November 2005 Archives

I'd like to get a new meme out there. It may never reach the popularity of "Jumping the shark", but I believe it's an idea whose time has come.

I call it the red ball. Here's the mini faq:

What's a red ball?

It's a concept or idea introduced into a television show which seems cool at first glance, and which may even seem to open up new plot possibilities, which which ultimately turns out to be meaningless. Just something thrown in for the sole reason of catching the audiences attention, and which the writers were never able to resolve satisfactorily. Basically it's a plot device.

Can you give me an example?

Well, the phrase "red ball" springs from the The television series Alias. The pilot episode of the spy series sent undercover agent Sidney Bristow, played by Jennifer Garner, on a quest to retrieve a mysterious artifact. When the artifact was revealed on screen, it turned out to be consist of two curved metal prongs above which was hovering a spinning ball of what appeared to be a red metallic liquid. When the power source was disconnected, the red ball reverted back into what appeared to be ordinary water. Over the next 4 years, the red ball device made several more appearances, culminating in a massive iteration found hovering over a Russian city. Entwined with it in the series was a complex plot about Milo Rambaldi, a 16th Century Da Vinci-esque genius whose discoveries exceeded and confounded modern science.

The red ball sounds cool! So what did it do?

Well, that's just the point - it didn't really matter. By the time the ball appeared over the city, it was revealed as nothing more than plot device in it's purest essence, which the writers were struggling to deal with. In the end, it happened to turn the residents of the city (who'd just happened to ingested a compound derived from a rare orchid - naturally) into mindless zombies. I guess someone wanted to do a zombie episode - it really had nothing to do with anything that had happened in the series previously. And that episode was intended to draw a line under the whole red ball and Rambaldi affair. It didn't end with a bang so much as the howls of an audience spread across the world realising they'd been conned. It was never explained why 16th century genius would want to turn the world into a zombie infested hell hole, or how anything else that had happened over the last four years factored into his plan. All we got was one of the intelligence insulting hours of television I can recall.

Gee, you sound bitter?

You think? That's why I'm writing this. The problem with red balls is that they're nothing more than empty calories. They're shiny and glittery, seductive and enticing, but ultimately meaningless. It's candyfloss television, devoid of any real nutrients. And unfortunately, they're all but indistinguishable from real plot developments until it's too late. What's more, I'm concerned that they're on the increase.

Why now?

Red balls have been with us for a long time. Alias has a particularly high concentration, but I believe that current king of the red ball is, and shall remain for some time, The X-Files. However, it's the success of Lost that concerns me the most. Make no mistake, I've enjoyed Lost tremendously, but it's even in it's first season it was beginning to show worrying signs of red ball-itis. The mysterious creature, the mysterious polar bears, the mysterious numbers...

Whoa, hang on a moment - that's a lot of mysteries!

Now you're getting it. Red balls are inherently mysterious. Who doesn't love a mystery after all, especially in a serialised drama. What's the secret behind the mysterious creature? Tune in next week! And the week after that! And the week after that! Just don't expect an answer, because that would spoil all the fun.

Now comes the kicker. Both Alias and Lost share the same heritage, namely their creator, one J.J. Abrams. I'm beginning to see that same familiar pattern of "all set up, no resolution" repeat itself on Lost. Now, it's not the same case entirely. The writing team on Lost includes many other writers whose talents I respect - Paul Dini and Drew Goddard, for example have both proven themselves as storytellers of high calibre. But the trend is there: polar bears, numbers, creature - and more, much more. Mystery upon mystery with no resolution or explanation in sight. Will any of them have any meaning? Who can say? My concern is that the success of Lost means that we're likely to see future series' attempt to repeat the same formula. I wouldn't go so far as to say that nothing good can come of it, but I'm pretty sure that a great deal of dross will spring up as a result.

So why not just call a plot device a plot device?

Red balls sounds catchier. Leave me alone.

