September 2005 Archives

Money really isn't a tangible commodity in my life. Despite it's omnipresence, it's rare that I ever find myself in physical possession of the stuff in significant quantities. Generally any transaction greater than £20 or so is handled by a credit or debit card, and I find little need to carry more than that on my personage. So it felt decidedly odd to find myself holding onto a disturbing thick wad of crisp new bank notes in order to finally pay the plumber who's been working on my behalf since the dawn of time (it feels longer). The bank handed over the money with surprisingly little ceremony. I'm not sure what I was expecting. Suspicious glances? An inquisition? Trumpets and confetti perhaps? Perhaps not. I held in my hand more money than I'd ever held previously, a sum I would once have considered a small fortune, and it all seemed rather humdrum. Of course, I left the bank and immediately tried to recall how to walk like someone who wasn't carrying a large quantity of cash in an envelope in a pocket. I may have well have stuck a sign on my back reading "Mug Me!" for all the success I had. Luckily it's only a short saunter from the bank to my flat, so potential muggers had scant time to organise themselves.

Darren The Plumber (my life has become a series of childrens television shows. Besides Darren The Plumber, there's Gavin The Joiner, Tom The Builder, David The Electrician and Brydon The Plasterer. The lack of alliteration is a little disappointing, admittedly) told me today my flat has taken up some 208 plumber-hours thus far (plumber-hours are just like man-hours except they cost more). I could see the disbelief in his eyes even has he quoted the figure to me, his expression asking where the time went (it's a familiar expression, I've spied it in mirrors with increasing frequency). He seemed to like what I've done with the place (or what he's done with the place under my instructions, if you're being picky), which I found pleasing. It's not that I need justification for what I've done, but it certainly doesn't hurt any. And I've finally arranged a plasterer (the afore mentioned Brydon) and he's due a week on Thursday. Thursday's seem to be my lucky day for flat related stuff. I had the bedroom delivered yesterday, the bedroom fitting next Thursday, the plastering the Thursday after that, and gods willing, the return of the decorator on the Thursday next. Unlike Arthur Dent, I may finally have gotten the hang of Thursdays.

There may be something to be said for commuting after all. I journeyed into Edinburgh this morning to witness the arrival of a large number of cardboard boxes ostensibly containing my new bedroom. As per my prediction yesterday, I was late (courtesy of a missing bus) and the delivery was early. Sigh. Fortunately the delivery man had a light schedule and could afford to hang around until I arrived. All seemed in order with the delivery and, once it was piled away in the bedroom, I spent the remainder of the day working from my flat for the first time. It felt right and good.

I was surprised at the difference having a proper workspace makes. I've been sitting on my bed for the last few months, working with my laptop literally on my lap. It's not ideal, but it's comfortable enough, although I've felt my productivity working from home hasn't matched what I've achieved in the office proper. But today, for the first time in an age, I felt myself slipping back into my office mentality whilst at home. And I hadn't even realised I had an office mentality until now.

I'll be repeating the exercise tomorrow as well. I have to return to the flat to meet with and pay the plumber, who's finally finished, much to his palpable relief and mine. I've spent much of the last nine months creating extra work for him, and it was rather scary to hear him tot up the amount of time he and his colleagues have spent working in the flat. Suffice it to say that my flat has used up a considerable number of plumber-hours. Which I'll be paying for tomorrow.

Nevertheless I'm actually looking forward to the commute. There really is a first time for everything.

No, nothing interesting to read here tonight. I'm afraid I've got an early start tomorrow. I commented a while ago that I was done with all my deliveries, but that happened to be an untruth - that I still had a fitted bedroom to be delivered and installed slipped my mind. It's arriving from 8am onwards tomorrow morning. Past experience tells me that there's only the slimmest chance of a delivery arriving at the very start of the window period, but the one time I failed to be at the flat at the appointed hour was the one time the delivery man arrived early. Thankfully I now have a working toilet (amongst the working everything else save the oven) so hanging around in the flat for hours on end isn't the... trial it once was.

In my absence feel free to discuss why I'm not actually living in the flat amongst yourselves.

Despite a bus strike which prevent me from getting to my flat on Sunday, it still managed to prove an eventful weekend flat-wise. A visit from the decorator meant that the bedroom is looking especially spiffy just now, and gave me the opportunity at last to extract my bed, tatami mats and all, from the numerous cardboard boxes in which they've lain for these last... many months. Despite my mortal fear of all things diy, I managed to cobble the various components into what seemed a very sturdy bed. I put it to the test by jumping up and down on it for a bit. Before you roll your eyes, I must assure you that the jumping up and down served a very practical purpose - believe it or not - since I'd previously been unable to reach to spot lights above the bed to position them properly. Even standing on top of the bed, the lights were still beyond my meagre reach, but a quick bounce or several put them close enough. The futon mattress makes for a poor trampoline, but I nevertheless managed to arrange the lights in a more pleasing configuration. The bed remained in one piece throughout.

