Morning folks,
{slurp}
This will be the last installment of the "In the beginning" series. Today I will be posting the last few musings from my friend Drew from May 1999.
{slurp}
I do plan on getting back in the saddle here folks. Lately work has been quite busy and most days I mean to post, but end up getting caught up in something and completely forgetting about it. I also plan on sending out emails again, so please be patient as I work things out and get things back in check.
{slurp}
Anyway, on with the musings!
===================
May 3, 1999
===================
Good morning, folks.
Gah. It would seem that I'm finally well again. My throat is still a
bit scratchy, but I'm conscious and mobile and capable of rudimentary
functions without the support of others. The virii have been all but
driven from my system, waving angry flags of retreat and shouting
vicious insults about my immediate family - rather disconcerting, but
the fact remains; they're *gone*.
There remains a problem, however. They carried off my girlfriend.
Yes, the Significant Other is, as I type, lying in bed. I feel pretty
bad at having pawned my misery off on her, but the elation at being well
again is reasonably comforting, so I won't be tearing my hair out in
grief.
Nevertheless - I didn't work on Friday, and hence, didn't muse. I
would have mused, but it was just too much of a battle to get out of
bed. There is something coming, however, that will make up for the two
Fridays currently missing from the archives.
*sluuurp*.
A noneventful weekend, overall. I missed a very good rave, recovering,
and I'm unhappy about that. People came, people went - the usual
weekend in that ongoing experiment in clustered human behaviorology that
we lovingly refer to as "the apartment". Last night was probably the
best - the weekly viewing of Simpsons, The Family Guy, and X-Files.
I realized last night that nobody really pays any attention to carpet
anymore.
Well - that's not true. If there's some kind of outstanding feature or
stain, for example, a large black blemish on a white wall-to-wall, your
eyes are immediately drawn to that anomaly. However, if carpeting is
mostly-clean and just sort of *lying* there, there's really no thought
given to it. I think this is unfair.
I'm personally amused by carpet. Try tearing up a corner of your
carpet - really, it won't hurt it any - and looking underneath it.
You'll probably find some interesting things under there - if you're in
an office or home-office or something similar, you may find staples or
pins, possibly a secretary. If you're in a hotel room doing this, it
might be anything from a small packet of illegal narcotics to stains
that just didn't come out after that night that we're not aloud to speak
of.
So, at the very least, I have an exercise for you all today. Go
quick-like-bunnies and fetch the following items:
A legal-sized envelope
Three friends
A pad of paper
Markers (different colors)
A Polaroid(tm) Camera (optional)
Each of you take a piece of paper from the pad and begin writing a
letter. Address it to "Person from the future", and write a letter to
them as if you were speaking to someone 30 years down the road. Include
pictures of yourself and your friends - draw them if you don't have a
camera.
Have everyone write a letter of at least two pages, and seal all of
these into the envelope. Address the envelope to your current address,
with the return address being the current address as well. Make sure
the return address also includes a date.
Pull up a corner of the carpet and put the envelope underneath - this
way, when workers or renovators pull up the carpet in three or four
years, your ten minutes of work will absolutely make their day. This
is, of course, barring the idea that the carpet is never changed, and
the building isn't demolished in 20 years with nobody the wiser.
Nevertheless, I have work to do.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 4, 1999
===================
Good morning, everyone.
Welp, it's Tuesday again. Not particularly happy about that, though
not particularly UNhappy about it either. I'm pretty neutral on the
subject, actually. Realistically, who am I to decide to be happy or
otherwise about a day which has barely begun? I'm not even finished my
coffee yet and I have to choose whether it's going to be a good day or a
bad day simply using previous experiences as a guide? I think not.
*sluuurp*.
The coffee is fresh this morning; I managed to get a cup just as it was
finished brewing. I wonder if the first cup out of the pot is better
than all the other cups in the pot? Is it somehow the same as the first
bite of an apple; fresher, tastier, juicier - or rather, whatever it is
that coffee can be that directly correlates to the "juicy" of the fruit
world. "Full-bodied"? No idea.
I'm not sure as of yet exactly what it is that I'll be doing today at
work. It's a rather slow week here at the office, and instead of just
myself or one other person, there's three of us in the tech pit for the
next few days. This is a good thing, as it means that I'll have a
chance to get some of the important stuff that I've been putting off
done. I need to study perl and figure out how to build cgi scripts.
So I've been thinking about the mafia lately.
Whoah.
Did you ever get that cold chill on the back of your neck that means
something is about to happen? Like - someone's about to stab you in the
back of the neck with a pencil? I just had that - the cold chill that
is, not the piercing with office supplies. That part was just an
example.
No, I've been thinking that organized crime has been far too slack as
of late. I think we should have another prohibition or something -
re-ban alcohol to bring on a new era of organized hoodlumage. Al Capone
was probably before his time, but I feel it's probably a good idea to
rethink our social structures with him in mind.
It's probably not a GREAT idea. I just wanna wear a zoot suit.
Look at the resurgence of Big Band and swing music - the time is ripe!
More than anything else, I feel the world needs a healthy surge of
professional hitmen. Don't like your boss? Have him killed! Bring on a
new era of politeness and respect in the workplace - nay, in all life!
People will no longer swear and gesture profanely at other motorists, in
the fear that they may be hunted down and executed the next time they go
to an italian restaurant (or "ristorante", if you're in the mafia).
So who'd be the Godfather? Would it be a public figure? Would
everyone know who the Godfather is, or would it be a closely guarded
secret? I figure it'd pretty much be public knowledge, with an
elaborate chain of smokescreens and false-fronts to safeguard him (or
her) from any legal action by the fascist regimes of the police
department. Damn you, Dick Tracy!
Nevertheless, I have work to do, so I'll leave you with that.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 5, 1999
===================
Good morning, people.
Well, I managed to get the first cup from the pot again today. Good
coffee - someone must have upgraded the stores of coffee, or perhaps our
lifetime supply of mediocre grinds have finally run out and, in an
undercaffeinated panic, someone had to run out and purchase some of the
sludge that passes for "gourmet" coffee around the city. I'm not overly
impressed with that - it seems everywhere you go, the coffee is
"gourmet". Exactly how much marketability does adding the word
"gourmet" add to your product? It still tastes exactly the same, same
beans, same grind, same machines - just add the word "gourmet" to the
name and $0.35 to the price of a pot. Amazing how the corporate
marketing machine works.
So I've been working on riotnrrd.com - not much, mind you, but working
on it nonetheless. I've run networking cable into my bedroom, and
shared my bed with my ThinkPad last night. This caused me to forget
about sleep for a few hours, and as a direct result, I'm reasonably
tired today.
I've been thinking about sensory deprivation tanks lately, the product
of conversations with Ivan's roommate Andy. He's considering building
one, and the project has piqued my curiosity. So, I've been putting
some thought into them.