My Mum came around to take a look at my flat today. I'll confess to experiencing something more than mild trepidation. I really wanted her to like it for some reason - this despite the fact that we have very differing tastes. In theory, it shouldn't have made any difference to my feelings - after all, I like and that's the beginning and end of that particular story. Do we ever stop craving parental approval?

And in the end I think I managed to score pretty highly - the kitchen was singled out for praise (as well, as a comment that she was concerned I might not have made a good job of it. Hah!), and she only had one negative comment, disliking as she did my horribly expensive bathroom tiles. Even then she confessed that she doesn't like matt tiles, whereas I hold a particular ambivalence - occasionally verging on downright loathing - towards glossy tiles. Vive la difference!

Oh, and in my continuing - and wholly uncalculated, honest - attempt to be a good neighbour I helped move a bookcase and found their lost cat today. I feel like should be receiving gold stars...

Curious about some unexpected noise outside my front door at a rather late hour (my doors aren't nearly as sound proof as I'd like - remind me to do something about that when I have money again), I popped my head around the door and discovered... people. Tired and stressed people, having spent most of the day transporting their worldly belongings in van from Cambridge, but unmistakably people nevertheless. Neighbours in fact.

Since nothing brings out by innate perkiness quite so much as stress in other people, I insisted up offering my aid, which to be fair they seemed grateful for. My good cheer and optimism - particularly in the face of an overly wide dining table and an overly narrow door frame - were remarked upon several times.

I moved into my flat over a period of 11 months, they managed it in just over an hour. Admittedly my assistance may have made things slightly easier for them, but I don't think it accounts for the... 11 month discrepancy. Still David and Helen seem like a decent couple, and I've been promised an invite around once they've settled (which might be a while judging by the amount of stuff they have to unpack - and I thought I had a lot!)

So, new neighbours and positive impressions all round. What a pleasant evening it's turned out to be.

Snow fell this morning. I could watch snow fall for hours. I watched it for minutes instead before I realised that that watching it would be easier if I was wearing my glasses.

I found myself in sudden need of a new pair of spectacles.

The sight in my left eye has worsened slightly over the last three years, though the prescription for my right eye remains the same. It distresses me only slightly - the right eye was always weak but the left eye was once perfect. That's it's gradual failure be documented in such precise fashion is curious reminder of mortality.

Aware that I was going to need a new pair of glasses, I'd previously scoured virtually every opticians in Edinburgh in search of a pair I'd be happy with. It was never going to happen. I've never actually found a pair of glasses I was happy with. Instead I've always found the pair that required least compromise. I am precisely that fussy about such things.

I received an unexpected discount at the opticians, since someone who works there is an ex-colleague of mine from my Disney Stores days. I failed to recognise her at first (as I'm wont to do), but it was a pleasure to reminisce with her and find out what she's been up to (marriage, motherhood, and more) She's still in contact with a few others from those days. Apparently people ask after me from time to time, and I'm hoping to catch up with them again too - some sort of reunion may be on the cards. They were a strange and wonderful bunch of people and it would be good to see them again.

I have to wait two weeks for a new pair of glasses.

I'm a dreadful fidget - keeping still for too long just doesn't seem to agree with me. Remaining motionless just isn't a comfortable experience. Like so many other of our ingrained personality traits, it's easy to remain unaware of until someone points it out to you. For me, that happened at a night out at the theatre with several friends from work. At the end of night I was told that sitting next to me akin to residing next the average 4 year child, such was my fidgeting. I was slightly embarrassed at the time, but the comments rang true regardless.

Even whilst trying to sleep, I'm in near constant motion. A turn here, a toss there, it all adds up. It's one of the reasons why I chose a futon as my mattress. For many years now I've been assailed with the wobbles as a consequence of lying on spring mattresses. They sound wonderful in theory - after all, how could all those springs fail to be anything other than comfortable? But, what the literature doesn't say is that that the slightest motion will result in an undulating wave, spreading throughout the mattress. In short, I turn myself over and then bounce up and down for a while. Again, it sounds great in the theory, but in practice it's less than ideal as you're trying to while yourself off to sleep.

