The Lair

Thank Gawd It’s Offal? Ornamental? Probably. But no, I meant Over.Except it’s not, really.

It only took 4 years, 1 month and 4 days. Ugh. And yet, although I say it’s over – it really isn’t. There is possibly another six months of life left in the carcass. Members of family and random onlookers are confused when I point this out – but the thing is that submitting the hefty document just starts the examination process.

But soul searching and searching for employment or chasing down seed money for a startup, as someone is hilariously suggesting to me, is for the morrow. Today I am off to … err .. have a massive hot shower, kick feet up and loll around in front of the TV. Hell yes. All I need is a pipe, comfy bedroom slippers and a tartan robe and I can be that grumpy old man.

And if the planets align tomorrow (and less likely, if GNER still functions); Ed should be visiting. So we can wander around York, get beaten up by the local BNP thuggies and otherwise have a merry old time. There is also a forecast of gale force winds for this weekend, which should enliven proceedings.

In any social encounter of significance, there are always things that I really shouldn’t say. No matter how pithy or accurate those observations may be, opening my cakehole inevitably leads to recriminations, raised eyebrows and the descent of an uneasy silence on the conversation (also see: dropping a clanger, putting your foot in it, open mouth-insert foot moment etc).

This then, is part of the problem.
Paul Graham »

Nerds are always getting in trouble. They say improper things for the same reason they dress unfashionably and have good ideas: convention has less hold over them.

Of course, this isn’t to say that I have either good ideas or I dress unfashionably. (One of those is definitely true, I have the clothes to prove it) – but I hold an opinion about any number of things, some of which seem to fly against the conventional wisdom, or prevailing fickle winds of online opinion, or whatever you may want to call the consensus. Actually, so does everyone else for their little niche. As Scott Adams observes, everyone is an idiot at something.

Let’s start with a test: Do you have any opinions that you would be reluctant to express in front of a group of your peers?

Even calling it consensus is strange. Take politics. An entire country could be overwhelmingly conservative in its political outlook. As these things work, the more liberal (or conservative in the opposite extreme, take your pick) congregate online. That makes voicing a conservative opinion online pretty much a no-no – lest you be shunned, called a rethuglican and all manner of other epithets. Substitute any other political divide as you see fit. I’ve seen this repeated in many different places.

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Yet another act in the umpteenth rehashing of “Yes, I’m a [random nationality]. My opinions – they are like a single falling leaf in autumn” kicked off recently. I’m slightly nonplussed why people actually think this is worth nattering on about any longer. Is this the same sort of misplaced optimism that has a website asking whom the world would elect? Because I don’t think the Americans are really interested in having their presidential elections determined by the six billion odd inhabitants of the planet; regardless of (or in spite of) what said inhabitants may think about GWB.

And since I made a reference to GWB, it’s only fair that I link to MoveOn. Which is taking aim at Facebook. Yes, new advertising scheme. The most disturbing part about this whole setup is that it may use cookie sharing (like Microsoft Passport). Help Pages here – a tad sparse on information. But really, if you’re in the UK – then this is pretty much nothing. 25 million personal records lost in the post. Yes – names, dates of birth, bank account details. The lot.

An interesting observation about news coverage of the data security incident. I know the field reasonably well. I probably can’t spot the sophisticated half-truths, but I can pick out the idiots. The number of idiots interviewed in the past couple of days about the incident makes me wonder if all the stories are spun in the same clumsy haphazard way.

And finally, ah, England. Did you really deserve to qualify at all? At least now you’re rid of that bumbling underachiever who allegedly coached you for 18 odd months. And on a different sport, the tour match scorecard almost looks like the scorecard for the Aussies in the tests.

Back in the early 80s when television was in its infancy where I grew up, the entire family used to huddle around the box watching sitcoms like The Jeffersons and The Cosby Show. Yes, the stories in each episode had variations; but you somehow knew that the familial unit would win out. There would be drama, the occasional piece of angst but on the whole it was as predictable as soggy, milk soaked cereal in the morning (or back where I was: rice and curry for lunch). Wholesome drama that can be watched by the entire family.

Ostensibly, this is everything that Californication isn’t – after all, I’ve seen it referred to both as skanky and X-rated (they may both be accurate). The show has thus far featured nuns and other religious figures in inappropriate positions at least twice, there is plenty of simulated bumping and grinding, occasional nudity with the genitals artfully masked by furniture props and the odd cuss word (gasps of horror at the last, I know). You can just about smell the outrage, the burning of effigies/placards and the cries of depravity if this show ever dared screen in a slightly more conservative country. Even now, you wonder how the religious right in the US hasn’t taken aim at the show for its nun-too subtle intermingling of the church and blow job. Yes, I spent a whole 30 seconds coming up with that pun, so you’ll read it and you’ll groan. Just like I intended.

