And Then They Were Gone

Posted at 6:22 PM, Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Something That Sucks More Than a Cheap Whore

Posted at 8:28 PM, Thursday, December 15, 2005

Today, I got really really pissed off at work, and although I've mentioned the cause in the forums previously, I decided the pain and suffering placed upon me warranted a full blog entry.

You remember that scene from Office Space, where the colleagues all release their frustrations caused by the office printer?  The bit where they stole it from the office, took it out into a field and then took turns to beat it to an electronic death with a baseball bat?  Well, I'm getting close to doing something remarkably similar, except I have a slight problem.  My frustration of choice is software related instead of hardware related, meaning that no matter how much I want to batter the crap out the computer, the software still gets to live on in another hard drive somewhere.  So, which piece of software is causing me such tension and grief?  Well surprisingly, it's not Microsoft related...yes, yes, I know, if I were a gambling man, I'd have lost some money too.  No, instead the accolade belongs to IBM.

If you haven't guessed yet, I'm talking about that abomination of an email client...Lotus Notes.

From completely non-standard function keys to entirely cryptic messages to random (and frequent) crashes to insanely lengthy start-up times, I'm often left wondering just how this utter abortion of a software program could manage to establish something called a 'market share'.

On Your Marks, Get Set, Zzzzz...

Now granted, colleagues have claimed to be able to start up Lotus Notes in as little as thirty seconds.  I, however, have only ever been witness to the breathtaking speed of a little under three and a half minutes, and that was just the once, and probably because I got lucky; normally I have to wait at least five minutes, and it has taken up to ten minutes before.

You Have Mail (Allegedly)

Then there's the little thing that is supposed to tell me when I have mail.  Normally, a popup window appears by default, but it's really annoying when you're typing away while reading scribbled notes from a piece of paper, only to look up and find that the little popup has interrupted things, and so most of what you've just typed has been conveniently ignored.  So I switched off the popup and opted instead for an audible alarm which appears to be hit and miss at best.  I get three emails and one audible ping.  Fair enough, so I go and read my emails.  Then, a couple of minutes later, another ping, so I check my emails and...no new email.  Hmmm.  Back to work, when a few more minutes later and...ping.  I find that I've been lied to once again.

You Have Errors

And then there's the cute little error messages that helpfully articulate exactly what has gone wrong...

Object variable not set
Ah...the Lotus Notes development team assuming that all Notes users are software developers.

 

Error, the form and subform DelOptionsSubform both have a field entitled ReturnReceipt
WTF?  This could have been written in Ubykh...at least it would have made more sense.

I Crashed Earlier, Please Reboot

When Notes crashes (note lack of the word 'if'), you cannot simply close the program and restart it, for that would make things too easy.  No, instead you have to reboot your computer.  Thankfully, IBM came to the rescue and created a purpose-built program called KillNotes, demonstrating that rather than fixing the root problem, they decided to stick an electronic Band-Aid on instead.

Conclusion
Lotus Notes sucks, and I'm off to watch Office Space again...

Sex Toys and Other Cake Decorations

Posted at 8:37 AM, Wednesday, November 2, 2005

They're funny things, sex shops...you never quite know what to expect, short of the blindingly obvious, of course.

I mean, will it be all dark and seedy inside with various perverted types lurking around the shelves, playing pocket pool whilst browsing the jazz mag section?  Or will it have a clean, bright and airy feel to it, much like Hustler Cafe in Hollywood which actually feels as though you could be browsing around some expensive designer store on Rodeo Drive, save for the fact that those stores don't usually carry a vast selection of large rubber cocks next to the cashmere sweaters.

So it was with slight trepidation that I decided to experience my first visit to a Texas sex shop.  The shop was way off the beaten path, but the GPS system guided me as though it had been there many-a-time before.  The reason for this rather bizarre choice of location, so I'm told, is to escape the city's decency laws, and therefore to enable the shop to offer more 'specialised' items.  Now, this fact alone was a leading cause for my trepidation, for to build a sex shop deep in the heart of Bumfuck Nowhere makes one wonder exactly what kind of depraved and perverse items were waiting inside.

The sign to the outside world simply read "Lingerie, Party Gifts and Novelty Toys", which seemed a little odd for a sex shop, but who am I to question this?.  Maybe it was to comply with some other decency laws?  There certainly seemed to be more examples around that appeared to support this theory.  For instance, as I was browsing around, two Mexican women wandered in accompanied by a small child.  "How old is he?" asked the assitant, pointing down at the toddler.  "Four." came the reply.  "Then he'll have to leave, you can't bring him in here."  Now, does this mean that the store is obliged to ask the age of anyone that appears to be under the age of 21, even if it's blatantly obvious?  Or maybe children under a certain age are permitted, allowing new mothers to shop for various sexual devices without having to leave the little 'un locked in the car?  Whatever the reason, I don't know, and I really didn't feel like asking.