For the benefit of those who haven't had exposure to these interesting
throwbacks to 70's new-agers, a sensory deprivation tank is a large
bathtub with a cover - well, that's a gross oversimplification, but the
definition will suffice for the time being. These tanks are deceptively
complex - a hundred gallons of water, mixed thoroughly with eight
hundred pounds of epsom salts, and maintained at a constant temperature
that precisely matches that of the human body. The general idea being
that one would lock oneself inside this large basin and simply float -
there's not much else you *can* do; the epsom salts boost the density of
the water to the point where it's *impossible* to sink. The fact that
the water temperature matches your body temperature helps to maintain
the complete lack of any stimulation whatsoever.
So I, in my usual caffeinated delirium, have been pondering the uses of
Jello as a float medium - though I'm not particularly predisposed
towards any specific flavour. Floating for hours in the dark, lying
partially submerged in lime-flavoured gelatin - it holds a strange
affinity for me. I wonder if the experience would change much with
strawberry?
A workmate has told me that the optimum position within the tank would
be to be completely submerged, with two straws in your nostrils through
which to breathe. This is possible in Jello, but it would probably be a
two-man production just to get in or out of the tank, and each tankful
would be useful for only one excursion into the upper plains of the
mind. However, if you didn't tell anyone exactly where you *got* eight
hundred pounds of slightly-used Jello, you could probably sell it to a
school cafeteria, or at the very least recycle it into replacement
hooves for race horses.
Hell, you probably could start a company around that alone - imagine
the relief on the faces of the nags and ponies when they find out that,
with a few bucks, they don't have to be shot and recycled for breaking a
hoof.
Think of the *children*!
Ok, you don't have to think of the children, 'cause I'm not going to
include any children in this musing. I don't see a need to use young
children in the demonstration of that which is sensory deprivation -
however, the idea of depriving young children of their senses amuses me.
Nevertheless, work to do.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 6, 1999
===================
Good morning, folks.
I'm tired today; I didn't sleep very well last night.
How long has it been since a movie has honestly, thoroughly terrified
you? Were you twelve, watching a horror flick at a sleepover? Was it
"Friday the 13th"? Do you the feeling of being scared? Not "Scream II"
scared, not "Nightmare on Elm Street" scared - that scared that only a
young person can get from a scary movie.
Now - the question arises - why is it that scary movies were much
scarier when we were younger? It's pretty obvious that we were more
naive, more impressionable - but it probably hinges more on the lack of
experience and gullibility. "Suspension of disbelief", I believe it's
called. Movies still hinge on a fairly standard set of plotlines and
structures that defines them as "horror" - boy meets girl, boy courts
girl, girl is cut to ribbons by chainsaw-weilding maniac, boy is
subsequently cut to very similar ribbons.
So why am I talking about horror movies today?
I saw a movie last night that scared the hell out of me.
It's only now that I've matured enough that I can say - out loud, natch
- that "Return of the Living Dead II" scared the hell out of me at age
12. I watched that with a friend when he slept over, and it took me
years before I got it all out of my system - every noise in the garage
was instantly and primarily an unstoppable zombie, the first in a series
of hundreds, which would eat the brains of me, my family, my dog, my
neighbors, my town. I even had my safe place picked out, in the attic
of the garage, in which I would hide when this finally happened.
But as the years passed and I saw no proof of zombies having ever
existed, I slowly grew out of the fear, and about six months ago I
rented this movie again. Watching it, I realized that the memories of
this movie were ever-so-much more frightening than the movie itself, and
I got to laugh at myself. This wasn't the case last night.
On July 16th, 1999, the movie that scared the hell out of me will be
released in theatres - only 20 theatres across the states, as it's
pretty much an unknown film company who've made it. You *will* be
hearing more about this flick, however, and remember what I've said
about it - don't watch it alone. It's awful.
The premise is this - three young filmmakers - Heather, Josh, and Mike
- head out into Maryland's Black Hills to film a documentary about the
"Blair Witch" - the ghost of a woman convicted of witchcraft in 1785 and
banished into the mountains during a particularly harsh winter. After
all her accusers and half of the town's children disappear, the town is
abandoned. Twenty years later, another town, Burkittsville, is built on
the site, but the legend remains.
The three went into the woods on October 21, 1994, and were never seen
again. A year later, all their footage was found by a group of
university archeology students, buried under the foundation of a
100-year-old cabin. The movie *is* this footage, shot on camcorder and
16mm.
This movie is profoundly disturbing - because it's so undeniably real.
Nine-tenths of the movie is shot on the camcorder, as the filmmakers
grow progressively more lost in the middle of nowhere.
Nevertheless, those of you in Calgary who want to see it, contact me
and we'll arrange a viewing - it's an 800-megabyte MPEG movie, and I'd
watch it again in a second.
I'll stop talking about it now, because it's not really Musing. It's
good to write about it though, therapeutic almost - it's still haunting
me 18 hours after viewing, and I've really got to get it out of my head
to be productive.
Nevertheless.
*sluuurp*.
So it's 10:30am, and I'm on what is probably my sixth cup of java for
this morning. It shouldn't be such a fight to stay awake, but somehow
it seems I've not fully rested. I think I'll go down with the boys to
the morning coffee break at the Pickle, and return to muse at you again
tomorrow.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 7, 1999
===================
Good morning, folks.
*sluuurp*.
Gah, first slurp of coffee for the day. I've switched over to having a
bottle of "Sun-Rype" pure unsweetened orange juice (from concentrate) as
my first beverage of the morning. I've been sick too often as of late,
and I'm hoping the influx of vitamin C and citrus as my first liquid
experience of any given day will help to boost my immune system to the
point that my white blood cells are vicious, virus-killing war
machines. Kind of a nice thought, that - billions of General Pattons
patrolling my entire body, always on the lookout for little spidery
virus-things on which to take out all their white blood cell
frustrations.
I wonder if it's a stressful job, being a white blood cell?
Nevertheless, it's an absolutely beautiful day in Calgary - the sun is
shining, birds ar singing, all the trees have the beginnings of leaves -
well, almost full leaves really, but not quite large enough to call
full-blown leaves. It's not summer just yet, but spring has definitely
sprung.
I have to go to a client's site in another half-hour, to do some backup
work and change over some settings. Nothing too difficult, but the site
is off in the boonies, so it'll be a bit of a jog.
Ok, just returned from the jobsite (which, of course, went without a
hitch). Feh, some of this work is blindingly simple, but the sites
prefer to have a "professional" come in, with some accountability, so if
the machine dies they have someone to heap blame and bad karma upon.