Much to my surprise, recent developments have finally rendered the flat habitable. I have a bed, hot and cold running water, a shower that no longer floods the room when turned out, a toilet (it flushes and everything), central heating, and a gas fire. All of which work. Unfortunately my german speaking oven seems to have shuffled on it's mortal coil, but I'm confident it can be resurrected under warranty, and I can get by with a hob alone. A few things are outstanding still - the bedroom furniture is scheduled to turn up on Thursday, ready for installation next week. Some minor tiling work still needs finishing off (I can't bear the thought of actually talking to the tiler again though). And the living room still requires plastering and decoration. The plasterer drought which afflicted Edinburgh recently shows no sight of letting up. I'm wavering on whether to just forget about that and move in now for the sheer pleasure of it, but I loath the idea of having to move out again when the work finally does get started on it, which I remain hopeful shan't be too long. I've come this far after all and I just want it to be perfect when I move in. Not too much to ask, is it?

Kneel! Kneel before the future President of the United States. Personally, I want to see Zod versus Cheney...

The ingenuity of the human race never ceases to surprise me

A recent comment from Ed Zander, CEO of Motorola

"Screw the nano," said Zander. "What the hell does the nano do? Who listens to 1,000 songs? People are going to want devices that do more than just play music, something that can be seen in many other countries with more advanced mobile phone networks and savvy users," he said.

It rather reminds me of Kevin Rollins, the Dell CEO who not so long ago dismissed the iPod as a just another fad, like the Walkman. Would that every company could be so fortunate to produce such a transient fad...

Taking video game adaptations to an entirely new level...

Twice now, in as many weeks, I've been wrong footed by a seemingly innocent foodstuff. The first of these occasions was during my recent trip to London, when during a night out with some friends the choice of eatery fell to me, who seemed best acquainted with the area despite my nine month absence from the city. In slightly adventurous mood, I picked a Persian restaurant by the the slightly punnish name of Simurgh, located next to the Garrick only a short way distant from Covent Garden. It's a place I'd passed by often enough during my time in London, but never before ventured into and I was keen to sate my curiousity. My dining companions acquiesced and we soon found ourselves with the interior, whose ambiance seemed authentic enough, enhanced perhaps by the manager ensconced in one corner smoking a hookah.

Alas, whilst I enjoyed my meal well enough, dining up okra for the first time, my companions fared less well. I fear their impression of the meal will be forever tainted by their choice of beverage. Both ordered the same drink from the menu. The item in question was named "doogh" and was identified as a mint flavoured yogurt drink. Expecting a sweet lassi type mixture, my friends both seemed taken aback to discover that the drinks placed before them, though perhaps sharing a distant ancestor in common with the lassi, were alas of a very different concoction. I realised this much from the expressions on their faces as both took their first sip. Suffice it to say that neither looked best pleased with their decision. Curious, I asked for a sip, and soon discovered the cause of their displeasure. Doogh, I found upon taking a taste is best described as salted, carbonated yogurt. It may indeed be a fine sort of drink if you set out in search of salted, carbonated yogurt, but it's less pleasant if you're expecting something else altogether. Even duly forewarned I nearly choked, and had to resist a very strong urge to spit it out.

Secondly, Kerry, my sister in law has been feeling a touch poorly in recently weeks, and has lately been put on a restricted diet. Much to her dismay, she now has to avoid products laden with wheat, an unfortunate situation given her love of bread. An an attempt to find a suitable substitute for her, my brother returned from the supermarket with a number of suitably gluten free alternatives, including some bread-like rolls. Kerry baked the rolls tonight in order to gauge their resemblance to bread proper, and it has to be said the resemblance is impressive. In appearance at least. Unfortunately, though pleasing to look at, it must be said that the resulting bread roll was somewhat lacking in taste. No, I tell a lie. The end product was far from tasteless - in fact it had, like doogh, a most unique and memorable taste. A bad taste true - quite awful I'd be tempted to say - but unforgettable nevertheless.

And the moral of these stories? It might be assumed that the moral is to avoid those foods whose tastes distress us. But on the other hand such experiences have reminded me that, even outside of a food fight, there's tremendous comedy value to be had from a bad meal. Especially if it's not your meal.

