Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Classification
In going through the shelves of a second-hand bookshop today I was greatly amused to find a copy of 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus', in the Science Fiction section!
Pin striped punchlines
An interesting bakery
I forgot to mention yesterday, when noting that we visited Biltmore Fashion Park that we ran across the Three Dog Bakery[^]. It's possible some people have more money than is good for them methinks!
They meant it when they said
Don't Touch!!!
In the second half of 1969 my class made many field trips to the various factories and workshops in the area. Most of us were planning to leave school at the end of the year and this was our vocational guidance. We visited the Railway Workshops at Newport, the Naval Yard at Williamstown and a whole bunch of other places, some of which I no longer remember and most of which are no longer there. Footscray and environs was highly industrial at the time.
One of the places we visited was the glassworks. The glassworks is still there, just down from the old Spotswood sewage pumping station which became the Science Museum (it was also the location used in Mad Max[^] for the police station).
I imagine it must have been a logistical nightmare for our form master. Getting 35 or so of us from the school to the factory location and keeping us safe. Actually, just keeping us was a problem in itself. There were one or two of us who looked almost old enough to be of drinking age (18); I recall more than once those guys being hauled out of the pub. Alas, when I was 15 I looked 15! :-)
So there we were, in a glassworks. One of their products was beer bottles. We saw the process of taking the raw materials and turning them into glass; we saw the glass being melted, we saw it being moulded on machinery and appearing on the conveyor belt, cooling down and almost ready for use. And we were warned that hot glass looks a lot like cold glass.
Would that one of our number had heeded the warning. I think his name was Michael; he'd never been a close friend. He just reached out and picked up a bottle from the conveyor. Apparently it was still sitting at something close to 1000 degrees F, somewhat below the melting point. What followed was painful to watch. Screams as he attempted to drop it. But it stuck to his hand. He made it worse by using the other hand to try and remove it.
To this day I don't know the outcome. If his hands survived or not. He was a no show for the remainder of the school year.
In the second half of 1969 my class made many field trips to the various factories and workshops in the area. Most of us were planning to leave school at the end of the year and this was our vocational guidance. We visited the Railway Workshops at Newport, the Naval Yard at Williamstown and a whole bunch of other places, some of which I no longer remember and most of which are no longer there. Footscray and environs was highly industrial at the time.
One of the places we visited was the glassworks. The glassworks is still there, just down from the old Spotswood sewage pumping station which became the Science Museum (it was also the location used in Mad Max[^] for the police station).
I imagine it must have been a logistical nightmare for our form master. Getting 35 or so of us from the school to the factory location and keeping us safe. Actually, just keeping us was a problem in itself. There were one or two of us who looked almost old enough to be of drinking age (18); I recall more than once those guys being hauled out of the pub. Alas, when I was 15 I looked 15! :-)
So there we were, in a glassworks. One of their products was beer bottles. We saw the process of taking the raw materials and turning them into glass; we saw the glass being melted, we saw it being moulded on machinery and appearing on the conveyor belt, cooling down and almost ready for use. And we were warned that hot glass looks a lot like cold glass.
Would that one of our number had heeded the warning. I think his name was Michael; he'd never been a close friend. He just reached out and picked up a bottle from the conveyor. Apparently it was still sitting at something close to 1000 degrees F, somewhat below the melting point. What followed was painful to watch. Screams as he attempted to drop it. But it stuck to his hand. He made it worse by using the other hand to try and remove it.
To this day I don't know the outcome. If his hands survived or not. He was a no show for the remainder of the school year.
Monday, May 30, 2005
Good money
When Australian TV started in September 1956 the powers that be decided to devote a certain amount of spectrum to the new medium, divided into 10 channels, 1 to 10. Not, of course, that any single location had as many as 10 broadcast channels to choose from. Due to geographic distance it was possible for all 6 state capitals to have the same channels, 2, 7 and 9.
By 1963 there was pressure for a fourth license in each capital but, in order to accomodate that without interference between adjacent regions the powers decided to add a few new channels. But they wanted to achieve that without changing the existing channel numbering (and you thought backward compatibility only mattered with operating systems!).
So they came up with an odd scheme. They added Channel 0 below the existing Channel 1, added Channels 11 and 12 (and maybe 13 - I no longer remember) and a real oddball - channel 5A which fitted between Channels 5 and 6. Of course city vs country was involved; none of the capital city channels had to change but quite a few regional channels were forced to change to accomodate the new scheme.
Until about 1974 it was really easy to tell at a glance the age of a TV set simply by checking the channel lineup - if it had 5A it was manufactured after 1963. This mattered to me because I earned my living by repairing TV sets in the early 1970's. The technology of the time was still switch based; to change channels you'd rotate a large barrel carrying 14 or so 'biscuits' where each biscuit had a bunch of coils and capacitors tuned for the specific frequency needed for that channel. Would you believe that part of the standard maintenance for such a tuner involved the liberal application of a grease intended for the axle bearings of a car onto the contacts?
There was an enormous change in the way TV sets were designed and manufactured during the second half of the 1970's. The need for repairs dropped precipitously over those 5 years as reliability went up and the price came down. I used to make a good living visiting the same customers once or twice a year, dropping in a new 6CM5 Line Output valve or a new 6BV6 Audio Output valve, along with the occasional 'curly' one which usually involved the cathode bypass capacitor on the Vertical Output valve. The move to Solid State (transistorised), once they'd worked out the kinks, killed the business and I decided it was time I found a more lucrative way of making a living.
But along the way and as the last gasp of my working in the industry, in December 1979 Channel 0 in Melbourne (the fourth license) decided to migrate to Channel 10. Or maybe the government made them make the move - I no longer remember. What I do remember is an advertisement on Channel 0 asking for experienced TV techs who could man a hotline to assist in the migration. I applied and was accepted.
Thus began about 50 days of non-stop 12 hour a day shifts, 7 days a week. If you're in the software biz you're already yawning - that's nothing! Well, it was new to me at the time! But it paid well; $112 a day after tax - good money for 1980!
The job involved answering the phone, ascertaining the brand and model of TV set and then telling the caller how to twiddle the various knobs to get good reception on the new frequency. For some very early models it was impossible without a visit from a tech to make some modifications. I can't remember if Channel 10 paid for those mods or if the caller was expected to pick up the bill. For most of the rest it was a long and patient process of walking the caller through a set of steps. Sometimes they'd have a model I'd never heard of and then it was a frantic series of whispers along the row of we techs to find someone who was familiar with it. I'll never forget the sight of 50 TV techs on the phone, each of us doing, in pantomime, the actions our callers needed to do.
We had slow times of course; it was in those slow times that I started reading the Sherlock Holmes stories. Good stuff!
As time progressed the volume of calls fell off and our numbers dwindled. Each day we'd finish with the anxious look at the coordinator; was I wanted tomorrow? I was one of the last let go which was just as well; I had no other job to go to.
By 1963 there was pressure for a fourth license in each capital but, in order to accomodate that without interference between adjacent regions the powers decided to add a few new channels. But they wanted to achieve that without changing the existing channel numbering (and you thought backward compatibility only mattered with operating systems!).
So they came up with an odd scheme. They added Channel 0 below the existing Channel 1, added Channels 11 and 12 (and maybe 13 - I no longer remember) and a real oddball - channel 5A which fitted between Channels 5 and 6. Of course city vs country was involved; none of the capital city channels had to change but quite a few regional channels were forced to change to accomodate the new scheme.
Until about 1974 it was really easy to tell at a glance the age of a TV set simply by checking the channel lineup - if it had 5A it was manufactured after 1963. This mattered to me because I earned my living by repairing TV sets in the early 1970's. The technology of the time was still switch based; to change channels you'd rotate a large barrel carrying 14 or so 'biscuits' where each biscuit had a bunch of coils and capacitors tuned for the specific frequency needed for that channel. Would you believe that part of the standard maintenance for such a tuner involved the liberal application of a grease intended for the axle bearings of a car onto the contacts?