I'm considering lunch, but I'm not sure exactly where I'm going to go
just yet. I think I may finally get to try the "Golden Happiness
Bakery", a small place in Chinatown that one of the new co-workers rants
about on a fairly regular basis - but perhaps I'll just stick to the
Submission downstairs. For those of you who haven't yet had the
experience of Submission (har, har), it's basically a grown-up Subway,
with five different types of bread, six different cheeses, etc. A
really nice fast-food joint with adult tastes in mind.
Nevertheless, I'm going to go and find some food before my stomach
leaps up through my neck and devours my brain from sheer hunger.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 10, 1999
===================
G'morning, folks.
Feh - I've just learned that instead of leaving for Markham, Ontario on
Wednesday, I actually leave TOMORROW at 2pm. This is an interesting
development, as it leaves me without the benefit of an extra day of
preparation. It should be a fun trip, regardless, but I wouldn't have
minded if it was a day later instead. I'm not entirely sure how exactly
I'm going to get online yet - I hope there's a public dialup somewhere.
I know the company has a few Netcom accounts with 1-800 numbers, but as
I recall, using the 1-800 number costs $13.00/hour, and that's just not
something I'm willing to expense simply to go on IRC or something
similar.
I got some email from the Calgary Skydive Ranch yesterday - nothing
particularly exciting, just a newsletter. It put the thought back into
my mind though - I really should go out to the ranch some weekend and
redo the training, then take the jump that I paid for last summer and
never really took. Allow me to explain.
The scene - a sunny July morning in downtown Calgary. Danger Boy is
outside of a music store downtown, a large old stone building with
pillars and stonework, the type you'd expect to have gargoyles and a
corroded brass roof - it has neither, but you would expect it to. He
sips from his coffee and reads a newspaper, wishing that he'd had the
foresight to sleep the night before. He glances at his watch - 7:15 am.
Finally, a car pulls up and two people welcome him. He tosses his
coffee in the trash, climbs into the car, and is asleep before he's even
fully belted in. Two hours later, they arrive at the Skydive Ranch,
located in the middle of the Canadian Prairies, 100km from nowhere, and
flat as far as the eye can see. Someone nudges Danger Boy out of his
blissful slumber, and they make their way to the registration office.
Registration goes without a hitch, though eyebrows are raised at the
disclaimers that have to be signed before anyone is allowed to jump out
of an airplane. Well - all eyebrows except for those attached firmly to
the forehead of Danger Boy - having a name like Danger Boy, one would
assume that danger was not an issue. However, a little known fact -
Danger Boy's middle name is Sebastian. Yes, Danger Sebastian Boy, born
March 4th, 1976. Nevertheless - Danger Boy's middle name is NOT
"Danger", or "Destruction", or even "Adequate" - it's something inane
and ridiculous, and has absolutely nothing to do with his outlook on
life. You will never catch him saying something inane like "Danger is
my middle name!" - of course not. Danger is his FIRST name.
Training begins with a talking-to, then a video, then an exercise, then
a talking-to, then a video, then an exercise, ad nauseum. Finally, it
nears completion, and the final video is about to begin, when Danger Boy
notices that the horizon, usually a fuzzy line at the very edge of
vision, has become a thin brown line at the edge of vision. He makes a
note of this, and the final instructional video begins.
As the video progresses through it's regalia of repetitious rhetoric,
Danger Boy notes that the brown line has doubled in height in the last
half-hour, and is slowly growing taller - not visibly growing, but
looking away for ten minutes causes the difference to be notable. He
brings this to the attention of the instructor, who looks worried for a
moment and calls the administrative office. A hushed conversation
ensues, then the instructor returns to finish his duties instructing.
Ten minutes later, after growing to a decent height on the horizon, the
brown line suddenly manifests itself! With a bang, a high wind hits the
side of the building, rattling the siding and screaming in the partially
opened windows. The instructor scrambles downstairs and outside, where
other instructors and staff are frantically tying down the airplanes,
both of which are straining to become airborne. Dust is EVERYWHERE,
visibility is reduced to a few tens of feet, and miscellaneous bits of
prairie are flying by - straw, garbage, and tumbleweeds whip against the
building and people.
Needless to say, Danger Boy was mightily disappointed that he didn't
get to jump out of an airplane that day, and is now planning a weekend
jump in the next few weeks.
Nevertheless, I have work to do.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 11, 1999
===================
Feh.
Good morning.
I'm feeling that semi-bitterness that comes with anticipation of
something that, while mostly boring, will probably be memorable. Today
I leave at noon-ish for Toronto - or, as one of my friends refers to it,
"tee-oh". I'm not sure I fully understand the significance of this
abbreviation, but when I smile at him and nod, he seems placated. It's
hard to peg the origins of that kind of speech - it's not colonial, nor
colloquial - perhaps more of a "nouveau-inner-city-youth"? A
"quasi-Ice-T"? Bleh.
So I've decided to switch from Office Blend - today's specialty flavour
at the Second Cup is "Bavarian Chocolate Truffle". It's an interesting
melange of chocolate and sheer exuberance, but I'm not entirely certain
that it's not doing unspeakable things to my intestines. It has that
flavour of "My, this is good, so it can't possibly be good for me" that
so many specialty flavoured coffees have, but I added some chocolate
sprinkles, cream and sugar, so that should cover all the bases. I'm
drinking from all four food groups these day - health is a serious
issue.
So I'm a little worried anyhow - what exactly is IN this coffee? What
makes it differ from Office Blend - obviously the addition of chemicals
in the form of "flavouring" - but what's really involved in the
process? Are hundreds of poor Bavarians hired at sub-standard wages to
scrape truffles and powdered chocolate over huge bins of coffee beans?
Do they grow the beans, or are they grown in Columbia (by child labour,
natch) and imported to Bavaria specifically for flavouring? It tastes
good. I don't want to think about this anymore, as it could easily be
detrimental to the taste.
*sluuurp*.
Oh yeah. That's the stuff.
For some unknown reason, they're going to let Danger Boy on a plane.
This strikes me as a problem - perhaps even relating to the Impending
Date of Doom? Oh, I feel a conspiracy theory coming on here...
As many of you have heard, the Chinese government has declared that all
of the executives of all of the airlines in China must take a flight on
December 31st, and the plane must be airborne as the Impending Date of
Doom strikes. What a way to guarantee the airline will be Y2K
compliant! This idea is truly genius, which makes you wonder why the
same plan wasn't implemented in North America. There's a reason.
North American airlines are NOT Y2K compliant - and they won't be. If
you look carefully in the news over the past few weeks, you'll see one
predominant and reoccuring theme - the hatred of the United States. The
US is quickly losing it's status as the "promised land" for
underprivileged countries - and who is conveniently positioned (just
north, natch) to take that place? Canada, of course.
So why is this a problem? As soon as the Kosovo crises calms down, or
if it doesn't at all, hundreds of thousands of refugees from all over
the world will flock to the country that will oppress them the least.
