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It’s getting on for two years since I first drunkenly mocked a film in “By the Numbers” style. I’m now onto my eighty-third and slowly but surely running out of ideas and interesting things to mock. I think a round hundred would be a good place to stop, so I’m taking suggestions as to what the next sixteen films should be, and particularly what I should end on.
A film to end on is particularly troublesome, as I’ve already given one film a rating of negative aleph omega, and the review of Dragonball Evolution probably marks the apex of the “over 9000” running joke. All suggestions are very much appreciated!
Suggestions so far have included:
- The Room (which Dan has been on at me to review for months now)
- The Princess Bride
- Plan 9 from Outer Space (often cited as the worst film ever made)
- Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Movie (possibly the most meta choice)
Any more? :)
A few minutes ago, I attempted the simple task of taking out a bag full of recycling. Having circumnavigated the car that some thoughless Mazda-driver saw fit to park in front of the area where our recycling bins are kept, I discovered this:
Not only is there no way I could fit my recycling into these bins, but each and every one – ten in total – is marked with a “Contaminated” sticker, meaning that the collection people saw something they didn’t like in every bin, and refuse to collect any of them until the management company of our flat block pays the council to take them to a landfill site.
This left me with two options – dump my recycling (in its non-recyclable bin-bag) on the ground and hope that someone helpfully puts it in a recycling bin once they are emptied, or the only realistic option: put them straight in the rubbish bins myself, immediately wasting all the effort my family put into separating them from non-recyclable waste.
Now I spent a year of my life working on technology for Material Reclamation Facilities – the big sorting depots where your recycling ends up. For better or worse (it’s a weird thing to be geeky about) I know exactly what can and cannot be recycled locally, what happens to it when it is, and what happens to any “contamination” that makes it through. For my sins, I even know what all the numbered codes on plastic bottles mean. The net result is that my family and I are meticulous about what gets put out for recycling. I would happily bet that none of the contamination is our fault.
But this isn’t a “boo-hoo, I have to pay and it’s not my fault” rant. The fact of the matter is, I live in a block of 93 flats. Someone in one of those flats is going to be too lazy to sort their recycling or take it out of plastic bags. Someone is going to be unable to read the signs, or just to not care. Probably not just “someone” but quite a lot of people. It’s unavoidable.
The council system is simply broken for large flat blocks.
If a single family house gets their bin marked as “contaminated” and has to pay to have it taken away, maybe they’ll learn. But given human nature, a block of 93 flats is always going to have contaminated bins, every single week.
Either the process needs to change, collectors need to be more tolerant of contamination, or else there’s no point giving us recycling bins at all. Just let us put it all out for rubbish and damn the environment, because that’s what happens now, only right now it takes much longer and costs us all a lot more money.
Lightning crackles through my hind-brain, adenosine receptors lighting up in sequence as caffeine molecules finish their long journey from the hillsides of South America to the grey mass of proteins from which spawn consciousness. My eyes open wider, and with them my mind. Fingers flicker and dance across the keys of mankind’s most arcane device. Thoughts, ideas, visions flash across my mind, patterns forming for just milliseconds. Then they explode through neural pathways, twisting and contorting muscles that touch keys across the tiny portion of the real world that is still required for man and machine to work in harmony. Then on again, electrical pulses once more, completing the journey from pattern in flesh to pattern in silicon.
In another time and place, perhaps I would have been a shaman, ingesting powders of strange jungle plants to achieve the same state beyond mere consciousness, the same ability to communicate with the world, that I now achieve with caffeine and a keyboard. For the creation of software is unlike any art or act of engineering that came before it, and at times it borders on magical.
The carpenter’s and the artist’s work both begin with an idea in their mind, but the end product of each one’s endeavour is a real, tangible object. What’s more, the carpenter’s chisel marks and the artist’s brush strokes become part of the work itself, forever a sign that human effort created it. But not so the magic of the programmer. We have minimised our tools as far as we can, allowing fingers to dash across keys as fast as our muscles allow, and still we yearn to do away with them entirely. Like the Chi to a T’ai Chi practicioner, the keyboard to us is a limitation on the speed we can translate thought into reality, and the more we minimise it, the more effective we are.
At the end of the craft of software, there is no finished item that can be picked up, examined for workmanship, burnt to ash. There is just a pattern of magnetic domains on a disk somewhere, an electromagnetic pattern the mirror twin of the electromagnetic pattern in a brain that spawned it. By using a strange tool and a bizarre language which few understand, we take the patterns in our heads and overlay them on the world as pure information, pure pattern-stuff.