Nor did I feel like enquiring as to why all the things that were for sale were labeled with exactly the same warning: "This product is intended for use as a novelty gift or cake decoration only."  Now admittedly, I haven't been to any weddings in Texas, but I'll hazard a guess that the cake generally doesn't come adorned with vibrating butt plugs or a 15-inch Mr. Fister™.  And I suppose I would be a tad more than surprised if I turned up at the next birthday party, only to find the candles on the birthday cake replaced with an assortment of humming vibrators.

But this is Texas after all, and one thing I have learned here is that you can never really be too sure of things.  And so it was on that thought that I decided it would be prudent of me to err on the side of caution, and leave with a whole stash of hardcore porn mags...you know, so that I can giftwrap the presents should I be invited to a party.

Cockroaches and Bandannas

Posted at 2:09 PM, Tuesday, September 13, 2005

I had a strange dream last night.  It's quite rare for me to remember dreams, as I generally forget everything the moment the alarm clock screams at me, but this one managed to stick.  However, before I go on, it'll be necessary to have to backtrack to the events of a few nights ago...

One night last week, I switched on the light in the bathroom, only to startle a cockroach into life that had been relaxing in the bathtub.  Disappointingly, it was not one of the the supersized variety that I've been led to believe scuttle about in some parts of Texas, but it was still fairly impressive.  Or maybe it was just a junior?  Or perhaps smoking had stunted it's growth?  This was something that would have to be mulled over another time, as the more pressing issue at hand was how to get this now sprinting sonofabitch out of MY bath.  Well, after a couple of moments of pondering, I came to the conclusion that the only humane option available was to pour bleach all over it.

It was already running about at speed, but once bathed in Clorox, it decided to step it up a couple of gears, and literally burn laps around the bath.  So, how many laps do you think it went before it eventually succumbed to the bleach?  Well to be honest, I'll never know, because I got bored after watching it for a few minutes, relentlessly completing lap after lap of the bathtub with an impressive pace.  I even tried adding more bleach to speed things up a little, but to no avail...it simply never gave up, not even for a second.

That meant it was time for assault number two...a well aimed whack with a running shoe.  That DID stop it dead in it's tracks, except it wasn't exactly dead.  Now, it was simply laying on it's back, with it's legs still furiously pounding away at the air.  If I could've picked it up and placed it the right way around, it would've simply gone back to setting new lap records around the bathtub again.  A second whack was administered.  Nope, still moving.  A third whack and still no luck, but the head had now been physically detached, and the body was actually attempting to continue making additional laps of the bathtub....the damn thing was proving to be near indestructible.  WHACK WHACK WHACK...ah, finally!  Now I was left me with the pleasant task of disposing of the body and cleaning up any evidence of my heinious crime against the cockroach species of the insect world.

So, back to my dream.

I dreamt that the cockroach I had killed was actually part of a gang, and this gang was seeking revenge for their slain and decapitated brother.  And so out of the plughole they emerged, one by one, all wearing identical bandannas that proudly showed off their allegiance.  Finally, the bottom of the bathtub was filled with angry dudes, all wanting justice...but not before they started to do a gang dance.  Now, I've no idea whether gangs in real life have a 'dance', you know, like a gang handshake that includes the feet too, but this particular cockroach gang did, and they all moved together whilst fixating their stares at me.

And where was I?  Well I was perched on the bathroom countertop, giving me a definite height advantage over them, and I had a stash of water bombs beside me, all filled with bleach...and so I opened fire.

The bleach bombs would burst over several cockroaches, they would fall, but then get back up and carry on doing that crazy dance.  In total defiance, they continued dancing as one, all the time keeping their gaze angrily on me.  My bleach bomb supplies were dwindling...how long would this standoff last?  And what were they planning on doing after they'd finished dancing?  Unfortunately, I'll never know, as I woke up at around that point, but I like to think that the bleach would have had some sort of effect eventually, and one by one, they would have all started sprinting around the bathtub.  I'd hate to think of how many whacks with the running shoe that lot would have taken, though.

And as a precaution, I quickly checked the pillows just in case, during the night, a severed cockroach head had been placed next to me to serve as a warning...

The Ghost in the Machine

Posted at 8:14 AM, Sunday, September 11, 2005

So every other day, and at weekends, I do high intensity cardio down at the gym.  Basically, that involves getting on the treadmill, and working my pace up until I have a heart rate of 150 bpm.  It's normally exhausting but quite easy, as the machines take care of things for you, altering the speed and incline to keep the rate fairly constant.  And that got me thinking...we all rely on machines.  It doesn't matter what we do, we just rely on them too much.  From being woken up in the morning to driving to work to making that first cup of coffee, it doesn't matter...we all rely on machines, and we really do rely on them without thought.  Unless you're Amish of course.