As I alluded a few days ago, the Inland Revenue graciously cancelled the mass of fines I'd accumulated whilst they'd been sending letters marked with lots of red ink to one of my old addresses. On the other hand, as I discovered today, this means that I still have to fill out tax returns for the last three years. At present I've really no idea what filling out a tax return entails save for that it involves paperwork. Copious quantities of paperwork. A veritable mountain of paperwork in fact, judging from the ex-rainforest that dropped through my door. Paperwork not being one of my strong points, I'm slightly concerned.

Anyone know a good accountant?

Surreally brilliant. I want one.

The moon was barely visible over the horizon earlier tonight. It escaped my noticed until it was pointed out to me. Low it the sky, it glowed an eerie orange. I commented that it reminded me of an enormous Terry's Chocolate Orange hanging in the sky and was duly mocked. "You're obsessed with chocolate," I was told. I puzzled over this comment for a moment. "Isn't everyone?"

I'm not condoning it, but it's funny

Well duh.

The shape of things to come, perhaps?

I owe Shigeru Miyamoto an apology. Miyamoto is the creative force behind some of the most iconic and influential video games ever created, including Donkey Kong, Zelda and Mario. His credentials are unassailable. Whilst I've never spoken out against the man in any way, I have doubted him, and for that I am sorry.

I thought the man was off his rocker, you see. He's long talked about the need to open up the field of video games to a wider audience instead of the hardcore faithful, and in order to do this he's also cited the need to make the games themselves more accessible, starting with a radical overhaul controller for Nintendo's next console, currently codenamed Revolution. In principle I have to agree with him: controllers of the current generation of consoles typically have between 8 and 10 buttons, 2 analogue sticks and a 8 way directional pad. Introductory levels to teach the control scheme are now mandatory on most games, and there are some games even I've found to have an overly complicated interface. Still the question in my mind remained: how do you reduce the complexity of a controller whilst retaining sort of freedom in games allowed by the current crop of controllers . After all, however complex controllers have become, it's important to remember that a rational exists behind that complexity and many games (and perhaps gamers) rely on the features they offer.

I was optimistic that Nintendo would come up with something interesting, but which would ultimately prove an evolution of current controllers rather than a radical departure. I didn't expect the revolution Nintendo were promising, partly because Nintendo has a spotty record when it comes to such hype. They talked up the release of a new controller to accompany a new Mario Party game for the Gamecube, for example. The frenzy they whipped up subsided immediately when it was discovered that the peripheral was nothing more than a microphone, an accessory Sony had already launched for the PS2 and with a better game to boot. On the other hand the DS handheld turned out to be everything Nintendo promised it would be, and is continues to sell well even the release of Sony's PSP.

My faith finally cracked when I read an interview during which Miyamoto stated that Nintendo hadn't decided whether the new controller would feature an analogue controller, or the older 8 way d-pad. I was astounded. Analogue controls have been standard ever since Nintendo introduced them for the launch of the venerable N64. That they might be absent from the new controller was simply inconceivable. He also intimated that the controller would feature only 2 buttons. A d-pad and two buttons. Remember back to 1985 and you might recall that this was the configuration used by Nintendo's first console, the even more venerable NES. I literally thought that either Miyamoto had genuinely lost the plot or was trying to pull the wool over the eyes of his competitors. He seemed to be proposing neither a revolution nor an evolution, but a massive leap back 20 years to a bygone era. Utter, utter madness.

In some ways my worst fears were confirmed when I actually laid eyes on the controller for the first time. Judge for yourselves:

My initial reaction was accompanied by many exclamation marks. It's a remote control! All that speculation and hype for a remote control which bears a striking resemblance to an obsolete NES control pad!? I was right the first time: Miyamoto was clinically insane and Nintendo were about to take a nosedive into obscurity.

But I was wrong: Miyamoto new exactly what he was talking about. It may look basic, but underneath that innocuous facade is the most innovative controller yet devised for a console, a device of hitherto unseen elegance, incredible flexibility and limitless possibilities. Nintendo has come up with a controller that pictures literally cannot do justice. I take it all back. It's not madness, it's sheer genius.

What you're not seeing from the picture above is that the controller is accompanied by sensors placed around the television that allow detection of the controller's position in 3d space. More so it can also determine the orientation of the controller about all three axes. If you still believe it's lacking, the last bit of icing on the cake is that the controller also features a port into which can be plugged a number of accessories. The most important of these (and the one which shall be included with the system) is small pod which features two trigger buttons and a familiar looking analogue controller. Amusingly Nintendo have christened this the the "nunchucka" configuration:

But as I said above. Pictures alone cannot do this thing justice. I was sold on it's potential from the descriptions I read of the controller in action, but I had to admit that it's such a radical departure from anything that's gone before that I believe Nintendo will have a struggle to convey exactly what it makes possible to a wider audience. Nintendo, however, seem to have considered this already. Take a look at this promotional video which accompanied the announcement of the controller and which does a most excellent job of showing off the possibilities.