And that, dear friends, is nothing more or less than the practice of magic.
For weeks now, I’ve been attempting to wrangle Symantec Ghost, the corporate cousin of Norton Ghost, to back up and restore the contents of a partition on a RAID. I’ve fought with device drivers, manually built Windows PE images using WAIK with Symantec’s outdated instructions, fought off continual pestering from a probably well-meaning call centre operative, and significantly contributed to the drinks coaster industry.
In desperation, I wondered if a simple
ddfrom a Linux LiveCD would do the job, and the helpful folk at the UNIX/Linux Stack Exchange pointed me at various partimage-based backup/recovery distros such as Clonezilla and PING.
Surprise surprise… they worked out of the box with no hassle whatsoever.
Now they may have a few issues – PING, for example, has a particularly odd interpretation of the function of the “Cancel” button on occasion – but they do the job, for free, in minutes, compared to the hundreds of pounds and weeks of my time I unsuccessfully put into trying to use their commercial equivalent.
The slow, steady rise of open source software has never given us “The Year of Linux on the Desktop”, but it has vastly increased the number of times that I think “there must be some advantage to this commercial program that justifies its cost” before quickly realising that no, there really isn’t.
For my current project, my mock-ups have now progressed to the PowerPoint stage, which sits between whiteboard drawings and actual code, and thus lets me briefly pretend to be a real user experience person. Rather than consigning it to my hard drive for all eternity, I figured I’d get some input on it from the rest of my team – and, in for a penny and so on, everyone else who sets foot in the office.
They’re pinned up on the wall, alongside the following:
So far, it appears to be working. And astoundingly, no dicks yet either. It can only be a matter of time.
I took my first faltering steps “online” in the mid-90s, courtesy of Trumpet Winsock under Windows 3.1, followed by AOL’s UK Games Chat, doubtless a gateway drug to the life of Usenet and IRC that followed; hoping and pleading that my parents wouldn’t pick up the phone and hear the telltale 14.4 kilobit buzzing that gave away my illicit internet usage.
Isn’t “going online” such a strange notion now, when “offline” is only achieved by bloggers camping in the woods as a publicity stunt; a week without the internet in exchange for their fifteen seconds of internet fame?
Everything I did online in those days, everything I was, is long gone now. IRC logs lost to formatted hard drives; Usenet posts beyond any server’s retention time; my background-MIDI hell of a website that probably died with Geocities. But since the turn of the millennium, something has been happening – the internet is less fleeting; more permanent. The blog was on the rise.
It was a little over ten years ago that I penned this waste of the English language, which has survived a trip from a website of my own concoction, through LiveJournal and Drupal to where it now rests as the oldest entry that has made it to my current blog. (Sadly, I cannot say the same for the HTML formatting or the image to which it once linked.) The follies of my youth (at least, from age 16 onwards) are now preserved for the world to see.
The eighteen-year-old spouting bad philosophy. The nineteen-year-old who wanted to be a child forever. The twenty-year-old that saw himself though the eyes of characters he played. The twenty-one-year-old that thought he’d be with his friends forever, and the twenty-two-year-old that started to realise he wouldn’t. The twenty-four-year-old who geeked out, the twenty-five-year-old that got political, and the twenty-six-year-old who overanalyses his son’s questions.
Nothing is deleted anymore, nothing lost to history. Those thoughts that I don’t commit to bloggery, Twitter and Facebook keep for posterity or for marketing potential.
It’s mostly the kind of detail nobody will ever want to know about my life, and briefly, I considered deleting most of it – the personal stuff, at least.
But as I considered it, walking home in the dark, I passed the nursing home that advertises “a special neighbourhood for the memory impaired”. Should I ever get to that point, and should my family not follow my explicit instructions to pack me off to Dignitas the minute I become a burden on them, I can’t think of a better way to hold onto my memories than to have them accessible and searchable from wherever I may be.
Every scrap of drama, every bawling whinge, every pointless meme and every political diatribe made me who I am today, and someday I may be grateful to read it all again.
(Though seriously, I have posted a ton of crap over the years. Man, I should never have been allowed on LiveJournal.)
My name is Cheesefish, and against all logic it is one of the more mundane names I have come across. I am wearing a sari and I have a fox on my head. My hobby: squeezing chickens. My mission: to become the finest chef the world of Glitch has ever seen.
