But there I go again, running my mouth off. At least I won't lose any teeth or have any bones broken for it (I hope).
January 1st 2003 19:50CST
I'm officially old. I wasted the afternoon away watching 'We Love the Eighties' and have learned from the experience. The Eighties were cool, just not in America. The Eighties in America consisted of girly bands, soft rock and big hair. The Eighties in England were The Jam, Japan, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Depeche Mode, John Foxx, Ultravox, The Cure and a whole bunch of synthetic pop that was ignored. As the show on VH1 got to 1984, I gasped audibly as The Smiths were not even mentioned. How could a show about the eighties ignore The Smiths, The Stone Roses and The Happy Mondays? The Smiths initiated the whole Madchester thing that seemingly no-one in America has ever heard of. It's a crime.
America knows The Smiths for a single song that is probably not one of their best and for the introvert asexual vegeterian Morrissey who remained when they split. They were not openly treated to the pith, the grit and the vividly crafted descriptions of Northern England and more specifically Manchester. They've never heard the songs of violent teachers (Rusholme Ruffians), street fights and all-day drinking binges in pubs where old men sit regular hours on their own bar-stools, bet on horses and bitterly snipe at the youngsters around them (my group of friends started frequenting pubs when we were around fourteen). Americans can't relive or imagine (through music) the horror of fist fights behind newsagents where the newsagent himself would referee the fight, beginning with the statement "just remember, no bottles". They will never know how well Morrissey could describe that exquisitely grotesque feeling of being kicked in the face and ribs all the way down a cold, rain drenched road with police officers watching but not acting. They'll never know. And I bet they are glad. Maybe that's why Americans, when they go to England, restrict the trip to London.
So VH1 has reminded me of the good, the bad and the truly awful albeit indirectly, and of the fact that I'm old.
Another indication of my age came as I drove back from the airport with Sam. I've not kept up with music seriously for a few years and we, unusally, had the radio tuned to a music channel. A few songs that were playing were, much to my surprise more than tolerable. Each one that I liked, I asked Sam who it was. Forgive me if I get the names wrong (I have a hopeless memory for pop-culture stuff) but the artists in question were Vanessa Carlton and Avril De-summot-or-other (they both sounded like a hybrid of Lisa Loeb, Edie Brickell and Natzoid Imbruglia). Now, I am informed by Natzoid that this is lame old pop for young kids, but I liked it. So I am either a lame old geezer who will shortly be buying Barry Mannilow and Leo Sayer CDs, a dirty old perv who likes young female voices on principle or I have turned into my dad. Any way you look at it, I'm old. And worse still, I might be old with bad taste in music.
Maybe I should just stay in the eighties and rock to the Sisters of Mercy as I drive to work. Maybe I should give it up altogether and stick to NPR. Of course, the radical alternative is to prove I'm really old by listening to this modern stuff and having the kids laugh that I can't remember the artist's name (and by the way, the very use of the word artist dates me - I have a great grandfather story about that word which I will save for another occasion). Oh, and my legendary ability to completely miss the point of most songs will certainly cause much amusement to the rest of the tribe.
Any way I look at it, it ain't pretty from here on out.