There was an enormous change in the way TV sets were designed and manufactured during the second half of the 1970's. The need for repairs dropped precipitously over those 5 years as reliability went up and the price came down. I used to make a good living visiting the same customers once or twice a year, dropping in a new 6CM5 Line Output valve or a new 6BV6 Audio Output valve, along with the occasional 'curly' one which usually involved the cathode bypass capacitor on the Vertical Output valve. The move to Solid State (transistorised), once they'd worked out the kinks, killed the business and I decided it was time I found a more lucrative way of making a living.
But along the way and as the last gasp of my working in the industry, in December 1979 Channel 0 in Melbourne (the fourth license) decided to migrate to Channel 10. Or maybe the government made them make the move - I no longer remember. What I do remember is an advertisement on Channel 0 asking for experienced TV techs who could man a hotline to assist in the migration. I applied and was accepted.
Thus began about 50 days of non-stop 12 hour a day shifts, 7 days a week. If you're in the software biz you're already yawning - that's nothing! Well, it was new to me at the time! But it paid well; $112 a day after tax - good money for 1980!
The job involved answering the phone, ascertaining the brand and model of TV set and then telling the caller how to twiddle the various knobs to get good reception on the new frequency. For some very early models it was impossible without a visit from a tech to make some modifications. I can't remember if Channel 10 paid for those mods or if the caller was expected to pick up the bill. For most of the rest it was a long and patient process of walking the caller through a set of steps. Sometimes they'd have a model I'd never heard of and then it was a frantic series of whispers along the row of we techs to find someone who was familiar with it. I'll never forget the sight of 50 TV techs on the phone, each of us doing, in pantomime, the actions our callers needed to do.
We had slow times of course; it was in those slow times that I started reading the Sherlock Holmes stories. Good stuff!
As time progressed the volume of calls fell off and our numbers dwindled. Each day we'd finish with the anxious look at the coordinator; was I wanted tomorrow? I was one of the last let go which was just as well; I had no other job to go to.
PAM
We went to the Phoenix Art Museum[^] today.
I enjoyed it. Well, I've always enjoyed museums. I have golden memories of visiting the Melbourne Museum in 1970 and alternating my gaze between the mini-skirted young ladies and displays of wax fruit with hand annotated labels dating from 1887. I enjoyed both sights! To this day the sight of a well done wax apple that looks like the real thing reminds me of... umm I better stop before you conclude I'm confused! :-)
We dragged Andrew along. For some time he's been afflicted with the idea that he's 'artistic'. This is going to sound like a harsh judgement; if so then so be it. He has talent. I can't deny it (and wouldn't if I could). I wish I could put lines on paper the way that he can. But, on the other hand, I've never seen him put a single line on paper that he hasn't copied from somewhere else. As a copy artist he'd succeed. But he has greater ambitions. I've tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to put down an original idea. Any idea. He won't do it. I'm sure he's afraid of failure. Nothing I can say seems to get him over that fear... (and sometimes it's best to stop pushing overtly).
So I thought, given that his only influences seem to be TV why not try something else? Hence the art museum. He spent the entire afternoon being truculently bored. Hmmm I can remember being just the same at close to the same age. So I have no idea what to do.
All is not lost. After the museum we went to Biltmore Fashion Park. The name is grander than the reality; it's just an upmarket overpriced shopping centre at the corner of Camelback and 24th street. We were in search of cold drinks which we found. Sitting outside the coffee shop we discussed the afternoon. Andrew felt sufficiently comfortable that he could unbend and admit that he'd enjoyed much of the afternoon; we talked about some post modernist paintings we'd seen and got into quite the adult argument over whether the composition was off or not...
Thus we progress!
I notice that they're going to be running La Belle et la Bete[^] soon. I doubt they'll run the version with the Philip Glass soundtrack but I can live in hope (and after all, I have it on DVD). If I'm in Phoenix that night I'm there!
I enjoyed it. Well, I've always enjoyed museums. I have golden memories of visiting the Melbourne Museum in 1970 and alternating my gaze between the mini-skirted young ladies and displays of wax fruit with hand annotated labels dating from 1887. I enjoyed both sights! To this day the sight of a well done wax apple that looks like the real thing reminds me of... umm I better stop before you conclude I'm confused! :-)
We dragged Andrew along. For some time he's been afflicted with the idea that he's 'artistic'. This is going to sound like a harsh judgement; if so then so be it. He has talent. I can't deny it (and wouldn't if I could). I wish I could put lines on paper the way that he can. But, on the other hand, I've never seen him put a single line on paper that he hasn't copied from somewhere else. As a copy artist he'd succeed. But he has greater ambitions. I've tried, unsuccessfully, to get him to put down an original idea. Any idea. He won't do it. I'm sure he's afraid of failure. Nothing I can say seems to get him over that fear... (and sometimes it's best to stop pushing overtly).
So I thought, given that his only influences seem to be TV why not try something else? Hence the art museum. He spent the entire afternoon being truculently bored. Hmmm I can remember being just the same at close to the same age. So I have no idea what to do.
All is not lost. After the museum we went to Biltmore Fashion Park. The name is grander than the reality; it's just an upmarket overpriced shopping centre at the corner of Camelback and 24th street. We were in search of cold drinks which we found. Sitting outside the coffee shop we discussed the afternoon. Andrew felt sufficiently comfortable that he could unbend and admit that he'd enjoyed much of the afternoon; we talked about some post modernist paintings we'd seen and got into quite the adult argument over whether the composition was off or not...
Thus we progress!
I notice that they're going to be running La Belle et la Bete[^] soon. I doubt they'll run the version with the Philip Glass soundtrack but I can live in hope (and after all, I have it on DVD). If I'm in Phoenix that night I'm there!
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Our new cat
I mentioned the other night that a young cat, not much more than a kitten, had wandered in and taken residence. She's domesticated and obviously had a reasonable home before she found us. Her name is now Buttons as in 'Cute as a button'. We've done the neighbourly thing and put up flyers; we've checked the condo block next door in case someone has put up flyers searching for her and nothing. It seems no one is missing her or looking for her. So I guess we now have a fifth cat.
Today we discovered a possible reason why she's been abandoned. She is, of course, in heat. Sigh, there goes another 200 bucks... But we're not going to chuck her out.
This is one of my hot buttons. Irresponsible people who abandon an animal just because it doesn't suit their convenience. I reckon it ought to be necessary to pass an examination and post a bond before you buy a pet.
On the other hand, it seems my opinions on the subject have got through to at least one person. Early last year we had Kitten going through the same phase. Andrew accepted the necessity of her being spayed whilst regretting the loss of potential kittens. But he couldn't reconcile himself to the possibility, when she returned from the vet, feeling sore and sick and sorry for herself, that she might want to recuperate in his room. 'Eww eww, what if she bleeds?' he asked. 'If she does she does' I replied. 'She won't be doing it to annoy you'. 'I don't want her in my room.' he expostulated. 'So' I said, 'if she chooses your room as the place to retreat you'll chuck her out?' That got him! (I'm condensing - it took a couple of days to get my point across).
This time he's being a lot more mature about the whole thing. None of us want the messes that happen but he's learning that sometimes other things are more important. Like, maybe, showing a small frightened confused creature in considerable discomfort some compassion. Our new friend goes under the knife on Tuesday and this time we haven't heard a peep out of Andrew about the possibility of her wanting to hide in his room. Progress!
Today we discovered a possible reason why she's been abandoned. She is, of course, in heat. Sigh, there goes another 200 bucks... But we're not going to chuck her out.
This is one of my hot buttons. Irresponsible people who abandon an animal just because it doesn't suit their convenience. I reckon it ought to be necessary to pass an examination and post a bond before you buy a pet.
On the other hand, it seems my opinions on the subject have got through to at least one person. Early last year we had Kitten going through the same phase. Andrew accepted the necessity of her being spayed whilst regretting the loss of potential kittens. But he couldn't reconcile himself to the possibility, when she returned from the vet, feeling sore and sick and sorry for herself, that she might want to recuperate in his room. 'Eww eww, what if she bleeds?' he asked. 'If she does she does' I replied. 'She won't be doing it to annoy you'. 'I don't want her in my room.' he expostulated. 'So' I said, 'if she chooses your room as the place to retreat you'll chuck her out?' That got him! (I'm condensing - it took a couple of days to get my point across).