But a futon - ah, that's a different case altogether. No springs here. , I can twist and shift as much as I like with nary a side effect. It's absolutely wonderful.

I like my flat.

The plumber came.

I have hot water.

I moved in.

In case you haven't worked it out by now, I'm a huge fan of the Super Mario Bros theme

Is it too much to ask of people that they should do as they say? It's a lesson I'm sure I learned early on in life, and I like to believe I've held myself to it although I'm sure I've lapsed more than I'd care to remember.

Say what you mean or you won't mean what you say I was taught. The plumber said he'd turn up on Friday and didn't. The plumber said he'd turn up today and didn't. The plumber said he'd turn up tomorrow morning and... well, that's still to be confirmed. Suffice it to say that despite it all I'm mildly hopeful. Time will tell whether my hope is justified...

Life is full of irritations, some minor, some major. Among the more innocuous of these daily trials and tribulations is the present fad of sealing small household goods for sale between two transparent sheaths of nigh indestructible plastic. It's obvious benefit is to make the contents visible, whilst still offering them a degree of protection. The down side is the need to fight tooth and claw with the packaging in order to prise the contents free. Even the addition of bladed implements seems to only slightly lessen the amount of effort required.

Having fought with mine own tooth and claw to free a door handle from it's accursed packaging earlier today (it was a long and arduous battle in which blood was spilled), I decided that enough was enough and took myself off to the nearest diy store in order purchase a decent pair of plastic hacking scissors (a machete would probably have been more appropriate, but I'd lost enough blood already). I found the scissors. Each pair encased in exactly the sort of malevolent plastic casing I required the scissors to hack through. Whomever designs such product packaging is not without a sense of humour, it seems...

This is just wrong on so many different levels I almost don't know where to start. 'Ouch' seems like as good a place as any...

Apologies for my absence over the last couple of days. An energetic bout of packing on Thursday night, coupled with an attendance at a rather late showing of Harry Potter left my attention focused elsewhere.

As you may have surmised by the mention of packing, I'm very nearly almost (but not quite) moved into the flat now. I'd intended to make Friday night my official move in date, since on that day the last two major items of work were due to be finished, namely the installation of the last bits of the bedroom after an interminable delay, and the fitting of a couple of radiators. As it stands, well, at least the bedroom is finished. The plumber failed to turn up citing illness. On hearing that I was quite tempted to try to bribe him into turning up, but in the end I decided that would probably be a rather callous thing to do. In theory I could still move in, but until the radiators are connected I have no hot water and no central heating, on what's turned out to be a bitingly cold weekend. I refuse to spend my first night in my flat shivering with the cold and without the promise of a decent shower on the following morning.

I'm hopeful that a plumber may turn up on Monday (the triumph of hope over experience, you might say), so with the aid of my brother Nicky I've been busy today piling the place up with familiar set of cardboard boxes in which my worldly goods have resided for nearly the last year, and which I'll probably spend a goodly portion of tomorrow sifting through. Nicky, being somewhat more practical than myself in the area of power tools, also brought his electric drill along and proceeded to make holes in my newly decorated walls in order to mount my tv. The end result was better than I'd hoped - the space where I'd planned on putting the tv was narrowed after some building work, precluding the original position and leaving me uncertain as to how it would eventually appear. I needn't have worried - the television set now seems to hover almost magically in one corner of the room to what I consider a very pleasing effect.

Almost there, by golly!

One man's eleven year journey to build a better bubble

Saturday night was spent at a birthday party for an ex-colleague, who I always got on rather well with, but whom nowadays I seem to only see at his birthday parties. Having learned from times past, I made an extra effort to turn up late this time. I've discovered before that I'm the only person who ever turns up on time for these things, and other people I know always seem to appear at least an hour after the scheduled event. However, turning up late is a foreign concept to me, and there are few things that spoil my mood as much as being late for something. Or anything. I'd planned on being the full hour late in order to coincide with the arrival of the others, but couldn't quite manage it and in the end I cracked after 40 minutes. I justified this on the grounds that it seemed a reasonable compromise.