Glitch is a browser-based, entirely combat-free, massively multiplayer online game. And for the last few days, it has been something of an obsession. It is Maple Story, if Maple Story cut the combat (and the Korean-ness) and focussed solely on exploration and crafting mechanics. And it’s the exploration that makes it. As a 2D scrolling flash game, there are none of World of Warcraft or Guild Wars’ sweeping vistas here, but it makes up for it in variety. One moment you may be exploring a lush and utterly normal forest, but one stop on the ever-present intercontinental subway drops you off in a land of pastel where the hills have eyes.
Stranger places still await the intrepid explorer. Keita Takahashi, creator of Katamari Damacy, has had his hands on this game and it certainly shows. (The other more recognisable members of the team are, bizarrely, the founders of Flickr.) There have clearly been some… unique minds behind the design of this game, which become most apparent when acquiring raw materials from the environment.
Need meat? You get it by nibbling on pigs, but only after petting them. Milk? From butterflies of course, but they must be massaged first. Grain can be obtained by squeezing chickens, but eggs? Oh, right. Egg plants.
From the odd interactions with fauna to the bizarre contraptions you can use, the ever-humorous quest descriptions and the pet rock that does your learning for you, there’s a strange sense of humour at work here and it works very well indeed.
Glitch is also an example of one of my most hated things - an Energy-based game that has no end. But here, it doesn’t feel malicious like the game-killing ‘games’ of Zynga and Playfish. Energy is plentiful and refills completely every few hours, and even with my character’s mediocre cooking skills, she can easily whip up enough odd food and drinks to keep her energy and mood full. Skills are learned over minutes, hours or days of real time, but again unlike FarmVille and its kin, they’re not just a mechanism to drag you back to the game. There doesn’t feel like an urgency to get them learned, and besides, you can manage them from the website or the iOS app without having to touch the game itself.
So what the heck is Glitch? It doesn’t seem much like a game, as there’s no way to win and no reason to compete against anyone. It’s a world to explore, to create and add to, and apparently, to hold farmers’ markets in.
It resembles nothing quite so much as a twenty-first century upgrade of the MUSH, the shared environments from the early ’90s. If it allows anything like a MUSH’s ability for players to create and expand the world, it will be a wonder. But creating with text is easy; doing so with graphics much more complex, and I can’t imagine the company behind Glitch giving up creative control so readily.
But even without that, even without an idea of what it is and what it’s going to be, it’s certainly a beautiful something.
I’ve since relocated all my web stuff to Dreamhost, taking advantage of their unlimited bandwidth offering to plow through 10 GB and more a month. But now I’m coming up against the last remaining limit of my shared hosting - memory usage.
Both Westminster Hubble, which constantly crawls MPs’ social networks and RSS feeds, and an increasingly complex SuccessWhale, churn through a ton of memory. I don’t have a nice scary graph for this one, but at peak times, I’d estimate that my web server kills over half my PHP processes due to excess memory use. That means Only Dreaming basically goes down, while SuccessWhale throws errors around if it even loads at all.
It looks like I’m left taking the expensive plunge of moving my hosting to a VPS rather than a shared solution, which is a jump I’m nervous to make, especially since none of my web properties make me any money. Most worrying of all is that VPS prices tend to vary by available memory, and I don’t actually know how much memory all my stuff would take up if it were allowed free rein. And nor do I have any way of finding out, bar jumping ship to a VPS and taking advantage of free trial weeks.
So, dear lazyweb, do you have any experience with this sort of thing? And can anyone reccommend a good (cheap!) VPS host that fulfils the following criteria:
LAMP stack with “P” being both PHP and Python (or *BSD instead of Linux)
Full shell access
Unlimited (or at least 100 GB) bandwidth
Unlimited (or at least 10 GB) disk space
At least 20 MySQL databases
IMAP mailboxes & mail forwarding
I’ve been recommended linode by a friend which seems great for tinkering, though the price scales up rapidly with RAM use and I’m not sure I want to deal with the hassle of setting up Apache, MySQL etc. by myself. And there’s Dreamhost’s own offering, which would be virtually zero-hassle to switch to, but probably isn’t the cheapest around.
So, citizens of the interweb, I seek your advice!
The big changes between version 1.1.2 and 2.0 are:
- Facebook support
- Support for multiple Twitter (and Facebook) accounts
- As many columns as you want
- Columns that combine multiple feeds
- Lightboxed images from Twitpic and yFrog
- New themes
- Numerous bug fixes!
You can see a screenshot of it in action below:
I would particularly like to thank Alex Hutter, Hugo Day, Erica Renton and Rg Enzon, whose help in finding bugs and suggesting new features has been instrumental in bringing SuccessWhale up to version 2.0 today.