This time he's being a lot more mature about the whole thing. None of us want the messes that happen but he's learning that sometimes other things are more important. Like, maybe, showing a small frightened confused creature in considerable discomfort some compassion. Our new friend goes under the knife on Tuesday and this time we haven't heard a peep out of Andrew about the possibility of her wanting to hide in his room. Progress!
My first car
I bought my first car in mid 1972, about 6 months before I was even eligible to hold a drivers license. It was a 1953 Morris Minor[^]. Fortunately we had a large block of land; the olds, for some reason, had bought the block of land behind ours, torn down the back fence and combined the two blocks into one larger one. It was still pretty small but it did give me somewhere to drive, in circles, on those occasions when one or the other of the olds were unwilling to be my licensed driver.
Learning to drive back then was pretty unstructured. No such thing as a learners permit, you just slung a couple of L plates on the car and took off with a licensed driver. Lots of kangaroo hopping as I learned to control the clutch. I had my first lessons in Misery's 1960 FB Holden[^] which was a fun car to drive although, without power steering, it was a dog to do a three point turn in. It didn't have power brakes either which meant more than one white knuckle experience for Misery as I tried to bring it to a halt after misjudging speed and distance.
After a couple of months of driving my Morrie around the backyard it began to resemble a bush racetrack. I think I took out every tree they'd ever planted. I got really good at changing from first up to second but got no practice beyond that; the track was too small! On the other hand, I did learn how to double-clutch; the gearbox had no synchromesh so it was very difficult to shift down into first unless the car was stationary!
Alas, the car had met it's match with me. At 19 years old it was a year older than I was, but I managed to be the one that brought it to its end. A minor oil leak that I ignored until too late. The engine gave up the ghost and repairs would have run to more than I paid for the entire car. I reckon, even today, I'd instantly recognise the sound of an engine with shot big-ends. So we towed it to the local tip and just rolled it over the edge. A pity in some ways. It had the most comfortable seats I've ever had in a car and it was, after all, my first car.
Learning to drive back then was pretty unstructured. No such thing as a learners permit, you just slung a couple of L plates on the car and took off with a licensed driver. Lots of kangaroo hopping as I learned to control the clutch. I had my first lessons in Misery's 1960 FB Holden[^] which was a fun car to drive although, without power steering, it was a dog to do a three point turn in. It didn't have power brakes either which meant more than one white knuckle experience for Misery as I tried to bring it to a halt after misjudging speed and distance.
After a couple of months of driving my Morrie around the backyard it began to resemble a bush racetrack. I think I took out every tree they'd ever planted. I got really good at changing from first up to second but got no practice beyond that; the track was too small! On the other hand, I did learn how to double-clutch; the gearbox had no synchromesh so it was very difficult to shift down into first unless the car was stationary!
Alas, the car had met it's match with me. At 19 years old it was a year older than I was, but I managed to be the one that brought it to its end. A minor oil leak that I ignored until too late. The engine gave up the ghost and repairs would have run to more than I paid for the entire car. I reckon, even today, I'd instantly recognise the sound of an engine with shot big-ends. So we towed it to the local tip and just rolled it over the edge. A pity in some ways. It had the most comfortable seats I've ever had in a car and it was, after all, my first car.
Two words
Little Johnny is having lunch with Grandma.
'Johnny' says Grandma, 'there are two words I never want to hear you say. The first is lousy and the second is swell'.
'Ok' says Little Johnny. 'What are the two words?'
Boom boom!
'Johnny' says Grandma, 'there are two words I never want to hear you say. The first is lousy and the second is swell'.
'Ok' says Little Johnny. 'What are the two words?'
Boom boom!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
How to make $39.99 equal $97.11
I hired a car for one day in Dallas. The advertised price was $39.99 a day. Tonight, upon returning it, I got the bill. It contains the following fascinating extra charges.
$1.26/day surcharge (Reimbursement Property Tax, (tax includes %5 project tax) fee).
11.11% fee totalling $6.34 (concession recovery fee).
$21.99 for one day insurance.
15.00% tax totalling $10.44
$17.09 (PAI/PEP/ALI charge (whatever that means)).
Excluding the tax and the insurance (to which I'd agreed) that makes hidden charges totalling $24.69, not one of which was disclosed prior to my signing for the rental. Hmmm...
$1.26/day surcharge (Reimbursement Property Tax, (tax includes %5 project tax) fee).
11.11% fee totalling $6.34 (concession recovery fee).
$21.99 for one day insurance.
15.00% tax totalling $10.44
$17.09 (PAI/PEP/ALI charge (whatever that means)).
Excluding the tax and the insurance (to which I'd agreed) that makes hidden charges totalling $24.69, not one of which was disclosed prior to my signing for the rental. Hmmm...
Communications
The other day I said I was going to Dallas for an overnighter that, if successful, meant I had to go back to The Philippines immediately. It was successful, so, rather reluctantly, I rang the boss to confirm that I was indeed travelling to Baguio this weekend. I was, so I rang the travel agent. A few hours passed and I hadn't heard back so I rang the agent again and learned that I'm confirmed to travel to Manila on Sunday.
So I rang the boss again, to tell him I was confirmed. Ordinarily I wouldn't have rung back but in this case I needed to be sure a colleague who is based in Taiwan would also be there in Baguio. I can't complete the job without him so there's not much point in my going if he's not going to be there.
And the boss said, 'Rob, you're not going'. 'Say what?' I said. 'You're not going' he repeated. He then went on to explain that, due to a demo we're doing for a new customer that requires both myself and my Taiwanese colleague, they've decided to postpone my Baguio Trip.
Hmmm, so what would have happened had I not called the boss again? Based on the contents of my office email, I'd have boarded that plane on Sunday arvo, done the 40 odd hours of travel to Baguio and found out, Wednesday morning Baguio time that I need not have travelled at all.
I'm not complaining! I wasn't looking forward to the trip though I imagine in a few weeks time I'll be starting to get itchy feet and wanting to travel again. I just wish it was back to France! Meanwhile, I get to enjoy a public holiday for a change. Oh, and my frequent flyer balance is already over the number required for a second return trip to Australia!
So I rang the boss again, to tell him I was confirmed. Ordinarily I wouldn't have rung back but in this case I needed to be sure a colleague who is based in Taiwan would also be there in Baguio. I can't complete the job without him so there's not much point in my going if he's not going to be there.
And the boss said, 'Rob, you're not going'. 'Say what?' I said. 'You're not going' he repeated. He then went on to explain that, due to a demo we're doing for a new customer that requires both myself and my Taiwanese colleague, they've decided to postpone my Baguio Trip.
Hmmm, so what would have happened had I not called the boss again? Based on the contents of my office email, I'd have boarded that plane on Sunday arvo, done the 40 odd hours of travel to Baguio and found out, Wednesday morning Baguio time that I need not have travelled at all.
I'm not complaining! I wasn't looking forward to the trip though I imagine in a few weeks time I'll be starting to get itchy feet and wanting to travel again. I just wish it was back to France! Meanwhile, I get to enjoy a public holiday for a change. Oh, and my frequent flyer balance is already over the number required for a second return trip to Australia!
Going down the Darkie
The darkie was our name for the stormwater drain that ran under Fehon Street Yarraville, exiting at the waste ground on the southern side of Francis Street. The waste ground today is a golf course but in 1964 it was overgrown with aniseed bushes, scotch thistle and grass that seemed perpetually brown.
It was only natural that such a wilderness attracted us. Stony creek ran through it and there was (and still is) an impressive railway bridge made of red brick and bluestone. We used to stand on the bridge support column, 40 or so feet above the creek but just below the level of the tracks, waiting for a train to pass. When it did we'd shy yonnies (rocks) at the windows. Breaking a window was a score! What vile delinquents we were!
So one afternoon after school we (Carl, myself, Cliff, Bill and Peter) decided it was time to explore the darkie. On the other side of the railway line there were some factories and between the factories and the railway line itself a tipping area. They'd throw out all sorts of rubbish but what we wanted were wire handled brushes used to clean up oil. If you lit the oily rag it'd burn for half an hour or more.