The feedback I've read about the controller has been largely positive, both from game developers, and the wider public. The most frustrating argument I've seen comes from those who cannot see beyond the games they already have. They seem to look at the controller and the only question in their minds is "But how do we play the games we already have on that?" This is missing the point: The question isn't "how do we stand still", it's "how do we move forward".

I'd come close to writing Nintendo off. Against the marketing might of Sony and Microsoft, Nintendo appeared to be standing off to one side, content to let Sony and Microsoft make all the noise they wanted. But now Nintendo have simply stepped up quietly and without bluster, and said to the world "here, this is how we think it should be." All of a sudden, Nintendo is playing in an entirely different league.

Make no mistake, I believe this is Nintendo's iPod. It not big, it's not flashy, but it's small elegant and simply the way these things should be. More importantly, it widens Nintendo's appeal to those demographics who have remained tantalisingly out of reach for so long. For all those complaining about the buttons and analogue stick the controller is lacking, Apple have proved time and time again that genius doesn't lie merely in adding features, but in choosing what to leave out. In this regards Nintendo has excelled. A lot of unknowns remain, but I guarantee this will change the face of the gaming world. Microsoft and Sony have been caught napping and I'll be curious to see their responses (unusually, a Microsoft executive, Peter Moore, went on the record with nothing but praise for Nintendo's effort). All of a sudden, the console war is no longer about who has the fastest processors or best graphics. Nintendo have made certain that it's about who is having the most fun.

And it's about time.

I will give an update of how I got on during my trip to London. It turned out to be a memorable trip, far odder than I ever could have anticipated. After all, it's not every day a relative stranger confides in me to the point of breaking into tears, and nor is it often that I convince someone that there is a point to having a funeral. Someone inviting me into their bedroom and turning off the lights in order to ask me a question is also rather rare. The last was more benign than it sounds, but I can't and shan't divulge more than than that, since to do so would involve breaking a promise and betraying a confidence. All very confusing really.

Still, more details eventually.

Today was, by my standards, a good day.

My bedroom has been painted.
My shower room will be finished tomorrow.
The tile shop has decided not to charge me for returning the tiles. In fact, they almost refunded me an additional 20% before I pointed out their error.
The Inland Revenue accepted my appeal and cancelled the fines levied against me (though not before I received an additional fine this morning - thankfully also now cancelled).

The living room isn't finished yet, but the first two points above mean I might conceivably be able to move in there this weekend. I'm not holding my breath, but it's a tantalising prospect. Fingers crossed...

And other bizarre art installations

I must have been feeling in a particularly masochistic mood recently. It's the only explanation for my ordering Myst: Revelation, fourth in a series with which I have a definite love/hate relationship. I'm not alone in my feelings - the games attract praise and derision in equal measure. I've only played the first two games. The original Myst and it's sequel, Riven. Certainly I have a great affection for that first game. Being placed in world, without any real idea of what to do or how to accomplish it, and then watching the story unfold as gradual experimentation . I didn't manage to complete it entirely unaided however, stumbling as I did on a couple of it's classic problems (the mine cart, and the elevator door). Nevertheless, it was pleasant world in which to lose yourself, literally worlds away from the fast past video games dominate the industry.

My affection didn't hold for Riven however. Despite it's even lusher visuals the nature of it's puzzles seemed entirely too arbitrary in nature. I found myself turning for help with increasing frequency until I realised that it just wasn't worthwhile anymore. I abandoned the game feeling disappointed with myself and vowing never to return to it. I pretty much abandoned the series as well, until I read an interview recently with the game's developer about the soon to be released Myst V which took a suitably contrite tone when discussing Riven. On that basis, I decided to give the series another try (skipping over Myst III, which I recall being derided once as an aberation in the series, though that may or may not be so).

It's interesting to see how much, or how little the nature of the game has changed over the years. Some differences are immediate obvious, such as the camera system which affords you a three hundred and sixty degree view of your surroundings, the even more gorgeously rendered environments, and the clever integration of video. But on the other hand, the game itself is immediately familiar. So far the difficulty hasn't spiked as high as Riven and I'm enjoying the Myst-like atmostphere of old. I'm sure I'll be tearing my hair out before long as well though.

Now I've got an early start tomorrow. I'm off down to London for the weekend, for pleasure as much as for work. My visit coincides with the annual London Open House weekend, during which the doors of a number of buildings usually closed to the public are flung open. I've not real plan as to what to tackle yet, but I'll give you an update on what I managed to get around when I return.