This would be Canada, possibly doubling our population and tax base over
the next ten to fifteen years.
As the US sees this, there is really only a few ways to GET to Canada -
if you're in the States, you drive here. Not a huge problem.
Another method is by boat - but it's not a very popular method. Three
days on a boat with 10,000 of your neighbors and expatriates is not very
many peoples' ideas of a vacation.
Lastly, and most importantly, is the airlines. Which will not be
working as of January 1st, 2000. Reasoning: The US doesn't want Canada
to become a force in the UN, which would happen if we were to suddenly
double our population.
This is why Air Canada sees fit to allow Danger Boy to board one of
their airplanes later on this morning. Who cares? If he wrecks it,
they may even be able to sue someone and pay another retirement pension
before the company goes belly-up early in the new year.
Nevertheless, that's your conspiracy theory for the day. I have stuff
to do now. :)
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 12, 1999
===================
Ok - so it's 8:35 pm, and I'm sitting in the hotel room, having had a
long day of studying etc at my class. It's a little, semi-cramped hotel
room, much like any other Sheraton room anywhere across the country.
I'm off to the "lounge" for a beer here in a minute, so I'll must later,
but here's the musing I missed earlier today.
<plane musings>
Feh.
Ok, so we're cruising at around 37,000 feet, and I've really got
nothing better to do than type. I've officially become one of those
semi-well-dressed business types with a laptop on the plane - I'm
disgusted with myself.
It's not altogether so bad, however - it's just one of those
things that you just have to come to grips with. I've become that which
I loathed in High School, when I thought I was rebellious and cool.
Thanks, Kurt Cobain; you defined my adolescence.
It's been a reasonable trip so far - spent an hour and a half in
the airport just so we could be on time for the flight. Got to play
some interesting (though dated) video games in the airport arcade, and
got extra space when we boarded 'cause it's not too packed today. Not a
bad
thing, overall.
So I've been sitting in my seat reading a book and listening to
my walkman the whole flight so far - just over an hour and a half into
it now - and since I have limited battery time, pretty much decided that
I didn't need to waste electricity just to play with my 'top. That was
until about five minutes ago.
Before I tell you all about what happened five minutes ago, I'm
going to detail the usual bits of Murphy's Law and general bad luck that
make up That Which Is Drew. We got on the plane and the flight
attendants noticed the laptop bags - this was a Good Thing, as it seems
that Canadian Airlines now has some sort of strange new attachments in
the armrests that
allow you to plug in a laptop so that you can recharge in the air.
"What a great idea!" I thought. "Paul and I can play Quake for the
entire flight! Life will be grand!". No. Life is grand, but rarely
does it work out 100% properly, and this was one of those times - they
don't
actually plug YOUR adapter into the seats, but have different
attachments for many different makes and models of laptops. They had
one for Paul's. They didn't have one for mine. So, I'm on batteries
today. That's not the awful thing, but it's leading up to it.
The stewa - er. "Flight Attendant", who is nice french woman,
accidentally spilled my Pepsi into my lap as she was handing it to me.
This wasn't her fault, I was lowering a tray as she handed it to me, and
managed to get it all over myself and the seat next to me - fortunately
unoccupied. She was extremely apologetic, and brought me a can of club
soda and a facecloth with which to clean my pants - probably
unnecessary, but it's interesting the difference in treatment one gets
when dressed for business as opposed to my usual off-work dressing
style.
An unpleasant thing just happened - my laptop went spontaneously
into power saving mode, shutting off and corrupting the video memory.
It also kills the PCMCIA slots, so if I was at work and that had just
happened, I'd have to reboot in order to regain network access. As it
happens, I'm not on any network, so I don't have to worry about the card
slots; poking at the video memory, I can get my screen back and not have
to power down. This is a good thing, as my battery time is only at 22%
at the moment - er. Down to 21%.
Wonderful! The flight attendant just brought me fresh coffee.
What a nice person. :)
*sluuurp*. Airline blend. I have nothing good to say about
this coffee other than the fact that it's coffee.
So I've never really gotten around to telling you all the awful
part yet - so here goes. The flight was excellent until a tragic event
that threw all the passengers into a severe depression. Unforgivable,
really, but it's hard to place the blame for this awful occurrence on
anyone but the executives for the airline themselves.
They served us "lunch".
"Lunch" consisted of some unrecognizable rice-and-kidney-bean
substance, with meat - we had our choice of chicken or beef. I chose
the beef, which turned out to be strips of something that vaguely
resembled the grey, discarded parings from a pound of hamburger that's
been left to
defrost too long in a microwave set on "high", swimming in a
sickly-brown soup-like substance that might pass for gravy in a
third-world country.
*sigh*.
</plane musings>
Gah. So here I am in Toronto.
Whee.
It's not so bad, but it's been over 24 hours since I last saw the
Significant Other - a first for us. We literally haven't spent this
much time apart since we first met - that thought alone scares the hell
out of me, but it's strangely calming. Dunno.
Nevertheless, I'm off to find a beer.
Cheers from Toronto,
- Drew.
===================
May 19, 1999
===================
Good morning, folks.
Welp, I'm happily back in Calgary now - but it would seem that my list
daemon didn't work properly while I was away. The past four Musings are
now hiding somewhere in the mail spooler on my router, and will be sent
as soon as I track down the problem. I suppose I should have tested the
majordomo configuration more before assuming it would work. :)
So it's Wednesday, and I'm back. The trip to Markham was really
boring, with only the course being any fun - I'll track down the missing
Musings and send them out rather than tell you all about it.
Nevertheless, I had a less-than-wonderful week, but DAMN, I learned a
lot.
I've been wondering about the growing generation gap - it's scary that
I can actually think that way, but there are SO many people who don't
have the benefit of exposure to the pop culture of the 80's. Ok, that
last statement scared me - next I'm going to say something about respect
for elders, and these damned upstart kids...
So what spawned this thought? Well, I was thinking about a movie store
I once worked for back in New Brunswick - Wayne's TV, a little shop that
sold TVs and VCRs and stereo equipment, but given the marvelous economy
of my hometown, had also taken to renting videos as a way of
supplementing income. This place had THOUSANDS of movies! I'm not sure
exactly where they had all come from, whether they'd all been bought as
a package deal, or whether it'd all begun with a few movies and grown.
I remember renting films there at about age eight, at which time you had
your choice of VHS, Beta, or Laserdisc in the old "cartridge" style.
Horrible, but ultra-modern at the time.
Some of the movies were pretty scary, though - and when working there I
finally got a chance to spend hours and hours pouring over them, reading
the backs, perhaps even watching one if it was interesting enough.