Armed with a dozen or so of these crude torches we entered the darkie. I don't know if you've ever walked through a storm water drain but let me tell you, they're not designed for the casual stroller. We're talking mud, deep pools and deeper discomfort. But when you're ten years old you don't give a bugger about such considerations. Mud washes out. It was quite the thrill to enter with the torch held high and feel like an intrepid explorer. Even more a thrill to peer upward at the street we knew so well through the grilles placed over the drains!
There's something else a ten year old lacks and that something is foresight. None of us thought to check the weather forecast. And, naturally, it rained. Not a particularly heavy rain as I remember it but it was enough to raise the water level in the drain by about a foot. Combine that with the mud and our total unfamiliarity with the drain and it added up to a complete soaking as we slipped and fell into the water. Which, in turn, meant that our torches were doused and our matches soaked.
So there we were, a few hundred yards into the darkie, late afternoon, rain pouring down and lost. No light and unsure of which way was out. We hadn't even done that much planning! So we plunged on, slipping over the muddy stones and came to a junction. None of us remembered having passed it on the way in. Aha! If we didn't remember it then maybe if we retraced our steps we'd escape.
We got lucky. That logic worked. We emerged into a rain soaked world well after sunset. A longish (for a 10 year old) trudge home soaked and muddy. I can still remember both the trouncing I got for it and the lamb chops with mashed spuds that followed the trouncing. These days the dinner makes up for the trouncing but at the time I felt ill used.
It was only natural that such a wilderness attracted us. Stony creek ran through it and there was (and still is) an impressive railway bridge made of red brick and bluestone. We used to stand on the bridge support column, 40 or so feet above the creek but just below the level of the tracks, waiting for a train to pass. When it did we'd shy yonnies (rocks) at the windows. Breaking a window was a score! What vile delinquents we were!
So one afternoon after school we (Carl, myself, Cliff, Bill and Peter) decided it was time to explore the darkie. On the other side of the railway line there were some factories and between the factories and the railway line itself a tipping area. They'd throw out all sorts of rubbish but what we wanted were wire handled brushes used to clean up oil. If you lit the oily rag it'd burn for half an hour or more.
Armed with a dozen or so of these crude torches we entered the darkie. I don't know if you've ever walked through a storm water drain but let me tell you, they're not designed for the casual stroller. We're talking mud, deep pools and deeper discomfort. But when you're ten years old you don't give a bugger about such considerations. Mud washes out. It was quite the thrill to enter with the torch held high and feel like an intrepid explorer. Even more a thrill to peer upward at the street we knew so well through the grilles placed over the drains!
There's something else a ten year old lacks and that something is foresight. None of us thought to check the weather forecast. And, naturally, it rained. Not a particularly heavy rain as I remember it but it was enough to raise the water level in the drain by about a foot. Combine that with the mud and our total unfamiliarity with the drain and it added up to a complete soaking as we slipped and fell into the water. Which, in turn, meant that our torches were doused and our matches soaked.
So there we were, a few hundred yards into the darkie, late afternoon, rain pouring down and lost. No light and unsure of which way was out. We hadn't even done that much planning! So we plunged on, slipping over the muddy stones and came to a junction. None of us remembered having passed it on the way in. Aha! If we didn't remember it then maybe if we retraced our steps we'd escape.
We got lucky. That logic worked. We emerged into a rain soaked world well after sunset. A longish (for a 10 year old) trudge home soaked and muddy. I can still remember both the trouncing I got for it and the lamb chops with mashed spuds that followed the trouncing. These days the dinner makes up for the trouncing but at the time I felt ill used.
Friday, May 27, 2005
She got
20 years[^].
I don't think it was warranted but on the other hand, in one of the few things Little Johnny Bastard (John Howard, current Australian Prime Minister) has ever said that seemed reasonable to me, we should respect[^] the legal systems of other countries.
Is it cheapening her ordeal if I say that I've been hitting refresh for the last 3 hours on the Melbourne Age 'almost live' text update site relating the events of the trial verdict in Bali? I hope not.
I don't think it was warranted but on the other hand, in one of the few things Little Johnny Bastard (John Howard, current Australian Prime Minister) has ever said that seemed reasonable to me, we should respect[^] the legal systems of other countries.
Is it cheapening her ordeal if I say that I've been hitting refresh for the last 3 hours on the Melbourne Age 'almost live' text update site relating the events of the trial verdict in Bali? I hope not.
In Dallas again
The flight from Phoenix to El Paso was somewhat rough. I have to admit that I'm a nervous flier. If the flight is even slightly bumpy I start to imagine all sorts of disasters. It doesn't matter that statistically air travel is the safest travel in the world; it doesn't matter that aircraft are designed to take those kinds of stresses; it doesn't matter that pilots are trained to within inches of their lives to cope with almost any disaster imaginable and it doesn't matter that I've flown hundreds of times in 23 years without anything going wrong. I just don't like turbulent travel and that's all there is to it. Heck, I don't like rollercoasters either...
Being in a car stuck on the ground feels right. Being stuck in a cylinder 11 Kilometres above the earth, whilst proven to be safe, just doesn't feel right.
I still travel of course; no way do I want to find myself unable to travel back to Australia. Nor, for that matter, would I have let a little thing like turbulence get between me and the chance to visit Japan or Europe. There are nerves and then there's being a fraidy cat. Fortunately the long haul flights I do most of the time use larger aircraft and those tend to flatten the bumps!
From El Paso to Dallas was a lot smoother. On the other hand; this was the first time I'd had a window seat on the left hand side of the plane. I flew Southwest which means we landed at Love Field. The route to that airport goes very very close to downtown Dallas - close enough that it looks like we've been taken over by a suicide pilot and are targetting the tallest building if you're sitting on the left side. Sitting on the right you wouldn't know. I can easily imagine that office workers in Dallas high rise buildings have had frequent nightmares since 11/9/2001.
Let's just accept that I fly whilst not taking a successful landing as a given.
So I arrived at Dallas Love Field and approached the car rental desk. I did the link last night so you can scroll back a day to see prior history with car rentals in Dallas. Suffice it to say that this time the car rental firm my company prefers me to use didn't have any car to rent me at all - neither the one I'd reserved or any kind of substitute.
I guess that's one way to run a business but it wouldn't be my choice. Yeah, there's capitalisation and a hundred other things to running a car rental business that just aren't within my spheres of comprehension, but it seems to me that not having any kind of car to rent when the customer fronts up is just going to make that customer look for another company.
They were helpful though; they advised me to speak to Jim at Avis and see if he could match their price. He could and did! No, I didn't get a Kia; I got a Hyundai Elantra for the same price. Nice car. I still like my Kia but maybe I'm being stubbornly illogical!
Of course, since the company has no choice but to approve my Avis rental this time, I'm going to go with them or a similar company next time. Advantage Rental car have blown it for me forever.
Being in a car stuck on the ground feels right. Being stuck in a cylinder 11 Kilometres above the earth, whilst proven to be safe, just doesn't feel right.
I still travel of course; no way do I want to find myself unable to travel back to Australia. Nor, for that matter, would I have let a little thing like turbulence get between me and the chance to visit Japan or Europe. There are nerves and then there's being a fraidy cat. Fortunately the long haul flights I do most of the time use larger aircraft and those tend to flatten the bumps!
From El Paso to Dallas was a lot smoother. On the other hand; this was the first time I'd had a window seat on the left hand side of the plane. I flew Southwest which means we landed at Love Field. The route to that airport goes very very close to downtown Dallas - close enough that it looks like we've been taken over by a suicide pilot and are targetting the tallest building if you're sitting on the left side. Sitting on the right you wouldn't know. I can easily imagine that office workers in Dallas high rise buildings have had frequent nightmares since 11/9/2001.
Let's just accept that I fly whilst not taking a successful landing as a given.
So I arrived at Dallas Love Field and approached the car rental desk. I did the link last night so you can scroll back a day to see prior history with car rentals in Dallas. Suffice it to say that this time the car rental firm my company prefers me to use didn't have any car to rent me at all - neither the one I'd reserved or any kind of substitute.