Ta ta 'til then.

And there's three of them. Centuries from now children could be singing about this...

Even world leaders get caught short. But do they really need to ask permission?

From a Bill Gates interview with CNet:

So that would be the philosophical difference between Microsoft and what Google is up to at this point?

Gates: Well, we don't know everything they are up to, but we do know their slogan and we disagree with that.

Google's best known slogan is of course "Do no evil". (Naturally, that's not what Bill is referring too, as is clear from the article, but the opportunity to remove the quote from it's proper context to twist it's meaning is far too tempting to pass up).

I've only glanced at it, but it's a wonderful idea.

Despite my acute interest in the world of video games, I don't play all that many games, largely because only a small percentage of the games hold any interest for me. Partly it's because I'm a novelty seeker. "Different" appeals to some deep and primal part of my psyche and too many games do little more than rehash familiar old ideas without adding anything new to the mix. One of the reasons for my purchase of a Gamecube was that there were simply more games available for it that captured my interest, primarily the continuation of the Zelda series and the conversion of Metroid to the 3D. Sequels in the broad sense, it's true, but with exquisite execution, and hardly mindless clones of what went before (Zelda: Wind Waker brought cel shading to new heights, and Metroid Prime was a true first person perspective platform game). There were plenty more: Eternal Darkness, Viewtiful Joe, Resident Evil 4 and Pikmin, amongst others.

The PS2 on the other hand, despite it's dominance of the industry, has to date only a single game exclusive to the platform that I'm keen to play: the ethereal and hauntingly beautiful Ico. None of the other top titles for the PS2 pique my curiosity much, certainly not the Grand Theft Auto series, which is a little overly violent for my tastes. That however, is on the verge of changing. Katamari Damacy is finally scheduled for a European release (or rather it's sequel, the similarly odd We Love Katamari), the remains of Team Viewtiful are developing Okami, whilst the developers behind Ico are nearing the completion of Wanda To Kyoza (now rather disappointingly renamed Shadow Of The Colossus).

Katamari Damacy is the sort of game that I discovered I was keen to play before I even knew what play involved. References to it were cropping up on the net with increasing frequency and increasingly reverential tones, and this despite the fact that it had yet to escape the confines of Japan. From what I could gather, the game was something of a break for the norm, quite possibly even that rarest of things: a new genre. My curiosity piqued, I sought out further information. Underneath a delightfully bizarre plot involving the King of All Cosmos, his son, and an attempt to repopulate the stars in the sky (I believe the King of All Cosmos lost the stars after a heavy night in the Japanese original, though this seems to have been sanitised for the western release) and is possible the world's first roll 'em up. The game play appears wonderfully simple: In your Princely guise you control a ball - the eponymous katamari - with the joypad's analogue sticks and you have to increase the size of your katamari by rolling over items lying around the world. Larger items can't be clumped to the ball until the ball has reached a certain size. And that's pretty much it. What makes the game special is it's gratuitous sense of whimsy, from it's batty plot, bonkers art style and irrepressibly cheery music (I downloaded the score from the game - you'll either be carried away with it's charm or fall into a diabetic coma from it's sweetness). I should probably mention that at the start of the game the size of your katamari is measured in centimetres, and towards the end it's sweeps up clouds and rainbows and continents in it's wake. Have a look at the official site - it's remarkable in just how little information it offers about the game, but it'll give you a very good idea of it's style.

Okami, on the other hand, isn't quite so immediately innovative in play. From initial looks, it's shaping up to be a Zelda-esque adventure of which there have been plenty. Hopefully that description won't do the final game justice, however, since there are a couple of features that separate this from the common herd. The most immediately obvious of these is the art direction in the game. Okami, quite literally, looks like no other game I've seen. Rather than striving for realistic visuals, the game instead apes the style of Japanese watercolours and calligraphy. The effect, from the screen shots is simply dazzling, though less so when the game is in motion slightly ironically. The watercolour theme is also carried into the game itself - playing as a sun goddess in the form of a wolf, the player has to solve certain puzzles by using the wolf's tail as brush to paint upon the world itself. You may need to draw a bridge over a river in order to ford it, for example. It sounds like a lovely concept, although I'm a little skeptical about how it will work in practice. Still combined with the serenely beautiful visuals, and the pedigree of the development team, I'm certainly intrigued.