Don't get me wrong - the horror section, while extensive, wasn't the
section that was scary - rather the "drama" and "comedy" sections,
filled with row upon row of movies that nobody has ever heard of, never
hit the theatre, and are now doomed to mildew on the shelves of movie
stores in small towns nationwide.
I've been thinking of the hordes of young people that have never had
the benefit of seeing "Eating Raoul", or "Porkies III". What kind of
people are we raising to become our middle management, our underlings,
our middle-aged caretakers when we are old and infirm? Ones who've
never seen "Friday the 13th", who don't know who Voltron was, and who
never watched a combination show that packed "Robotics", "Bigfoot", and
"Gem" into one half-hour episode. I'm not sure I can trust those
people.
So what can we DO about it? I propose that we halt the creative
process for a year or so, and bar Hollywood and television from
producing ANY new shows - the theatres can only show movies made before
1989, and who's going to say anything about reruns of "Smurfs" on
Saturday morning? News, of course, will be semi-exempt - perhaps only
CNN can stick around, give them a 100% market share of news broadcasting
- not so different from now anyway. For an entire year, broadcast "Live
at 5" and every other station's nightly news from taped archives of
broadcasts from exactly ten years ago. We can live through some of the
big weather events again, talk animatedly over coffee about current
events like - well, whoever's selling weapons to the Nicaraguans this
week.
Imagine what'll happen when we bring back the REAL news! We'll be
sensitized again! If someone dies, it's no longer that they died ten
years ago, it'll be TODAY. I think it'd do wonderful things for
society. The problem is that no one person has the power to force all
the television conglomerates to follow this plan.
Vote DANGER BOY for Supreme Overlord of the Planet Earth.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 20, 1999
===================
G'morning, folks.
Welp, it's Thursday, which makes today one of those days - you probably
know the ones I'm speaking of, in which you feel as though the end of
the week is near, but just out of your grasp. I feel that way today,
and I figure that'll be resolved when I wake up tomorrow to a beautiful,
sunny Friday.
It's actually just after lunch now, so saying "good morning" is rather
ridiculous. Hey, sue me - I fall into a groove and it's just gonna stay
that way. It's morning where SOMEBODY is.
So I'm at my desk, as usual, staring at the two IBM course certificates
sitting here. This is one of the oddities of IBM - you can take courses
from them that really have no point other than educating the attendee.
These two pieces of paper are all I have remaining from a week in
Markham, and even had I not showed up for the course, I would still have
them. One person actually showed up for the first ten minutes, then
left for the remainder of the class! Seemed like a waste of money to
me, but he probably had his reasons. Perhaps it was some form of
punishment by his employer - either he knew WAY too little about
computing to be there at all, or perhaps he knew too much about TCP/IP
to care about a low-level class. Perhaps he just knew too much in
general, and middle management had to get him away for a week so that
they could shred documents and hide evidence. Maybe the topic just
bored him. Who knows?
I finally got my keyboard rack last night! It's a five-foot-tall beast
of two-inch aircraft aluminum, and it will comfortably support all of my
miscellaneous musical instruments with minimal effort. My room is
finally clean again! Before the coming of the rack, a common first
impression on entering my room was "Hey, a messy guy lives in here --
and oh, look, he dabbles in keyboarding!". Now, it's more like "Oh - a
sound studio with a futon in it! How functional!". I prefer the
second.
My roommate is away for a month. This isn't necessarily such a great
thing, as it's no fun coming home to an empty apartment, knowing that it
could quite possibly STAY empty for days at a time. Fortunately, the
riotnrrd Collective won't allow that, and there's usually at least four
people there at any given time, whether any of them live there or not.
I like this; it's a big happy family that I don't necessarily have to
deal with first thing in the morning.
Nevertheless, as much as I hate to cut this short, I have work to do.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 21, 1999
===================
G'morning, folks.
I'm considering the end of the world today.
Yes, I know I've been over this before, but I'm not thinking about the
Impending Date of Doom anymore - more along the lines of "how close have
we come"?
When you think about it, it's rather scary. Do you all - well, those
of you in the twenty-something agegroup - realize that our parents'
generation was the closest to destroying the earth of any species to (to
our knowledge) ever walk the planet? The Romans had the dubious
achievement of building - and subsequently destroying - civilization,
but realistically, not since then have we been so unbelievably powerful.
There's now enough chemical weapons in bunkers and arsenals in the
Middle East and, yes, the US, to kill each and every human on the planet
a total of SEVENTEEN times over? Frightening stuff.
So why are we doing all of this? If you bring it down to it's most
base point; greed. Well - it's a cross between the two; greed and
survival. Greed in that war in general is a huge cash cow for companies
building weapons and such - right back to the Roman ages, when a
blacksmith could score a military contract and pretty much retire.
Survival in that with our civilization and culture, money is a
requirement to survive. Food, water, shelter - these are all the
original basic needs, but without money you really can't have human
companionship. Yes, this is debatable, but in the interests of a
semi-serious rant, ignore it.
*sigh*.
Sorry about that, folks - it's a Friday, and by default a good day, but
I'm just in a fatalistic sort of mood.
Nevertheless, I'm going to the Penguin Pub tonight, unless I receive
email telling me otherwise. What a wonderful way to start the weekend -
sitting back over beer and pool with other geeks, discussing geeky
things, and generally seeing the groups that we've all split ourselves
off into.
Danger Boy has retreated deep into my psyche for a while - he was
scared by the more-or-less constant barrage of TCP/IP training. I've
been trying to coax him into coming out to play, but he really only
comes out on weekends, with the occasional excursion out on a
weeknight.
With any luck, this day will be both productive and quick. I've got
loads to do at the office, but very little of it is fun. I'm SO looking
forward to the weekend. I don't think the new riotnrrd.com will be
finished, but I think it'll have a lot more done on it by Monday. I'd
prefer to have it completely finished before launching it publicly, but
perhaps I'll begin to leak it out a little at a time, if people are
willing to put up with changes along the way.
Nevertheless, this ramble is just turning into the news of What It Is
To Be Drew, so I'll go on a quick tangent and then leave you for the
weekend. My question to you all today - where do I sign up to become a
person that names new colors?
Really - have you looked at a box of 64 Crayola crayons lately?
There's some funky stuff in there! "Burnt Umber" - that's an old one
now. "Pumpkin" was a new one for me, as was "Taupe". Really - who's
the person who looked at the color of this wax (soon to be sticks with a
similarly-colored paper around them) and decided that this new color was
-- no, not beige... no, it's not a khaki... oh, it's DEFINITELY "taupe".
I want this job. I can think of marvellous names for colors - for
example, why don't we have a crayon called "fudge"? How about "whiskey
sour", or "spaghetti"? For that matter, why don't we have crayons that
mix colors, perhaps in stripes or spirals, or even one color outside and
one inside, pencil-like?