I guess that's one way to run a business but it wouldn't be my choice. Yeah, there's capitalisation and a hundred other things to running a car rental business that just aren't within my spheres of comprehension, but it seems to me that not having any kind of car to rent when the customer fronts up is just going to make that customer look for another company.
They were helpful though; they advised me to speak to Jim at Avis and see if he could match their price. He could and did! No, I didn't get a Kia; I got a Hyundai Elantra for the same price. Nice car. I still like my Kia but maybe I'm being stubbornly illogical!
Of course, since the company has no choice but to approve my Avis rental this time, I'm going to go with them or a similar company next time. Advantage Rental car have blown it for me forever.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
The two things I remember about my fourth form english teacher
The first is that she was cute. Fourth form is equivalent to year 10 so we were, most of us, 15 or 16. I was 15 so we're talking 1969. And if I was 15 that means I had one thing on my mind. Hence the observation that she was cute.
I can't even remember her name.
But the other thing I remember about her is much more important. One afternoon she brought a gramaphone into the classroom and proceeded to play us a track from an album. The idea was that we'd listen and then write a short story about whatever images the track evoked. My story was (so far as I can remember) about 2 pages long (boom boom, cymbal crash!). Nope, I honestly can't remember a thing about the story I wrote. But the music really stuck in my head and I had to know more about the band and their music.
The album she played was A saucerful of secrets[^] by Pink Floyd, their second album. The track we wrote a story about was the title track.
Thus began a 36 year, so far, admiration for a great band and love for some really great music. It was impossible, in 1969, to get a copy of the album in Melbourne. Our teacher was English and I have to presume she brought the album with her when she came to Australia. I know that I scoured record shops in Footscray and in the City without finding anyone who had even heard of Pink Floyd. I didn't get my first copy of 'A saucerful of secrets' until December 1970 and that was a special order import at about twice the usual LP price.
I must be one of the few people who attended both their Melbourne concerts. The first was in August 1972 at Festival Hall. This was when they were still relatively unknown, before they released 'The Dark side of the Moon'. Interesting concert. About 20 minutes in a fuse blew and their amplifiers died. A few frantic minutes doubtless spent by the crew before the sound was restored. But a great concert; the highlights were 'Astronomy Domine', 'Careful with that axe Eugene' and 'Echoes'. Roger Waters screaming into a mike is something you have to see and hear to believe!
The second concert was February 1988 at the Tennis Centre. By that time it was 'mostly' Pink Floyd - Roger Waters was departed. Lots of material from 'The Dark side of the Moon' (my least favourite album of theirs) and almost nothing earlier than that. A heady experience nonetheless to be part of a crowd of 10,000 shaking my fist and singing along with 'We don't need no education!'. Now I know how Hitler pulled off the Nuremburg Rallies...
No post about Pink Floyd is complete without the writer naming his favourite tracks. Here are mine.
'Interstellar Overdrive', from their first album, 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn' (1967).
'Sheep', from their nth album, 'Animals' (1977).
'The Final cut' from 'The Final cut' (1983). (Yeah, I know, this isn't really a Pink Floyd album, it's the first of the four Roger Waters albums).
I can't even remember her name.
But the other thing I remember about her is much more important. One afternoon she brought a gramaphone into the classroom and proceeded to play us a track from an album. The idea was that we'd listen and then write a short story about whatever images the track evoked. My story was (so far as I can remember) about 2 pages long (boom boom, cymbal crash!). Nope, I honestly can't remember a thing about the story I wrote. But the music really stuck in my head and I had to know more about the band and their music.
The album she played was A saucerful of secrets[^] by Pink Floyd, their second album. The track we wrote a story about was the title track.
Thus began a 36 year, so far, admiration for a great band and love for some really great music. It was impossible, in 1969, to get a copy of the album in Melbourne. Our teacher was English and I have to presume she brought the album with her when she came to Australia. I know that I scoured record shops in Footscray and in the City without finding anyone who had even heard of Pink Floyd. I didn't get my first copy of 'A saucerful of secrets' until December 1970 and that was a special order import at about twice the usual LP price.
I must be one of the few people who attended both their Melbourne concerts. The first was in August 1972 at Festival Hall. This was when they were still relatively unknown, before they released 'The Dark side of the Moon'. Interesting concert. About 20 minutes in a fuse blew and their amplifiers died. A few frantic minutes doubtless spent by the crew before the sound was restored. But a great concert; the highlights were 'Astronomy Domine', 'Careful with that axe Eugene' and 'Echoes'. Roger Waters screaming into a mike is something you have to see and hear to believe!
The second concert was February 1988 at the Tennis Centre. By that time it was 'mostly' Pink Floyd - Roger Waters was departed. Lots of material from 'The Dark side of the Moon' (my least favourite album of theirs) and almost nothing earlier than that. A heady experience nonetheless to be part of a crowd of 10,000 shaking my fist and singing along with 'We don't need no education!'. Now I know how Hitler pulled off the Nuremburg Rallies...
No post about Pink Floyd is complete without the writer naming his favourite tracks. Here are mine.
'Interstellar Overdrive', from their first album, 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn' (1967).
'Sheep', from their nth album, 'Animals' (1977).
'The Final cut' from 'The Final cut' (1983). (Yeah, I know, this isn't really a Pink Floyd album, it's the first of the four Roger Waters albums).
I swear
someone at the office reads this blog. How else explain the sudden change of plans. Uh huh. I posted yesterday that I was going to Dallas next Monday. But nope, that's not soon enough apparently. Instead, I'm going to Dallas later today for an overnighter which, if successful, will see me on my way back to Baguio in The Philippines over the weekend. As I said at the time, 'you know, you're not giving me much incentive to succeed in Dallas!'.
I've made a reservation for a Kia; let's hope I get something like that instead of a Durango[^].
I've made a reservation for a Kia; let's hope I get something like that instead of a Durango[^].
This is getting out of hand
I wrote about our cats[^] back in December and mentioned that we had four and a half cats where the half a cat was Einstein who ate here but wasn't quite ready to sleep here.
Man it's got out of hand since then. Einstein found himself a congenial place to live at the other end of the condominium block; we hardly ever see him. Instead we have 2 stray gingers, both very timid, who skulk in through the cat door and snatch desperate mouthfuls. They're kinda getting used to us being around. We've never got closer than 2 metres from them but they'll now eat whilst keeping a close eye on me sitting here at the computer writing. One of them is there right now; I can see him out of the corner of an eye but I know that if I turn to look at him he'll freeze and want to escape.
Then there's the thin black, also timid. And the Cleo look alike; almost indistinguishable from Cleo except for a collar. Indeed, the first time I saw her a couple of weeks ago I asked my wife why she'd put a collar on Cleo. The black and white tabby who's reasonably friendly. Still timid but if you make the appropriate clucking sounds and move slowly he'll snuggle up for some rubs.
A couple of nights ago a rather young cat, maybe 9 months old, just marched in. Friendly, not overly cautious and as cute as the dickens. She's stayed ever since. I think she had a home but has been abandoned. That happens rather more often than it should. I used to have a sticker on my fridge back in Melbourne 'A pet is for life, not just for Christmas'. That's so true. If you take on a cat (or any pet for that matter) you'd better be prepared to go the distance. Which is one reason why I think you should never give a pet as a gift. We have the posters up on lamp posts around the condo block but no one has called about her.
So, at the moment, it looks like our permanent population of cats has grown to five. I'm certainly not going to chuck the new cat out to fend for herself and turn feral. And the others? They're welcome to a feed. I'm being pragmatic here. If I wanted to stop them coming in the only ways I can think of are to shoot them or lock the cat doors and keep ours permanently inside.
Well I'm not going to harm the strays! And it seems to me that if I'm free to come and go so should my cats be free to come and go, especially if they've had that freedom all their lives. There's not a lot I can do about it even if I wanted to.
Man it's got out of hand since then. Einstein found himself a congenial place to live at the other end of the condominium block; we hardly ever see him. Instead we have 2 stray gingers, both very timid, who skulk in through the cat door and snatch desperate mouthfuls. They're kinda getting used to us being around. We've never got closer than 2 metres from them but they'll now eat whilst keeping a close eye on me sitting here at the computer writing. One of them is there right now; I can see him out of the corner of an eye but I know that if I turn to look at him he'll freeze and want to escape.