Yet, fundamentally, this show is not a great deal different from the aforementioned Jeffersons and Cosbys. It is about the constant strivings of Emo Duchovny and his writerly life. There is a superficial veneer of sex and salaciousness, of the wild life, of snorting lines of coke, of vomiting on paintings, of smoking pot. Whatever. Essentially, David Duchovny (Hank Moody, the stunningly imaginatively named main character) is portrayed as a nice guy. He loves his daughter. He’ll do anything, he’s desperate to get back with his ex-girlfriend who has left him for a (surprised?) richer guy with a palatial mansion. There are more plot twists, but the shining beacon that is Hank Moody’s goodness shines through. Somehow, you get the impression that you’re supposed to be rooting for Hank to get back together with his family again because you know, that rich guy doesn’t care about the admittedly tasty looking Natascha McElhone.

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I’m more than a little late to this party – but it’s a pet peeve and I feel the need to vent. So here we are… yet another instruction on why trusting personal details to a random startup is a bad bad idea. Gather around, kids. This is fun.

Part 1: Ceiling cat Facebook employees are watching you. They know what’s on your profile, they know which profiles you’ve been visiting and it’s apparently a perk to be able to stalk people. Discount the last as Valleywag hyperbole (although no one seems to be rushing to deny it) and you still have an interesting picture. Surprised? People actually seem to be.

Part 2: People on your friendlist can be co-opted for targeted advertising. (More commentary here and here).

Surely that can’t be legal, you cry indignantly. Well, it is – if their terms of service hold up in court. They can pretty much do whatever they want according to that document (remember clicking I agree on that?). It’s their data. There is also an argument in the Slashdot comment thread about Facebook’s deletion policy for profiles – they seemingly promise to resurrect all the data if you should return from your fit of pique.

But I’m being both misanthropic and cynical about this. I no longer consider it my personal crusade to tell people to hide personal information (date of birth? permanent address? good grief, people! how many banks rely on your date of birth for one step of authentication?) on their profiles. There are two reasons for this – first is that it’s amusing to have articles on how to make out like a bandit with FB (translated – thx R for both links). The second reason is that people with lots more information out in public are low hanging fruit for the data miners and criminal elements that are undoubtedly going to invade. Cynically, it’s sort of like staying next to a herd of slow, limping zebras when the lions turn up looking for lunch.

If some inventive dataminer figures out a way to tie in Scrabulous stats to personal information though, I’m pretty much screwed.

People insist that it’s not the cover of the book that matters, but the content. But that’s not true. It’s not the content, it’s the typeface. It doesn’t matter what you type, so long as you choose the proper typeface.

All of you guys are idiots. Really. Just go away.

You just blinked at that and kept on reading, amirite? Ha! First anecdotal point proven. Well, not really.

This then, is my somewhat dramatic introduction to a programme I saw last night. The programme was a mini-feature named Helvetica – all about the Helvetica typeface or in lay terms, the Helvetica font. Why is it that an entire film has been made about the history of this still ubiquitous and surprisingly popular font? Because of its influence on subsequent font design, partially – and also because it gives a fascinating insight into the psychology and the thought processes behind the design of a type face. The feeling of a pure message, of calmness, of neutrality – all of those things can be (and were) purveyed by a simple choice of typeface for a sign or advertisement.

I really like this font. Not sure why.

See, the choice of font for any project is not straightforward. I too feel that there is a correct typeface for every job and strangely enough, my eternal search for the ideal programmers font coincides with the birth of this belief. The font that you choose to stare at for hours on end (be it on screen or on paper) has a huge influence on your perception of what is being read, on your general feeling of comfort (I hate handwriting fonts because they’re hard to read) and a general feeling of symmetry.

That last point is a little bit hard to explain – fonts need to feel right when displayed on the screen. Not all of them do – for example, this one doesn’t work for me. nor does this one. I also dislike the practice of using monospaced fonts for my editor, regardless of what the best practice may be. Sans-serif (with the rounded edge) works best.

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Ok, this is too hilarious to resist. York bans Bonfire Night. That’s tonight, by the way. Which is fine, really. I’ve been known to have a pyrotechnic bent in my misspent youth, but I honestly can’t say I care.

What is funny though is that I’ve noticed the number of fireworks set off this year have seen a marked increase. I’ve heard miniature explosions all through this weekend, as if the angry hordes of chavs who couldn’t set off their explosives under the guidance of the council (ha!) are blowing shit up anyway. Yes, I did call them chavs. I mean it. There was arson last year. And you thought stuff like that just happened with angry Parisian mobs, eh?

And in other news, the ongoing saga that is my thesis educational soap opera lurches from one crisis to another. For a change, I’m not actually responsible for any of it this time. And no, I still haven’t submitted because I was practically forced into a 30 day extension. Ugh.