I wanna name colors in general. Not just crayons, though crayons would
be a good launching place for my career as "Professional Namer of
Colors" - work that way for a good twenty years or so, and develop the
naming of colors to a SCIENCE... Imagine spending four years at
University and emerging with a Bachelors in Color Naming.
Perhaps it's not a science - but more of a Zen thing. One meditates
for days, fasting, thinking only of the shade of the new color and all
that it could mean to our collective psyche. For instance, take a
poorly-named color like "pink". Pink is cute, it's docile - it is the
definition of non-conflict as described by a color. Pink is used in
mental hospitals, on the walls of the rooms, as a method of controlling
unruly patients - really, can you be violent in a room of complete pink?
So perhaps it should have been named something more appropriate, like
"Docility" - which spawns an entire industry of designer colors. "New,
'Docility', from Calvin Klein - also try new 'Docility for Men'!".
*sigh*.
Ok, ok, I'm leaving already. No need to be rude.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 25, 1999
===================
G'morning, folks.
*sigh* - it's Tuesday. I suppose it could be worse; yesterday was,
after all, Monday - but with a serious lack of work to be done, it
wasn't a bad Monday at all.
The long weekend couldn't have possibly come at a better time. Being
caught up in work and generally not paying attention to what the rest of
the world was up to, I didn't realize that it WAS a long weekend until
Sunday morning, when a friend asked me what I was doing on Monday. I
figured that it would be obvious; what do most of us do on Monday
morning? Go to the office, read and write email, and generally prepare
for the week ahead by quenching a weekend-long thirst for the blend of
coffee that's only available at the office. Yes, it's bad, but admit it
- you crave the stuff, don't you. It's not such a bad thing, almost
perfectly excusable - it *is*, after all, that which has awakened you
since you began wherever it is that you work.
Well, it's probably going to be an interesting week. I've been
pondering the ideas that the rest of the superhero team are presenting -
Sales-and-Slackgrrls, Sarcasmo, and Tenderflake (or whatever we're
calling Andy these days) are considering renting a house as of the first
of July - five bedrooms, two baths (at least, I *hope*), etc, etc. Not
to mention, of course, the end of noise restrictions on music and
general merriment, and the end of worrying about the annoyance levels of
our neighbors.
My problem with all this is an unwillingness to change. I've pretty
much just gotten my bedroom and/or apartment set up to my
specifications, have a great job, and a great group of friends - I'm in
a great location, with (mostly) great neighbors. Life is good the way
it is Right This Minute.
So is this another sign that I'm finally growing up? That I'm becoming
sedentary, that the impending back hair is a visual metaphor for couch
velcro? Am I finally an adult? Legally, yes, but I'm only now starting
to shift my world-views from that of an eighteen year old. Hell, I've
had my license since I was sixteen, but I still don't feel old enough to
have a car.
So it's one of those dilemmas. I'm really not sure as to whether I
should be joining on this quest into the unknown - whether this will be
a good thing or not. I'm hoping it will be, but if not, it's beginning
to seem like it's something I can't afford NOT to follow - not
monetarily, but with respect to growing fat and living alone simply in
the interests of my unwillingness to change the view behind my laptop.
I like where I am now - but I don't want to be here ten years from now,
wasting away at a desk.
I think my decision is pretty much made. I think I have to join the
superheroes in the greatest adventure yet - living in the same house.
Living with the Significant Other may prove to be interesting, but I
think the relationship is strong enough to handle it.
Nevertheless, this hasn't been very amusing to this point, so I will
try to remedy the situation with a light aria from "Madame Butterfly".
"Sssstrooooohl faas nii eerrGOooo! Nooo uumperrr sii fluuuuurdaaaa..."
Ah, forget it. I'll pick up on something aMusing tomorrow.
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 26, 1999
===================
G'morning, brave wanderers of Wednesday!
Yes, it's a lovely Wednesday morning in Calgary - pure blue sky, birds
singing, the smell of public transit in the air... sheer perfection. Of
course, it may well storm this afternoon - one of the more quaint local
colloquialisms (ok, that was a dare. Say "quaint local colloquialisms"
five times fast - people will look at you, and reactions will vary as to
which hick town they are originally from. Some examples:
"Howzat?" - Miramichi, New Brunswick.
"Whassis?" - Cornerbrook, Newfoundland.
"Like, what?" - Toronto, Ontario.
"STOP it; YOU're talking CRAZY!" - Stimpson J. Cat.*
So try this. Now. You heard me.)
(* - Note: Stimpy and Ren don't actually have the dialect of any
particular place, but the thought would have bounced around my cranium
all day had I not gotten it out of there when I did. My apologies - for
what? Late this afternoon you'll suddenly get the creepy feeling that
someone is watching you, and when you look around, you'll realize that
the sensation epicenter is your nextdoor-cubicle-neighbor's "Stimpy"
squeezable stress-toy. At least he didn't get the one that farts when
you squeeze it. Horrid little things.)
Nevertheless, that was a rather extended sidetrip away from "local
colloquialisms" - the one I was referring to in paragraph one is in
reference to the beautiful day today, and why I think it may rain later;
"If you don't like the Calgary weather, wait ten minutes, it'll
change...".
I got an email from Luc Richard yesterday - well, actually, being a
famous email Muse, I get several hundred fan-mails per day, and though I
don't have time to reply to all of them, I love you all, truly.
Nevertheless, Luc raised a question that I haven't really addressed in
a Musing to date. Here it is.
>
> Arguing that The Phantom Menace is not a real Star Wars episode, but merely
> a cash-on-reels governing a million dollar franchise would be
> understandable, but to not even mention such a significant event after so
> many comments on voltron, smurfs(shloumfs) return of the living dead and 80s
> revival, i must admit to my baffility (to be baffled).
>
> Help me Danger-Boy-Kenobe, You're my only hope.
>
> Master Luc
>
Rest assured, young Jedi. Danger Boy has realized that, in past
histories, he has refused comment about his home planet, under the
excuse that he was too young to remember anything at the time. This is
not so, but the true reason is a horrible, horrible secret.
Of course, really good secrets aren't any good unless SOMEBODY knows
them, so I'll share this one with you.
Danger Boy came to Earth long, long ago from a galaxy far, far away.
His planet of origin, Zognar, fifty-seventh planet in orbit of the star
Alpha-Theta-Gamma-Omega-Seven, was also renowned as the home planet of
the once-popular pop-rock group "The Gandharvas", who's single "First
Day of Spring" reached #4 on the intergalactic charts in the summer of
1994. Imports and exports are negligible on Zognar, with the usual
imports of a well-to-do planet of superheroes - hallucinogenic drugs,
Nerf(tm), and canned lunch meat. Exports included superheroes on a
contract basis and robots; the creations of the workers' caste.