Then there's the thin black, also timid. And the Cleo look alike; almost indistinguishable from Cleo except for a collar. Indeed, the first time I saw her a couple of weeks ago I asked my wife why she'd put a collar on Cleo. The black and white tabby who's reasonably friendly. Still timid but if you make the appropriate clucking sounds and move slowly he'll snuggle up for some rubs.
A couple of nights ago a rather young cat, maybe 9 months old, just marched in. Friendly, not overly cautious and as cute as the dickens. She's stayed ever since. I think she had a home but has been abandoned. That happens rather more often than it should. I used to have a sticker on my fridge back in Melbourne 'A pet is for life, not just for Christmas'. That's so true. If you take on a cat (or any pet for that matter) you'd better be prepared to go the distance. Which is one reason why I think you should never give a pet as a gift. We have the posters up on lamp posts around the condo block but no one has called about her.
So, at the moment, it looks like our permanent population of cats has grown to five. I'm certainly not going to chuck the new cat out to fend for herself and turn feral. And the others? They're welcome to a feed. I'm being pragmatic here. If I wanted to stop them coming in the only ways I can think of are to shoot them or lock the cat doors and keep ours permanently inside.
Well I'm not going to harm the strays! And it seems to me that if I'm free to come and go so should my cats be free to come and go, especially if they've had that freedom all their lives. There's not a lot I can do about it even if I wanted to.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Like sands through the hourglass
so are the Days of Our Lives[^].
Misery Guts was a big fan back in 1966 when we lived in Seddon. The furniture factory where he worked was on the other side of the same street, maybe 100 yards away. So he did lunch at home. I was at school of course so I only saw him doing lunch during the school holidays.
He became hooked bigtime. So, when we moved to St Albans at the end of 1966 and the TV also moved he had to face withdrawal. St Albans was far enough away that driving home for lunch wasn't an option. So he ended up buying a second hand TV set (an Admiral if I remember rightly) for $80 and installing it in the lunch room at the factory.
Years passed. Years and years. Sometime around 1979 he retired on an invalids pension but he was still watching DOOL religiously. I have no idea if it's still running in Melbourne (though I note that according to IMDB it's still in production) but if it is I'm sure he's still getting his fix.
Good luck to him!
I still watch M*A*S*H repeats on late night TV here in Phoenix. I justify it by telling myself that I'm checking to see if they're going to continue recycling the same series year after year. We're on the third repeat cycle since I discovered it 2 years ago. When it runs to the end of 1983 in 4 or so months time will they go back to the 1972 episodes again? Of course, the real reason is that I just enjoy the series.
Nonetheless, it is fascinating to watch how one repeat of a particular episode chops out one scene to fit the ad schedule and the next repeat of the same episode reinstates that scene and chops out another. Remember the episode where Hawkeye and Trapper have pin stripe suits made by a Korean tailor? The punchline to that episode is when the suits appear with the pin stripes running horizontally rather than vertically. I've seen that episode thrice since moving here; only once did they show the punchline.
Misery Guts was a big fan back in 1966 when we lived in Seddon. The furniture factory where he worked was on the other side of the same street, maybe 100 yards away. So he did lunch at home. I was at school of course so I only saw him doing lunch during the school holidays.
He became hooked bigtime. So, when we moved to St Albans at the end of 1966 and the TV also moved he had to face withdrawal. St Albans was far enough away that driving home for lunch wasn't an option. So he ended up buying a second hand TV set (an Admiral if I remember rightly) for $80 and installing it in the lunch room at the factory.
Years passed. Years and years. Sometime around 1979 he retired on an invalids pension but he was still watching DOOL religiously. I have no idea if it's still running in Melbourne (though I note that according to IMDB it's still in production) but if it is I'm sure he's still getting his fix.
Good luck to him!
I still watch M*A*S*H repeats on late night TV here in Phoenix. I justify it by telling myself that I'm checking to see if they're going to continue recycling the same series year after year. We're on the third repeat cycle since I discovered it 2 years ago. When it runs to the end of 1983 in 4 or so months time will they go back to the 1972 episodes again? Of course, the real reason is that I just enjoy the series.
Nonetheless, it is fascinating to watch how one repeat of a particular episode chops out one scene to fit the ad schedule and the next repeat of the same episode reinstates that scene and chops out another. Remember the episode where Hawkeye and Trapper have pin stripe suits made by a Korean tailor? The punchline to that episode is when the suits appear with the pin stripes running horizontally rather than vertically. I've seen that episode thrice since moving here; only once did they show the punchline.
Maybe more info than you wanted
One night in 1994 (it was Wednesday December 7th to be precise :-) ) I had some friends over for dinner. A somewhat distracted evening because I'd just run a 'clean' utility in the wrong directory and wiped out my Windows installation. (It deleted .exe and .obj files - not a good idea to run it from C:\). So I was swapping the 20 or so floppies that Win 3.1 came on for a reinstall whilst trying to be the scintillating host.
I might be a year out on the age but I think Lachlan was 3 at the time. We had two cats, Kafka and Manny. And Lachlan had just discovered how good it is to pet a cat. Unfortunately the cat didn't quite agree with his petting technique and used a single claw as a warning to rack off! I swear I've never seen a kid cross a room so fast!
I think we did roast lamb that night with all the trimmings (potatoes roasted in the same pan, pumpkin, mint sauce, gravy, peas). I'm completely certain we had cheese to follow dessert, washed down with copious quantities of wine.
Any why am I so certain? The wine is a given. If you felt the need to doubt then you haven't been reading my blog very long :-) But the cheese? Read on.
Almost 3 years and one divorce later my then girlfriend and I were sprucing up the house. Yep, I'm one of the few men to go through a divorce and keep the house! And there, high up on top of the kitchen cupboards, was a rather large ornamental plate holding a substance that, when touched, crumbled to dust. I have to admit it puzzled me mightily at the time. I had no idea what it was. It took nearly a week for the night of December 7th19411994 to come back.
But it didn't stop there! She decided it was time to examine my refrigerator. Hard to believe but she found, at the back, in the year 1997, a jar of pesto with an expiry date of 1993! I hate pesto; foul stuff. Not much of an excuse though.
I've become somewhat better at housekeeping since 1997!
I might be a year out on the age but I think Lachlan was 3 at the time. We had two cats, Kafka and Manny. And Lachlan had just discovered how good it is to pet a cat. Unfortunately the cat didn't quite agree with his petting technique and used a single claw as a warning to rack off! I swear I've never seen a kid cross a room so fast!
I think we did roast lamb that night with all the trimmings (potatoes roasted in the same pan, pumpkin, mint sauce, gravy, peas). I'm completely certain we had cheese to follow dessert, washed down with copious quantities of wine.
Any why am I so certain? The wine is a given. If you felt the need to doubt then you haven't been reading my blog very long :-) But the cheese? Read on.
Almost 3 years and one divorce later my then girlfriend and I were sprucing up the house. Yep, I'm one of the few men to go through a divorce and keep the house! And there, high up on top of the kitchen cupboards, was a rather large ornamental plate holding a substance that, when touched, crumbled to dust. I have to admit it puzzled me mightily at the time. I had no idea what it was. It took nearly a week for the night of December 7th
But it didn't stop there! She decided it was time to examine my refrigerator. Hard to believe but she found, at the back, in the year 1997, a jar of pesto with an expiry date of 1993! I hate pesto; foul stuff. Not much of an excuse though.
I've become somewhat better at housekeeping since 1997!
Graham Kennedy
died today[^].
I ran across him once, January 1980, at the Channel 10 Studios in Nunawading, Melbourne. Sheerest coincidence; I was working on their hotline as they made the move from Channel 0 to Channel 10 which involved a couple of million people learning how to use the fine tune control on their TV sets. It paid good money at the time!
At the end of my shift, which was, if I remember rightly, 9 PM, I was walking to my car. Graham emerged and I said 'you're Graham Kennedy aren't you?'. With those eyes and that face he could hardly deny it :-) So we walked to our respective cars.