Though it was good catching up with Rem (the ex-colleague. The day after he left work I wore a t-shirt that said "No comment" - it's funny if you're a programmer, honest), he'd chosen to host his party at a bar just north of Oxford Street. Whilst I'm sure it's a lovely place during the day, in the evening it was thronged with an absurdly dense crowd, to the degree that was nearly impossible to stand still without being constantly jostled, far too warm, and had a music playing at a deafening level. The last was particularly frustrating, since it was virtually impossible to hold a conversation without yelling in the ear of the person next to you. Not only do I fail to see the appeal of such an environment, I really can't understand what anyone sees in it - why socialise in a place that seems expressly designed to make socialising an even more difficult activity?

Fortunately the party eventually shifted to a nearby nightclub, at which point a few of us decanted, ears still ringing, to a nearby pub in which we delighted in our new found ability to hear by holding an actual conversation.

One of my great failings on here is that I constantly jaunt off somewhere and never get around to actually describing the experience. Not that my life is exciting enough that anyone would want to live it vicariously, but a few more details wouldn't go amiss. And besides, I had a good weekend and I'm in the mood to share.

Saturday began with a visit to the Palace of Westminster in the company of Kathryn, friend, colleague and kind provider of accommodation for the weekend. More specifically the destination was Westminster Hall, the oldest part of the building which housed Parliament once upon a time, but is now a cavernous and mostly empty space (a slightly incongruous gift shop took up one corner in which I purchased some olde parliamentary chocolate coins). The reason for the visit was to sample an exhibition on Guy Fawkes and the infamous plot to destroy Parliament. It was only a small exhibit, but interesting none the less and greatly enlivened by the presence of an actor playing the role of Fawkes recounting the plot from his perspective. Not only were the details interesting, but he played his part superbly, querying the audience in order to divine if any heretics were present before throwing himself into his performance.

Moving on, we sauntered along the South Bank for a while, our next destination being the Clink Prison Museum. We stopped for a brief while along the way to take in the Tate Modern, a building I have some fondness for, particularly since Olafur Eliasson's Weather Project. We didn't have time to move beyond Turbine Hall, but I enjoyed the experience anyway. Rachel Whiteread's Embankment consists of 14,000 plastic boxes cast from cardboard boxes in which personal items belonging to the artist were stored. The boxes are arranged in a variety of configurations, evoking city streets and snow bound landscapes and the public is free to roam amongst the structures. It's not quite as engaging as the Weather Project - which was remarkable as for the effect it had on those viewing it - but it evoked a similar sense of wonderment. Strangely I felt rather differently about it after discovering that parts of the artist's history were literally torn apart in order to construct it. It seemed a little more solemn and a little less playful after that.

The Clink Prison Museum isn't an experience I'd recommend on the other hand. In someways it embodies the worst qualities of those sorts of museums, being a slightly tacky attempt to recreate the prison experience of times past replete with worn looking manikins in shackles. To be honest though, that can be fun sometimes, but what really put me off it were some of torture instruments on display, the worst of which appear relatively innocuous but which can be used to inflict the most horrific pain and injuries. I can't conceive how anyone could conceive of such devices. It was a vivid reminder of just how far society has come, and how low it can sink.

After that we headed back into the center of town, almost getting tangled in the Lord Mayor's Parade along the way, to catch Ducktastic, a play concerning the age old themes of love, magic and... poultry. A comedy believe it or not, and a splendidly silly one at that, and with tickets only £10 at the moment, rather good value too. It's filled to brim with genuinely groan worthy puns, some rather deft magic tricks and a surprising amount of simulated nudity for a family show - not that anyone seemed to mind of course. It's closing in a few days time, but it's well worth a look if you find yourself at loose end one evening.