The dark secret of Zognar is that the work of one Harold Zimmerman (a
balding worker, originally from the planet Quisk, moved to Zognar at age
18 fleeing the vindictive father of his now-pregnant young lover), an
Intermediate Designer at Workers' Caste Robot Factory #28, made
history. Harold was working diligently one night on a new robot brain
design, when suddenly, he went irrevocably insane.
The design that he finished that evening had but one instance - a droid
who now works on Tattooine for Jabba the Hutt - in his "machine shop".
This droid is a cruel, vicious killer who takes great pleasure in the
pain that his prisoners suffer.
This is why I don't talk about my home planet so much.
As for the new movie, I'll be seeing it tonight at 8pm, so expect a
rant on it tomorrow. :)
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 27, 1999
===================
<cue "Imperial March">
DARTH MAUL enters from stage left, wearing his Sithi robes that create
the illusion that he's set for a night of Shakespeare in a comfortable
leather chair next to the fire. He seats himself in a conveniently
present chair as abovestated, and begins to read aloud from a large,
leatherbound book.
DARTH MAUL: In the beginning, there were many, many science fiction
stories told. Some were good, lasting stories that endured and became
near legends. Others were horrible, and shouldn't have ever seen
daylight.
Here to speak with us tonight, we have a film critic who has recently
seen the fantastically hyped "Episode 1" of the celebrated "Star Wars"
series. His critiques have been heralded as "insane, yet insightful" by
Siskel and Ebert, who, incidentally, gave him only one thumb up as they
didn't feel that his character was "believable".
Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I am happy to introduce to
you our speaker for the evening; Danger Boy.
DANGER BOY is wearing robes that closely resemble those of Luke
Skywalker at home; dirty-tan colored tunic, hemp/leather necklaces,
bound-cloth boots, and a hunting-knife haircut.
DARTH MAUL: Thanks for joining us tonight, Danger Boy.
DANGER BOY: No prob, Darth Maul - you know I'm always up for a
national television interview... at least most of the time. I'll never
do "Dateline" again, but any pseudo-interview with an alien; I'm there.
DARTH MAUL: (laughs). So - as I understand it you're of two minds
about the latest Star Wars movie?
DANGER BOY: Actually, yes. I thought that it was visually stunning,
an absolutely beautiful film, gorgeous sets, and the impression of the
sheer size of the worlds was executed flawlessly.
DARTH MAUL: Sounds like a great show then!
DANGER BOY: Really, Darth - you've got to cut out the 'patronizing
host' act - you're IN the damned film.
DARTH MAUL: Sorry.
DANGER BOY: It's all good - but that's a point I'd like to make about
the film as well - your character was a new addition to the Star Wars
universe - much talk about the Sith Lords has circulated over the past
few years, and your character was the first time a Sith Lord has
actually APPEARED in the show. So, in your opinion, did your character
have enough exposure?
DARTH MAUL: (laughs) My opinion doesn't count - this show is here so
that you can share YOUR opinion with a captive audience.
(Camera pans around to show audience of 90-odd people bound and gagged
in the bleachers)
DANGER BOY: (laughs) I guess you're right. As for your character, I
felt that you were completely underexposed! I wanted more of you! You
had - what, two lines?
DARTH MAUL: Three, actually.
DANGER BOY: Ok, three lines, the entire movie. The new evil villain,
the coolest, flashiest, most graceful lightsaber duel in history, nasty
sharp little pointy horns all over your head, and the makeup job that's
going to dominate halloween this year, and you get three lines. How
many lines did Jar Jar Binks have?
DARTH MAUL: (shudders)
DANGER BOY: My point exactly - he was there specifically as an
appealing visual aide to keep the attention of the 6-10 agegroup. A
Wicket for the 90's. Oh, incidentally, did you catch Warwick Davis'
cameo as a podrace spectator?
DARTH MAUL: (laughs) Yes, actually - we discussed that on the set, the
fact that he didn't have to dress up in a monkey suit this time. It
appealed to him, so he did the cameo.
DANGER BOY: All in all, a very good show. Could have used a more
convoluted plot and less flash, but visually stunning, and very
entertaining all around.
DARTH MAUL: So what did you think of Princess Padme?
DANGER BOY: Total babe. Yes I would.
DARTH MAUL: (laughs) You'd never get her though - she's seeing Master
Palpatine on the side now.
DANGER BOY: That scumbag?!? Wow, I'd have thought she'd have better
taste.
DARTH MAUL: You dare to insult my master?
DANGER BOY: Pfft. Of course I dare. He's a weenie.
DARTH MAUL jumps to his feet and draws his lightsaber, extending both
blades and assuming a striking Sith Lord fighting pose.
DARTH MAUL: I am aware I will not survive this battle - but I must
avenge my master's honor!
DANGER BOY: What do you mean, you won't survive this fight?
DARTH MAUL: I read ahead in the email. You win. Still gotta try.
DANGER BOY: Understood. I'll try to keep it painless.
A ferocious battle ensues, covering a huge expanse of space and causing
countless thousands of dollars in property damage. It appears that the
two combatants are evenly matched when suddenly, with a masterful
strike, DARTH MAUL's right arm falls to the ground. He stares at it
numbly, as DANGER BOY falls to his knees.
DANGER BOY: Oh great Yoda, I thank you for the training you gave that
afforded me this victor...
DARTH MAUL: Have at you!
DANGER BOY: What?
DARTH MAUL: Come on!
DANGER BOY: Your arm's off!
DARTH MAUL: No it isn't...
DANGER BOY: Look! (points to the severed arm)
DARTH MAUL: Just a flesh wound. Have at you!
DANGER BOY begins the fight, parrying and thrusting - after a short
battle, DARTH MAUL's other arm is severed and falls to the ground.
DANGER BOY: Ok, look - this is a little to predictable; everyone
reading this knows exactly what you're going to say next.
DARTH MAUL: Chicken! Chicken!
DANGER BOY: See? Everyone knew that.
DARTH MAUL: No, really - chicken! Little help here, it's in my
shirt...
DANGER BOY walks to DARTH MAUL and helps him pull a chicken out from
under his robes. DARTH MAUL looks at DANGER BOY and shrugs.
DARTH MAUL: They didn't expect that.
DANGER BOY: Probably not. Nevertheless, I'm going to cut this
interview short and do some superheroish things. Cool?
DARTH MAUL: Cool. No hard feelings?
DANGER BOY: Hey, I didn't pick your master - but yeah, it's all good.
I'd shake your hand, but it's uh...
DARTH MAUL: Don't worry about it. Thanks for coming.
DANGER BOY: Not a prob. Cheers...
DARTH MAUL: Cheers!
Set fades to black, cue credits.
( No electrons were harmed in the writing of this Musing, however, it
can't have been good for Drew's carpal tunnel syndrome. Send
sympathetic email.)
Cheers,
- Drew.