And something happened yesterday that made me realise that maybe the Amish have got it right after all, because yesterday, a machine tried to kill me.  Now I'm not talking about cyborg Terminator stuff here, for that would be just silly, but I am talking about a machine that, towards the end of my cardio workout, decided that it would severely up the ante on me.

Let me quickly explain that in order for me to maintain a heart rate of 150 bpm, I have to walk a little over 4 mph on an incline of around 9-10%.  Doing that for an hour generally leaves me feeling exhausted but overall good, and yesterday was turning out to be no exception.  At around the 45 minute mark though, things decided to turn ugly.

I was minding my own business, pacing it out and watching a movie on the television, when I decided to take a drink of water.  Now, that meant taking my hands off the sensors, and so for a brief moment, the machine had no idea as to what my heart rate was.  As I do this all the time, I thought nothing of it, but maybe this time was one time too many, and the machine got pissed off...I don't know, and I don't think I'll ever know.  After quenching my thirst, I placed my hands back on to the sensors, and continued to watch the movie safe in the knowledge that the machine would keep things firmly under control.  I didn't notice the incline change at first, as I was so absorbed in the film.  I did notice, however, that I suddenly had to pick my pace up, until I was in that uncomfortable zone between fast walking and jogging...you know, where you sort of have to combine the two and you end up looking like you're not quite in control.

WTF was going on?

I looked down to see what the deal was, only to find the incline had maxed out at 15%, and so now the speed was increasing.  "What the Hell?", I thought, as the treadmill upped the speed once again.  And then I noticed that my heart rate was measuring at just 60 bpm.  I think the only words I had available to me at the time were "Uh oh", as the speed continued to climb.  Now, there is a stop button on the machine, but as I was frantically scanning the console, it seemed to magically disappear.  I took my hands off the sensors, and then returned them, in the hope of getting a normal reading.  Apparently, I was now down to just 57 bpm.  Confusion was starting to set in as my fatigued legs were desperately scrambling to keep up with the pace.  Maybe the sensors were dirty with my sweat?  In a last ditch effort, I tried wiping the sensors with my towel, as well as drying my palms in the hope of getting a more sensible reading.  As the speed continued to climb, and I mean, I'm really running now, I grasped the sensors and waited for the reading to come up...normally, it takes several seconds to do this, but this time, it felt like I was waiting for the dawning of a new Age to arrive.

And finally, the new Age dawned at 186 bpm.

Mercifully, the machine had decided to return back to 'normal' mode from it's 'kill' setting.  And with that, the pace slowed down, the incline was reduced, and one exhausted Gary would've wiped the sweat that poured from his face, but he didn't dare take his hands off the sensors again.

Wakey Wakey

Posted at 10:15 AM, Tuesday, September 6, 2005

Have you ever decided to give your body a bit of a break, you know, be nice to your body for once, only to realise later on that you made the mother of all mistakes?  Well that's exactly what happened to me last night...

Normally, I like to enjoy red wine in the evenings...it helps me to relax and unwind after a busy day at work doing nothing.  However, I never really did get the hang of unwinding, and so I have a tendency to continue unwinding until I'm nothing more than an unraveled heap on the floor.  Well, last night was going to be different.  I have a lot of work to attend to this week, and therefore I need to be sharp and fresh, so I decided that I would have just three glasses of wine before calling in an early night.  11pm, and here I was, drifting off into slumber land, just as planned.  I was relaxed, I felt good, and sleep came to me quickly.

Then that bitch called.

I rolled over and looked at the clock...3:20AM.  Dammit!  I prayed that this was going to be one of those short calls.  It's happened before...I get called, she annoys me for half an hour or so, and then I simply roll back and drift back off to sleep.  But I had a dark and ominous feeling that I wasn't going to escape so lightly this time.

Why does she do it?  I've never understood it, personally...does she not realise the time?  Maybe she's confused by the time difference?  Or perhaps she just thinks of me as her slave, someone to torture and tease as and when she likes?  Unfortunately for me, this Mistress only seems to get a sadistic kick out of torturing me out of my sleep, and this time was going to be no different.  On and on she went...my attempts at ending the call were all in vain as she kept on, relentlessly flushing inane thoughts through my mind.  I could picture the sick grin on her face as she sensed the mounting frustration and anger within me.

And just when I was thinking that the torture would never end, she delivered one last cruel twist with timed precision.  At 6:45AM, just fifteen minutes before the alarm clock was due to burst into life, Mistress Insomnia hung up on me and allowed me to catch a brief glimpse of sleep.

Next time, I'll continue to unwind in my regular fashion, safe in the knowledge that I'll be far too wasted to even bother answering any of her calls.

Walla's Blog

Posted at 3:37 AM, Monday, September 5, 2005 in General Crap

The Sweary Filter

Posted at 1:39 PM, Sunday, September 4, 2005 in General Crap

Apparently, the sweary filter doesn't apply to blogs.  So with that, it's over to you lot...