Anyway, that's the bulk of it, and quite enough for the moment. I really need to get some sleep as I've an early start to get to the nearly finished flat tomorrow. It really is nearly finished now. I'm even going to be moving in this weekend, but that's another story...

I don't care much for the rampant consumerism that descends upon the western world as the 25th of December approaches each year. It can be a bit of a nuisance sometimes, but from my perspective there's one thing that makes it more bearable: Christmas lights. How I do love Christmas lights. I'd been oblivious to it so far, but I noticed it in earnest for the first time at Edinburgh airport last week. They've got some lovely lights on the lamp posts outside, far more chic and tasteful than I'd have expected to be honest, and the interior decorations were equally pretty.

I did a fair bit of wandering around London as well over the weekend, even getting a couple of hours to explore by myself for the first time in nearly in year. It was a slightly bittersweet experience. For me London is a city that's best appreciated in small doses. Seven years in the place had definitely left me a little jaded, but I got to view it again with a fresh perspective, and wandering down Regent's Street in the early evening reminded me just how much the place has to offer (like an Apple Store :) I wouldn't go so far as to say that I miss it (yet), but I've definitely learned to appreciate it's charms again. I'm in a fortunate position that I can indulge myself with monthly visitations courtesy of work, and I'll do my best to take advantage of those in future.

And work! Even work proved a pleasant surprise. I'd been dreading the meeting to which I'd been summoned after I'd been given a single word summation of my next product: Productization. In my experience nothing spelled with 'z' is likely to be good news. I had but one guess as to where this was leading and I'd mentally prepared a vast number of reasons as to why it was going to be an incredibly bad idea. I was ready to rattle all these of when I was informed that the name of the project was actually rather misleading. In fact it turned out to be something else altogether, which happens to be right up my alley, and which I'm looking forward to working on. I've had mixed experiences with some of projects I've worked on recently, largely due to the shifting requirements I've had to deal with. I've found the end results unsatisfactory, but given the constraints set upon me I can honestly say that the end result was as good as I could make it. It's partly why I went to town with my last bit of work. After so much compromise, I needed the opportunity to cut loose and prove exactly what I'm capable of when given free reign. I wanted to show off, and regardless of what anyone else thought of it, I was pleased with the results. There may have been one or two of what I considered to be rough edges, but to be honest, in that regards, I'm rather like Doc Brown apologising for the crudeness of his models. Anyway for my next project, well, I've basically been asked to show off. Apparently we have to impress some potential clients, which means breaking out the bells and whistles. And believe me when I say that I take my bells and whistles very seriously indeed. This should be fun.

After a rough day in which I inadvertently set off a chain of events that ground our systems to a halt and generally brought everything to it's knees, I could use the holiday someone suggested I should take. Alas, I neither have any holiday time left to take from work, nor do I really have the financial means to take the holiday I want (I really want to go snorkeling in Hawaii again, having actually learned to swim since the last time). The "financial means" bit is a bit of a white lie, since I could theoretically afford it (that's what credit cards are for, after all), but a series of flat related events has put an unforeseen stress on my bank account and I'm trying to regain my fiscal balance again. Fun stuff will have to take a back seat to discipline for a while yet. Bleh. Feel free to make helpful comments involving the phrases "all work," "no play" and "dull boy".

Still, I'm going to be spending the next few days down in London for work, which counts as a break of sorts, though I'd almost really rather not after today's hullabaloo. It was all a bit unfortunate, I started something running that if I'd given any thought to I knew would cause trouble, but all I saw was an immediate need without considering the bigger picture. On the other hand, it shouldn't have been nearly as big a problem as it was, but it looks like I managed to expose a serious problem with our database cluster. Fortunately it's not my responsibility to clean that mess up, but I'm certain our database administrators won't be singing my praises. On the plus side I get to spend the weekend doing some fun stuff (tbc).

I'll be absent until Monday evening, so if things seem unusually quiet around here for the next few days it's not a bad sign, honest.

Send a time delayed email to yourself and receive it years from now in the future. I'm not sure I'm brave enough to write something to myself, but it's tempting.