My phone, an HTC Desire HD, is a gorgeous slate of metal and glass; thin but with a huge screen, and when I bought it back in December of 2010, it was the most powerful and capable phone on the market. It is part of the future of ‘computing’, capable of 99% of what I use my laptop computer for. It’s also irresistible to my Cut the Rope-completionist child, and unfortunately, heavy gaming use drains the battery in a little under three hours. Normal use, for me, toasts it in between 8 and 12.
Repeatedly frustrated at not being able to use my phone to make calls or navigate at the end of car journeys with my family, I set to thinking about what I actually use my phone for. The majority of my phone use boils down to, roughly in order:
- Text messaging
- Actually calling people
I wondered what would be the phone that minimised cost, maximised battery life, allowed me to do those four things happily, and most of all was completely unattractive to my child. I settled on a BlackBerry Curve 3G (9300). So without further ado, after a week’s worth of use, my thoughts about my new second phone. In case any other Android users are tempted to come to the dark side, this is roughly what to expect:
I’ve always felt that phones with sliding parts were a little less indestructible than I’d like, so this is my first phone with a physical QWERTY keyboard. And boy, is it nice. RIM have a well-deserved reputation here, and after a week of use I’m already typing faster than I could on the Desire HD, even with Swype.
I was coming from a Googly world of push e-mail and Google Talk, but push notifications for Twitter and Facebook are a welcome addition. I’ve no idea how much data or battery power is saved by not having to poll the services for notifications at regular intervals, but the speed at which they arrive is certainly appreciated.
I can actually sit down with this thing in my pocket, which is one thing I’m rarely able to do with the Desire HD’s 4.3-inch screen.
Life with my Desire HD is a constant quest for the nearest power socket. I had it automatically enter flight mode overnight, and charged it at my desk all day. Heavy evening use meant I’d charge it overnight as well, just to be on the safe side, and train journeys caused me to eschew using the phone so that I had a chance of being able to call someone when I arrived.
This thing is well into its second day, its battery well over half full. I may finally be free of phone battery paranoia for the first time since about 2006.
BlackBerry Internet Service is Weird
The price of omnipresent push notifications is that your phone, and carrier, must have you set up to use BlackBerry Internet Service. But its roots extend deeper than that, in that some apps – such as Twitter and Facebook – are unusable without it. Coming from a world where apps just make their own connections straight to the appropriate web services, it’s a little strange. And though there are Twitter apps that make their own direct connection, they’re not as nicely tied into the phone as the official one; no other interface that lets you browse Twitter and Facebook together.
App World is no App Store
This hasn’t been a deal-breaker for me as I always intended to install as little as possible on this phone, but my forays into it have disappointed. While the Apple App Store and Android Market seem to have dozens of apps (of varying quality) for every possible task, App World has the opposite problem – if there is an app for that, there’s probably only one, and it’s expensive.
The UI, Oh God, The UI
Complaints are often levelled at Android that its menu system is unintuitive (which functions are in the menu, and which are on the app’s main interface?) and that its UI is inconsistent (white-on-black vs black-on-white, orange highlights, green highlights…). Well, it’s got nothing on BlackBerry OS. Text and background colours differ wildly between apps, non-standard widgets abound, and many critical functions hide behind a menu that’s many screen-heights tall.
RIM seems to lag far behind the rest of the world in some technologies – for example the Curve 9300, released in late 2010, was the first of the series to feature a 3G radio. It has a 2-megapixel blurrycam and a 624MHz processor. But taking the proverbial biscuit is that 320x240 screen that looks almost retro in with its simple icons and pixellated text. It’s not a noticeable problem after a while, but when going back to using the Desire HD, the Android phone looks positively beautiful.
The phone’s UI language is set to Spanish; in the two screenshots above, only the date is non-English. All in all, maybe 30% of strings are translated. I don’t know if other languages are better, but it’s a pretty poor show compared to other mobile operating systems.
The 90s called, and they want their AT command scripts back.
By the standards of modern iPhones and Android handsets, the BlackBerry Curve 3G is… basically awful. It’s not hard to see why RIM is losing market share to its competitors – their phones just lack any kind of appeal alongside their contemporaries.
But do I regret my purchase? Not a bit. For the four simple tasks that make up 99% of my phone usage, it’s not bad. Its keyboard is a highlight, enough to make me question my love of giant all-screen phones.
And for a smartphone, I’ve found the battery life to be astonishingly good. Over months or possibly years, I think it’ll be worth the money just to be free from the lingering worry over where and when I will next be able to grab a couple of hours in the company of an AC adapter.