Lastly there's Shadow Of The Colossus. There's a been a fair bit of information released about the game, but there still appears plenty of questions left unanswered. I'm a little disappointed that it's not a direct sequel to Ico. Although set entirely outdoors on vast plains, compared to Ico's intricately detailed interiors, there's no mistaking the art style of the game - it's most definitely a sequel in that regards at least, and the game appears undeniably beautiful as a result. The game play seems entirely different however. The titular colossi are vast, mountain sized creatures, which you are tasked to find and stop, in what appears to be a spectacular fashion. Rather than playing as standard end of level guardians, each colossus is in effect a unique puzzle it's own right, with the question of how to scale and stop the creature forming the significant part of the game. It's not yet clear what the game offers outside of these creatures though - or what finding them entails. I'm hoping this will form a significant part of the game, otherwise it may devolve into monotony. That you're afforded a companion in the form of a horse (echoing Ico's Yonda, perhaps) as well as mystical sword that glows when pointed in the direction of the next colossus, gives me some hope that there's more depth to the game.

I'm not about to rush off a purchase a PS2 just yet, but if all the games above turn out as well as I'm hoping (and I do have a pretty good track record for such things, if you'll allow me a small boast), then I can see myself being tempted.

When product placement meets cheese

It occurred to me today that I hadn't tried setting out the furniture in my flat (which it still grinding it's painfully slow way towards completing. Some plastering work has been completed, but all of a sudden plasters in Edinburgh seem to have become a rare commodity. I suspect they sensed my need and scarpered). That I hadn't was slightly surprising. I've been concerned for a while now that the volume of furniture I have may be slightly too much for my compact and bijou flat and this is the sort of thing I should have done months ago. I'm still not sure why I didn't. I duly made my weekly pilgrimage into Edinburgh, and started pulling off dust sheets and gazing once more at my sofas and spurious other accoutrements so long hidden from my sight.

Some careful hefting ensued and I was soon pleased to discover that once I'd put everything in it's appointed configuration it all mostly fits. A little tight in a couple of places, but livably so (I hope). I'm undecided as to whether on not to keep the chair which is the sole awkward item, but I'll trial it out before I send it to where ever unwanted furniture gets sent.

Assuming that I ever manage to move into the flat, I think I'll be happy with the results.

P.S. I'm not ignoring you, I'm just... thinking.

In lieu of more serious matters, this is a truly fantastic site. The "Looking for some Uranium" link on the front page cracks me up. I only came across it by accident when looking for neodymium magnets (just out of curiosity, no particular reason, honest. Whistles innocently...). I was almost tempted to order the largest magnet (at the bottom of the page) on the basis of the warning that goes with it - you can't help but get the feeling that they're serious about this one (as indicated by the price as well. Every other magnet on the page ranges in price from 8 to 27 dollars. This one is $100). Alas it's ground shipping only.

Of course, I've no idea what I'd do with such an item (still whistling innocently). That said, I quite certain that someone lurking around here would have a suggestion or three...

So George W. Bush is sending Dick Cheney to New Orleans. Haven't these poor people suffered enough?

I really, really want one. It's too cute.

By golly, the day almost passed me by. It's blogs second birthday today. Shame on me for almost missing it. Two years.

Had I realised earlier I'd probably have spent some more time musing about blogging, and what I've learned from the experience. At it stands, it's far too late to get into anything like that at the moment, but I'm sure it's a topic I'll revisit at a more suitable hour.

Still, two years. Wow.

Where did my summer go? I looked out of the window at around eight o' clock this evening to witness darkness already falling. It was a gentle sort of a fall, more of a flutter really, but it will almost certainly accelerate over the coming weeks and months. I feel vaguely cheated, as though weeks have been stolen from me and I'm owed time. I thought I'd been paying attention, but thinking back, I could easily have lost a hour here or there, or perhaps even an entire day. It all adds up.

According to the BBC, Honolulu in December receives an average of 7 hours of sunlight each day, with an average temperature of between 21 and 26 degrees C. Looking up the same information for Edinburgh reveals a mere hour of sunlight in December, coupled with temperatures hovering between plus and minus 7 degrees.

Emigration seems like such a tempting prospect...

I remember listening to the warnings from Ray Nagin, the New Orleans mayor, on the radio last Sunday. To be honest I paid them little heed, as I tend to when such warnings are issued in nations which clearly have the ability and infrastructure to cope with whatever disasters are beckoning. Needless to say, I watched events unfold since then with a mixture of incredulity and horror. I've no right to indignation from my position of safety some 7000 km distant, and I shan't attempt to apportion blame - there shall be enough of that to spare over the coming weeks and months. Some good may yet come of it. The US media seems to have stirred itself from it's political apathy, and pointed questions are being asked. Climate change may yet become a serious issue at the forefront of US politics; a welcome change if so.