More and more I've been censoring myself on here. Censoring is a stronger term than I'd like, but it's the nearest fit I can think of. Lot's of things have been flitting through my head that I haven't written up for a variety of reasons. Others I've started, and restarted before eventually discarding. Much of it self analytical. I'm not sure from whence these self-imposed barriers have sprung or why. I don't believe my attitude to my blog has changed, nor my attitude towards whoever happens to be reading it. Perhaps my attitude towards myself is different now. I'm unsure what to make of several dreams I've had recently. Their texture is the same as ever, the same familiar distortions in evidence, but there's a strange taint to their flavour, with my behaviour within them seeming decidedly off-kilter. Troublesome even. I'm likely reading too much into it - I place no credence in my dreams after all, but I can't help but wonder what's caused this shift.

What's changed in me?

File under 'Amusing Signs'

This afternoon I had to double check whether or not squirrels are indigenous to Japan.

My curiousity was stirred by as impressive a display of unbridled enthusiasm as I can recall witnessing. The tableaux unfolded before me in Princes Street Gardens, as I sat upon a bench in the chill November sun and watched a couple of tourists ambling along. I assumed they were Japanese, judging from their chatter, attire, and plethora of cameras but I could have been mistaken. They appeared to be a couple anyway, husband and wife or boyfriend and girlfriend. Their ambling came to a sudden stop when a squirrel skittered to a halt in front of them. I can offer no particular insight into the mind of the squirrel other than to remark that it seemed typical of it's species, all bushy tail and tightly coiled nervous energy. Despite being - to my eye at least - a squirrel of no particular distinguishing features, it elicited a shriek of excitement from the woman. This immediately caused the squirrel to rapidly retreat to a safe distance, where it seemed entranced by the woman, now literally bouncing up and down with excitement. Camera's were duly unpacked, and thus began a game of cat and mouse - or rather squirrel and tourist - as she tried to get close enough to snap a picture of the little creature. It was quite fun to watch although I lost track of them after a few minutes when the squirrel seemed to lose interest and darted off into the distance, tourists in tow.

I don't remember ever having seen such an extreme reaction to a squirrel before. I'm sure I reacted in a vaguely similar manner when I first saw a chipmunk (I still have the photograph I took to prove it), but in that case I can at least argue that chipmunks aren't native to these shores. Squirrels in Japan, on the other hand, I had no early idea about. However, a quick delve through the internet when I returned home revealed that yes, they can be found roaming on those shores. I'd cite some links, but I couldn't find a definitive resource for information on Japanese squirrels. There are some pictures of them to be found over here, though.

Not the most practical fact I'll ever learn...

Is it possible to have a nightmare only in retrospect? I mean a dream which didn't seem bad at the time, but which turns out to be deeply disturbing with hindsight.

I think about it now and feel like crying.

I had no idea it was even possible to do such things with a yo-yo. The cat's cradle move are fascinating.

The last of the major flat work is scheduled to take place on Friday. Once the living room and kitchen is decorated, I'll be moving in. Unfortunately it slipped my mind to arrange for a radiator to be removed from a wall that needs painting, leaving me with two options. Option 1 involves calling the plumber to find out if he can remove it at short notice. There's a good chance that he'll be able to do so, though I'll feel slightly embarassed to ask given the number of times the radiators have gone up and come down and been shifted around. Option 2, on the other hand involves the purchase of a spanner. If we step back and look at the actual work I've done in the flat, well, there's not much to see really. I don't rate my DIY skills highly and I've been content to pay other people to labour on my behalf. It is true that I tore most of the old kitchen out with nothing but my bare hands (a strangely satisfying experience), but I haven't dealt with anything that I actually want to keep in good order - for good reason.

That said, the radiator removal process doesn't appear too complicated, at least according to these radiator removal instructions I found. I'm still a little nervous about the idea of dealing with it myself, but on the other hand what can possibly go wrong?

Speak now, or forever hold your peace...