Ok, so it's not much of a story. I remember with much affection watching his shows in the late 1960's and it was good to meet him.
Rest in Peace Graham.
I ran across him once, January 1980, at the Channel 10 Studios in Nunawading, Melbourne. Sheerest coincidence; I was working on their hotline as they made the move from Channel 0 to Channel 10 which involved a couple of million people learning how to use the fine tune control on their TV sets. It paid good money at the time!
At the end of my shift, which was, if I remember rightly, 9 PM, I was walking to my car. Graham emerged and I said 'you're Graham Kennedy aren't you?'. With those eyes and that face he could hardly deny it :-) So we walked to our respective cars.
Ok, so it's not much of a story. I remember with much affection watching his shows in the late 1960's and it was good to meet him.
Rest in Peace Graham.
Tuesdayitis
In recent years I've found it difficult to understand Mondayitis. You know the kind of thing. It's Monday morning and everyone dutifully troops into the office. At a smoke break you find yourself with someone who laments the fact that it's Monday and is eagerly looking forward to Friday.
It's probably related to reflections on mortality but I really find that hard to understand. A trivial point but that eagerly awaited Friday is 5 days closer to the coffin than the much lamented Monday is. Some folk find that much optimism hard to stomach but hey, it's my opinion on the subject. I suppose it really comes down to the question of what you do with your time, outside work as much as inside.
Tuesday is another matter entirely :-) Tuesdays at the office are so bad I'm looking forward to more travel in order to not be in the office on Tuesdays. It's no coincidence that I'm looking forward to going back to Dallas next Monday (yep, travel on yet another public holiday), if that means I get to avoid the interminable round of meetings.
It's not that I'm opposed to meetings. I accept their necessity. But an entire day of them, each week? Pure torture. It's not made any easier when none of the management team seem to have any idea of how to hold a meeting.
We've all, I'm sure, experienced this. Meetings have outcomes and action items and so on; so they get documented. These days they seem to be documented on someones laptop connected to the projector. That someone usually uses an Excel Spreadsheet divided up into the usual columns for owner, date, item, action etc. So far so good. But I really find myself wanting to bite my arm off at the shoulder in preference to watching, yet again, the meeting grind to a halt while the notetaker searches through the menus for the command to format a particular cell. Pretty it up by all means, but not in the meeting itself. Getting the sense down somewhere is all that matters at that moment.
10 years ago, when I worked for Unisys Melbourne, we'd hold a weekly meeting with Australia Post. I was the notetaker. I'd scribble notes on a large pad of paper and, after the meeting, transcribe them into a Word document. When that was done I'd print out x number of paper copies and make sure they went through the internal mail system to the appropriate people.
After a while we became aware that, even though the transcript went out within a couple of hours of the meeting coming to an end, the sales guy didn't read em until the start of the next weeks meeting. So I had a bit of fun with him. First thing I did was to staple pages 2 to the end at all four corners, leaving only the cover page unstapled. This led to considerable hilarity (maybe you had to be there) when, at the start of the next meeting he tried to catch up.
He cottoned on and started reading them maybe a day ahead of time. So one week I prepared two sets of minutes. The standard set sent to all participants, and one set for his eyes only. Sometimes the language used at these meetings was of a robust nature. The special set used that language. So, the day before, he raced up, white faced, wanting to know if I'd lost my senses. Had I really sent those minutes out to all? I let him stew a few minutes.
It took months before he stopped worrying about the minutes. Which was, of course, the desired outcome.
It's probably related to reflections on mortality but I really find that hard to understand. A trivial point but that eagerly awaited Friday is 5 days closer to the coffin than the much lamented Monday is. Some folk find that much optimism hard to stomach but hey, it's my opinion on the subject. I suppose it really comes down to the question of what you do with your time, outside work as much as inside.
Tuesday is another matter entirely :-) Tuesdays at the office are so bad I'm looking forward to more travel in order to not be in the office on Tuesdays. It's no coincidence that I'm looking forward to going back to Dallas next Monday (yep, travel on yet another public holiday), if that means I get to avoid the interminable round of meetings.
It's not that I'm opposed to meetings. I accept their necessity. But an entire day of them, each week? Pure torture. It's not made any easier when none of the management team seem to have any idea of how to hold a meeting.
We've all, I'm sure, experienced this. Meetings have outcomes and action items and so on; so they get documented. These days they seem to be documented on someones laptop connected to the projector. That someone usually uses an Excel Spreadsheet divided up into the usual columns for owner, date, item, action etc. So far so good. But I really find myself wanting to bite my arm off at the shoulder in preference to watching, yet again, the meeting grind to a halt while the notetaker searches through the menus for the command to format a particular cell. Pretty it up by all means, but not in the meeting itself. Getting the sense down somewhere is all that matters at that moment.
10 years ago, when I worked for Unisys Melbourne, we'd hold a weekly meeting with Australia Post. I was the notetaker. I'd scribble notes on a large pad of paper and, after the meeting, transcribe them into a Word document. When that was done I'd print out x number of paper copies and make sure they went through the internal mail system to the appropriate people.
After a while we became aware that, even though the transcript went out within a couple of hours of the meeting coming to an end, the sales guy didn't read em until the start of the next weeks meeting. So I had a bit of fun with him. First thing I did was to staple pages 2 to the end at all four corners, leaving only the cover page unstapled. This led to considerable hilarity (maybe you had to be there) when, at the start of the next meeting he tried to catch up.
He cottoned on and started reading them maybe a day ahead of time. So one week I prepared two sets of minutes. The standard set sent to all participants, and one set for his eyes only. Sometimes the language used at these meetings was of a robust nature. The special set used that language. So, the day before, he raced up, white faced, wanting to know if I'd lost my senses. Had I really sent those minutes out to all? I let him stew a few minutes.
It took months before he stopped worrying about the minutes. Which was, of course, the desired outcome.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
T minus a bit less than four months
Yup - I booked my flight to Australia this arvo! I get to spend the last two weeks of September soaking up Melbourne ambience and eating real fish and chips again. Truth to tell, if I was crossing the Pacific merely for a good feed of fish and chips I'd go to New Zealand; not only is it a bit closer but those guys really know how to make magnificent fish and chips!
But New Zealand doesn't have Heino!
This is my first time trying to book a flight using frequent flyer points. I've used them in the past for class upgrades but never had much faith in the availability of seats. To my surprise I got exactly the flights I wanted on the days I wanted. And after booking this flight I still have almost enough points left for another trip. My trip back to the Philippines next month will more than tip the balance.
But New Zealand doesn't have Heino!
This is my first time trying to book a flight using frequent flyer points. I've used them in the past for class upgrades but never had much faith in the availability of seats. To my surprise I got exactly the flights I wanted on the days I wanted. And after booking this flight I still have almost enough points left for another trip. My trip back to the Philippines next month will more than tip the balance.
Another one to train
Yesterday I smoked my last duty free cigarette. Not bad. I've been back about 12 days and for me to stretch 2 cartons over 12 days is evidence of remarkable restraint. Thus it was time to buy a carton at full price. Up I fronted at the local Stop'n'go.
You might remember this[^].
I had em trained! Odd pronunciation or not, they knew that when this old fart with long hair in a ponytail fronts up and says that string of strange sounding words he wants a particular brand of cigarette in carton form.
As if in order to illustrate the perversity of the universe there was, of course, a new, untrained, face. I'm not about to start assuming that someone aged 17 and a bit is automatically stupid so I launched into the usual spiel. 'G'day mate. I want a carton of blah blah'. Blank look. Ok, non-assumption possibly voided. Let's try it somewhat slower. Still didn't work. A third try that probably made me sound like someone from off the planet trying to enunciate English and it's still not working. Not a spark of comprehension.
So I pointed at the cigarette rack! There they are. Basic Ultra Light 100's. And all I want is a carton of the buggers. And, of course, we went through the same pantomime. Pack vs carton.
I'm going to print on an A4 sheet of paper my cigarette requirements and play mute from now on. Of course I'm sure the first pass won't work; they'll still reach down a pack.
You might remember this[^].
I had em trained! Odd pronunciation or not, they knew that when this old fart with long hair in a ponytail fronts up and says that string of strange sounding words he wants a particular brand of cigarette in carton form.