Still, it seems as though all the focus is on New Orleans at the moment. Amongst the news stories I noted a study which included the flooding of New Orleans as one of the top three potential disasters faced by the United States (the other two being a terrorist attack on NYC, and a 9 point quake on the San Andreas fault-line). I can't help by wonder about the rest of the globe. One thing New Orleans has surely taught us - along with the tsunami earlier in the year, and the Iranian earth quake in the preceding year - is that such tragedies are rarely unforeseen. What other great potential disasters lie ahead of us now? How many are we unprepared for? And what are we going to do about them? Of course, the all encompassing "we" hides a multitude of apathies. I believe there's a quote attributable to Bill Clinton that sums up the problem: "When everyone is concerned, no-one is." The future's sure to bring much hand-wringing and finger pointing, but how much concrete action?

Apple art, and not the computer kind

I've not heard of internet hunting before, but it doesn't strike me as unlikely that it exists. I'm in favour of a ban btw. Go Bambi!

A Vogue photo shoot themed around Alice In Wonderland.

There should exist, I think, a company that sells mysterious boxes. My reasoning is that there are too few mysterious boxes in the world right now. Naturally I have some criterea as to what makes a box mysterious. A mysterious box specification if you will:

• The mysterious box should be composed of high quality materials and constructed by craftsmen - I'm assuming that cost is not an issue in construction. Each should be entirely bespoke, unique and of obvious quality. Mass production of mysterious boxes, or poor quality construction, is antithetical to the concept.
  
• Markings may be present on the surface of the box on the condition that they are mysterious, either in so far as they are indecipherable or that they are deciphered into a suitable mysterious message - I'll lay no terms for what constitutes a suitable mysterious message on the grounds that it might vary with circumstances.
  
• The mysterious box should be resistant to most attempts to access it's innards. Opening it should be impossible without risking damage to the box and it's contents. Note that the high quality of the construction materials is in itself an attempt to dissuade prying. If a keyhole is present, that should be similarly resistant to endoscopy. The contents of the box should lined in lead to foil x-rays (it should be assumed that an eventual recipient of a mysterious box will have access to such resources).
• The mysterious box should contain a number of devices. These devices should act at both random intervals, and in response to external stimuli (such as being shaken). My ideas as to the functioning of these devices should not be assumed to constitute an exhaustive list.
  
  1. A bright white light will emanate from the keyhole. On occasion this light will pulse, and be accompanied by an unearthly noise.
  2. Shaking the mysterious box in an attempt to glean it's contents will produce a number of different audio effects. At different times the contents of the box will appear to be comprised of objects of different substances, such as metal, wood, ceramic, or paper.
  3. The mysterious box will vibrate occasionally. The strength of the vibrations will vary, but at maximum intensity should be strong enough to cause the box to move across a flat surface.
  4. Any metal ornamentation on the mysterious box, such as keyholes or hinges should be capable of either producing a mild electric shock when touched.
  5. The mysterious box will be capable of producing a number of additional audio effects. These will vary from the whimsical (the tinkling of bells, twittering of birds) to the disturbing (the skritching noise of a creature inside the box attempting to extricate itself, the faint sound of children reciting a morose nursery rhyme in monotone). All such noises should cease in response to any loud noises or in the event that that the box is touched.
  6. With suitable foresight, it should be possible to add suitable rf controls to the wiring of the house where the mysterious box is to be delivered, such that the mysterious box will be able to enact a number of environmental effects, such as the dimming of lights, in concert with any of the other effects listed above. Given the cost involved, this should be offered as a higher price point option.

Obviously there exist certain technical barriers, the most notable being battery life. On that front I'm highly resistant to the idea that anyone outside of The Mysterious Box Company should be able to access the contents of the box, even to replace the batteries. A concept I like better is that each box is includes a maintenance contract, renewable, say, on a yearly basis, during which time the condition of the box will be closely monitored, and a crack team of cat burglers/battery replacement specialists will be dispatched whenever the battery alert is sounded.

The other problem is marketing and sales, given that the mysterious box is unlikely to ever be more than a niche product (not to mention the difficulties of marketing a product that is inherently mysterious). Given that I like to have as little to do with marketing as possible, I leave that as an exercise for the reader.

I have some sympathy for people I encounter in shops, having spent way more time than I ever should have working on one myself. By the same token, however, I also hold them to the same standard to which I held myself, a standard which varies with my mood from merely high to impossibly high. Consequently I've found several of them wanting over the years. With this in mind I looked down at the small pile of coins in my hand. "Um, excuse me", I said to the supercilious assistant behind the counter, "the change you just gave me, I don't believe it's right." The sales assistant glanced wearily at the queue at then back at me. "Are you sure?" he asked, a hint of condescension playing in his voice.

"I paid by card," I replied.