===================
May 28, 1999
===================
Feh.
Good morning, folks.
Well, I'm an unhappy camper today. I've just finished my first cup for
the morning, and even that did nothing for my spirits. This whole week
I've looked forward to Friday, as we would be getting paid, first thing
in the morning. As it turns out, some planner who just wasn't paying
attention to the task at hand - I *hate* people like that! - gave the
month of May thirty-one days. I'm unimpressed. We are supposed to get
paid on the last working day of the month, which happens to be Monday.
So, it is my fate to spend the weekend completely broken, sitting bored
in my living room, working on my computers, and generally feeling sorry
for myself. I'm a really pathetic poor person.
But at least it's been a good week - I neglected to tell you all
yesterday that I am now officially an IBM Certified AIX System
Administrator. :) This doesn't actually mean anything spectacular, but
I wrote the test and passed, so now I'll be getting a certificate and a
CD and a little gold pin that says I'm smart sometime in the next few
weeks.
Nevertheless, I'm not feeling particularly witty today - a rarity, it
would seem, though even thinking on that path is akin to social heresy,
or something of the sort. I received an email from Anthony Roberts
(anthonyr@netlink.com.au), to date the only Australian on the Musings
list, asking me to rant a little on the new laws being passed down
under. It would seem that the government would like to censor the
internet, and make internet service providers directly responsible for
the content of their sites - "X" rated material would be illegal, while
"R" rated material would have to be protected with some sort of adult
verification scheme.
Check out http://www.efa.org.au/Campaigns/may28/ - today is the day
that rallies against this new bill are happening in the bigger cities.
Now, as this is not a forum for me to launch legitimate causes for you
all to follow, I'm just going to talk about it from the perspective of
one with nearly ten years online. If this bill goes through, it'll be a
world-shattering event in the online community - but is that necessarily
a bad thing?
1:1 In the beginning, CERN created httpd.
1:2 Now the web was without shape and empty, and 404's were in the
browsers, but the spirit of the web was moving under the 404s.
1:3 CERN said "Let there be site." And there was site!
1:4 The browsers saw that the site was good, and separated the site from
404s.
1:5 CERN called the site "www", and the 404's "error". There was
www.cern.com and there was http://, marking the first day.
1:6 CERN said "Let there be code in the midst of the browsers, and let
it separate 404s from websites!"
1:7 So CERN created the code and separated the 404s from the output of
the code which was above it. And it was so.
1:8 And CERN called the code CGI-BIN. There was code, there was
website, and it was the second day.
1:9 CERN said "Let the websites be gathered to one place, and let
connections appear." And it was so.
1:10 And CERN called the connections "hyperlinks", and the browsers
shortened that to "links". And CERN saw that it was good.
1:11 And CERN said "Let the sites contain pages, and the pages bear
images after their content, and the pages bear content after their
images." And it was so.
1:12 The sites produced pages, pages bearing images after their content,
and content after their images. And CERN saw that it was good.
1:13 There was evening, there was morning, a third day.
1:14 CERN said, "Let there be sites in the expanse of the web to
separate the code from the 404's, and let there be counters to indicate
hits;
1:15 and let them serve as sites in the expanse of the web to give
webspace on the earth." And it was so.
It begins to lose clarity after this, so I'll leave it there. As
christians will tell you, the bible is the Word, but it's up for
interpretation of each person.
My interpretation of the net comes from the early times online - back
when there WAS no world wide web, and "Gopher" was the killer app.
Don't know what gopher is? Try it - instead of http://www.whatever.com,
try gopher://wiretap.spies.com - right in Netscape or IE. Wiretap is
one of the first sites I was ever on, and it still maintains the
original feeling for me; underground, quiet *existance*. Not intrusive,
not in-your-face banner advertising - just information presented in an
easily navigable environment. Anything you want to learn is out there;
whether it be someone's doctoral thesis in quantum physics, or the
Terrorist's Handbook - it's all out there to be found.
That was the net before the web.
One of my main issues with the web is that it offers ANYONE a chance to
get online - and anyone a chance to make a quick buck. I *hate* this!
It's nobody's fault; human nature will always be what it is, and the
world will always seem downhill from where it was two years ago - but I
still can't completely curb the guy inside who screams "You've taken
something PURE and GOOD and corrupted it simple to make a BUCK!".
So, what will happen when Australia passes this bill to keep people
from looking at porn and "questionable content"? The same thing that
happens when any popular substance is suddenly controlled - you anger
people, and they find ways around the laws.
Realistically, if Oz bans porn on the web, do you realize how many
systems they'll need to process the amount of incoming requests looking
for porn-ish packets? Can you imagine the net.police needed to control
the hundreds of millions of sites?
So, what will happen?
My vision is thus; people are going to start to create small home
networks on their own. Is it really that far away that Dad has a
machine for his office work, Junior has one for games, Mom has one for
email, etc, etc? All with one internet connection, shared between all
the computers, possibly included in the costs of rent, or if they've
bought a house, it came pre-wired for internet to every room. This is
happening NOW, but the world hasn't had time to catch up with itself.
What this will lead to is going to be absolutely fascinating to watch -
suddenly the Hendersons will realize that by joining their home network
with the Jones' home network, they've doubled their resources! Then
they'll add such-and-such from around the corner, and so on, and so on,
until the network is hundreds of people.
Now, realize that the only way to really do this is with encryption.
Microsoft will probably pull ahead on this one - they've called it VPN,
making it a cutesy, high-tech sounding "virtual private network" - but
it's easily accessible to the masses. Using VPN technology, it's
virtually impossible for an outsider to sniff around what's happening
INSIDE the network - by outsider, we mean neighbor, hacker, or the
government.
So what happens then? We start getting small online communities
growing larger and larger - they'll go the same way as the dinosaur
without government. How will this be governed? By the ones with the
most knowledge about WHY it works - the ones who can keep it all online
and flawless - but that's an ideal situation in my world. How is it in
others? Once you have several small networks of say, three hundred
people - and start linking them together in small, private intranets,
sharing resources in such a way that the government can't possibly
meddle with - who runs the show?
The internet is dying, specifically because of this. Usenet, in 1989,
was a bunch of really smart people in front of dumb terminals - in 1999,
it's mostly dumb people in front of smart terminals. It has grown too
large, too fast, and it has no real direction. True, this is part of
WHY it is so popular - but imagine what the web would be like without
search engines?
Nevertheless, I'll probably do up some sort of paper on this eventually
- this is pretty much my ideals of what will be happening when I move in
with the rest of the superheroes. :) Apologies that this wasn't as
funny as it probably could have been, but it was a rant I needed to get
out of my lobes.
Cheers,
- Drew.
* This has been an original Musing Over Coffee. Archives for the
musings are maintained at http://www.riotnrrd.com/musings. To add a
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