As if in order to illustrate the perversity of the universe there was, of course, a new, untrained, face. I'm not about to start assuming that someone aged 17 and a bit is automatically stupid so I launched into the usual spiel. 'G'day mate. I want a carton of blah blah'. Blank look. Ok, non-assumption possibly voided. Let's try it somewhat slower. Still didn't work. A third try that probably made me sound like someone from off the planet trying to enunciate English and it's still not working. Not a spark of comprehension.
So I pointed at the cigarette rack! There they are. Basic Ultra Light 100's. And all I want is a carton of the buggers. And, of course, we went through the same pantomime. Pack vs carton.
I'm going to print on an A4 sheet of paper my cigarette requirements and play mute from now on. Of course I'm sure the first pass won't work; they'll still reach down a pack.
Thanks
I was quite pleased to find my blog linked on this page[^]. I was even more pleased, this morning, when I checked CodeProject and found this[^].
When you start doing this kind of stuff, and particularly if over time it tends toward the more personal, there's always that nagging thought; 'is this of ANY interest to anyone?'. So when someone who is well known to this community and to the CP community makes a post like that it's quite flattering.
It's not that I hadn't received other feedback, some of it unexpected. David Wulff, for example, posted that he wanted to see my blog (or something like it) come out as a book. I'm still thinking about that one :-) Chris and Chris (I think of them as the terrible twins :-) ). Dan G. Nish. Johann. Enough encouragement to keep me going.
Not that there was much danger, once I'd got into the swing of things, that I'd stop posting. I'm enjoying it too much for that to happen. I notice, as I'm sure you have, that over time it's evolved. Early posts were more in keeping with the original intent of Wdevs as I understood that intent; a place where developers could share experiences.
I've tended to shy away from those kinds of posts since then for a couple of reasons. If I write a technical article CodeProject seems the 'natural' place to publish it. Wider audience and all that kind of thing. Thus (and my earlier posts bear this out) the kinds of things I'd blog about tended to be on the negative side. There's definitely a place for war stories and I'm sure I'll write more in the future. On the other hand... If you do a google search on my name what pops up? Wdevs. Probably unlikely but not impossible that our customer may search on my name. I wouldn't want them to find too many things critical of the way we do things.
There's another reason. I prefer not to be overly negative in my outlook on life. I hope it comes through when I write that I'm in favour of life in all it's crazy manifestations. 'twasn't always so. There was a time in the late 1980's when my outlook on life was very dark, dark enough that my first wife didn't want to have cope with it. That's not the only reason we divorced but it was a contributing factor.
Overall my memories of my childhood are happy ones; my memories of later life are also happy ones. I enjoy writing about those times.
So thank you for reading. And thank you for the feedback. Thank you for letting me know that you read. You know who you are.
I'd better stop before we all come down with diabetes!
When you start doing this kind of stuff, and particularly if over time it tends toward the more personal, there's always that nagging thought; 'is this of ANY interest to anyone?'. So when someone who is well known to this community and to the CP community makes a post like that it's quite flattering.
It's not that I hadn't received other feedback, some of it unexpected. David Wulff, for example, posted that he wanted to see my blog (or something like it) come out as a book. I'm still thinking about that one :-) Chris and Chris (I think of them as the terrible twins :-) ). Dan G. Nish. Johann. Enough encouragement to keep me going.
Not that there was much danger, once I'd got into the swing of things, that I'd stop posting. I'm enjoying it too much for that to happen. I notice, as I'm sure you have, that over time it's evolved. Early posts were more in keeping with the original intent of Wdevs as I understood that intent; a place where developers could share experiences.
I've tended to shy away from those kinds of posts since then for a couple of reasons. If I write a technical article CodeProject seems the 'natural' place to publish it. Wider audience and all that kind of thing. Thus (and my earlier posts bear this out) the kinds of things I'd blog about tended to be on the negative side. There's definitely a place for war stories and I'm sure I'll write more in the future. On the other hand... If you do a google search on my name what pops up? Wdevs. Probably unlikely but not impossible that our customer may search on my name. I wouldn't want them to find too many things critical of the way we do things.
There's another reason. I prefer not to be overly negative in my outlook on life. I hope it comes through when I write that I'm in favour of life in all it's crazy manifestations. 'twasn't always so. There was a time in the late 1980's when my outlook on life was very dark, dark enough that my first wife didn't want to have cope with it. That's not the only reason we divorced but it was a contributing factor.
Overall my memories of my childhood are happy ones; my memories of later life are also happy ones. I enjoy writing about those times.
So thank you for reading. And thank you for the feedback. Thank you for letting me know that you read. You know who you are.
I'd better stop before we all come down with diabetes!
Monday, May 23, 2005
Extra curricular studies
Thursday mornings, 1967. We did woodwork. I was average at it. I quite enjoyed the measuring part of it and even the cutting part of it but I wasn't much good at the fine detail of finishing a piece of wood so that it fit with geometric precision into it's appointed place. I do much better these days with software :-)
We were at Footscray Tech which, in those days, was located on Ballarat Road just west of the Footscray Botanic Gardens. There's still a college there but 15 or so years later they moved the secondary school into the old quarry nearby and gave the site where I attended over to college. It's a somewhat vertical site; Ballarat Road is the high point and the land falls away to the Maribyrnong River. Standing in the quadrangle we'd be looking up at the 4 stories of academia and down on the roofs of the trade school workshops.
One Thursday morning, for no reason I can think of to this day, our woodwork teacher decided to skip the woodwork part of our curriculum. He led us out of the workshop, down the hill and along the river bank. We felt it was a novel approach to woodwork but were willing to go with the flow. So we enjoyed the river on our left and the aforementioned Botanical Gardens on our right. Under the bridge where Ballarat Road turns into Newmarket Road and then turned left onto a cattle bridge that led over the river and straight into the abbatoir.
We were almost like sheep to the slaughter. Our teacher led us into the slaughteryard. Lines of live sheep on one side, milling about not unlike ourselves. Men armed with knives grabbing a sheep, cutting it's throat and then stringing it up with a hook thrust through a hind leg whilst still alive, whilst still struggling. The head hanging by only the uncut spine, blood pumping out; washed away by a steady stream of warm water over the stones into a pit full of red. The eyes blinking as the knife cut into the belly and the intestines fell out with a 'gloop' sound. And then the process of taking a whole sheep and turning it into the thousand or more commercial products that a sheep represents if seen in monetary terms.
I honestly don't remember if any of us threw up. But we had haunted eyes that afternoon; even the bullies.
We were at Footscray Tech which, in those days, was located on Ballarat Road just west of the Footscray Botanic Gardens. There's still a college there but 15 or so years later they moved the secondary school into the old quarry nearby and gave the site where I attended over to college. It's a somewhat vertical site; Ballarat Road is the high point and the land falls away to the Maribyrnong River. Standing in the quadrangle we'd be looking up at the 4 stories of academia and down on the roofs of the trade school workshops.
One Thursday morning, for no reason I can think of to this day, our woodwork teacher decided to skip the woodwork part of our curriculum. He led us out of the workshop, down the hill and along the river bank. We felt it was a novel approach to woodwork but were willing to go with the flow. So we enjoyed the river on our left and the aforementioned Botanical Gardens on our right. Under the bridge where Ballarat Road turns into Newmarket Road and then turned left onto a cattle bridge that led over the river and straight into the abbatoir.
We were almost like sheep to the slaughter. Our teacher led us into the slaughteryard. Lines of live sheep on one side, milling about not unlike ourselves. Men armed with knives grabbing a sheep, cutting it's throat and then stringing it up with a hook thrust through a hind leg whilst still alive, whilst still struggling. The head hanging by only the uncut spine, blood pumping out; washed away by a steady stream of warm water over the stones into a pit full of red. The eyes blinking as the knife cut into the belly and the intestines fell out with a 'gloop' sound. And then the process of taking a whole sheep and turning it into the thousand or more commercial products that a sheep represents if seen in monetary terms.
I honestly don't remember if any of us threw up. But we had haunted eyes that afternoon; even the bullies.
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