Like what I suspect to be an ever increasing number people these days, much of my work involves presenting information to others. Sometimes in person during meetings, some times via email, and sometimes to vast numbers via the marvellous medium that is the internet. It's something I believe myself to be reasonably good at (though this is largely in comparison to people who are self-evidently dreadful at it) and it's something I rather enjoy; considering how that information, sometimes in copious volume, is best presented.

Most of us, I believe, wander through our day to day lives without ever really noticing just how much data is being flung at us. Or just how the density of that data is increasing. Film and television offer some of best examples. Watch an film from 30 years ago, for example, and the pace of editing will likely seem slovenly compared to comparable output today (the hyper kinetic opening of Moulin Rogue still deserves some sort of award in my estimation). I've seen it derided often as "MTV" style editing, but the simple fact is that we're information junkies - if the incredible growth of the internet demonstrates anything, it's surely that.

We live in an "at-a-glance" society. Once, not so very long ago, I would have been dismissive of that, on the basis that anything worth knowing is surely worth the effort it takes to know and understand it. But again, consider the internet, how it makes it easy to find information - I consider Google to be the most valuable resource I use outwork, outside of my colleagues. When it comes to news in particular it's remarkable just how easy it is to scan vast numbers of headlines, allowing us to dip into those stories which interest us, whilst paying scant heed to those which do not. It's a subtly different process from reading a newspaper where we can choose to read part of the article and then flit off to something on the page if it bores use - choosing to click on a link or a button to navigate around requires a more conscious effort that shifting an eye around a page. Admittedly the rise of RSS aggregators, and their increasing awareness of our reading habits, is likely to signal another sea-change in the way we acquire information, but it's early days for that yet. Nevertheless it's still interesting to note the format in which information is handed to us.

The reason for this pondering is a headline from the BBC News service, which initially seemed at odds with the seriousness of it's content: At-a-glance: Centres of devastation.

I loath retracing my steps. Whenever I walk anywhere I always make a point of travelling in circular route in order that I don't have to follow the same path in both directions. There are worse quirks to be possessed of.

Unfortunately I discovered a snafu with a project I've been developing at work. Ages ago I developed a cute system of dialogues which all our tools use. This was back in the day when all our web applications were developed specifically for Internet Explorer, and so I didn't think twice about using features found only on IE. Ah, I was young and naive back then. I've learned better since, and I've been gradually making amends by modifying the code for wider compatibility as I've been dealing with it (using a rather clever simulacra of IE's showModalDialog function on mozilla - I know, I know you don't care, but trust me, it's clever). I thought all was well, but earlier today I found a serious flaw with it. It's in a scenario that doesn't crop up often, which is why I didn't realise the problem until now, but it's happens just often enough to render my solution less than useful.

It's not the end of the world, and the alternative is relatively straightforward. The problem is that it's clumsy compared to what I'd come up with. And inelegant. And it's also what I moved us away from all those years ago, embarrassingly enough (though no-one's left who remembers this save myself). But on the other hand, it does have the advantage that it works. I'll start implementing tomorrow. But not before I can see if there's any possible alternative, however warped and twisted.

I really dislike retracing my steps.

Well, to follow on from yesterday, I managed a few scribblings earlier this evening, which counts as progress of a sort. Nothing too exciting, just an attempt to lend some structure to what I do have. It makes me realise just how little I know about writing fiction. In some ways it's off putting, since I tend to focus on the journey rather than the results, but I appreciate that accomplishing anything worthwhile takes effort (a lesson I've learned surprisingly late in life).

In other news I saw several adverts on tv earlier which indicate we've reached magazine spawning season again. Yes, it's that time of the year when a hoard of new titles emerge from the murky depths to target the unwary. Not any old magazines though - these are a peculiar subset of the genre, those which contain figurines or parts which form a collection or model that can be completed only by collecting the entire set (e.g. build a life size working replica of a Boeing 747 in just 1500 easy to assemble parts - first issue only 99p). I have something of a grudge against such companies, not because I ever collected any of these, but rather because in many cases, particularly those which target children, the reality is never quite as wonderful as the television advert suggests. A line I saw advertised featured small die cast figures (in genuine lead!) of Marvel superheroes all of which have been hand painted. There's nothing wrong with that in principal, but the superbly detailed figurines shown on the television will bear little resemblance to crudely painted models on which kids spend their hard earned pocket money. Though at least the lead will be real enough. The magazine even promises to contain "genuine comic book artwork" which sounds like a suspiciously poor substitute for genuine comic books. Still, I'm sure some child out there in the land will derive some enjoyment from these things, so my cynicism, from where ever it springs, may be misplaced.

Perhaps I was simply disappointed once too often as a child...?