The Lair

This story I read today possesses sufficient qualities of awesome to be blogged. Yes, they let me off the work treadmill and allowed the hamster a go - so I caught up on some of the webby reading that I’ve been missing for the past couple of months.

The short version - Chairman of regional political party in the US was/is a warez d00d. Story via slashdot. In even bigger news, the evil work proxy does not block Slashdot. I’m not sure what to make of this, personally - but I digress.

This is only a story because this guy is the regional chairman of a US political party that people love to hate. Oh, and there is a good conspiracy theory.

More seriously, people sometimes forget that the stuff done online doesn’t really go away. Ever. Not that Tony Krvaric seems particularly disturbed about people knowing he used to distribute cracked software in the 80s. Commodore International (the makers of the Commodore-64) doesn’t actually exist as a company anymore; so I presume no one really cares about the commercial value angle.

Wonder what would happen if someone ‘fessed up to illegally distributing copies of Windows 3.11? Would Microsoft sue? Or send the chap a plaque for services above and beyond the call of duty?

Even when I started on Usenet in the mid 90s, people used to periodically post dire warnings about potential employers and other people reading these posts, so be careful etc etc. I don’t think many people paid heed. That’s why archives like this one still crop up from time to time. Should there be a statute of limitations on things written and done online? But then again, there is no statute of limitations on things done in real life, so why should things written online be different?

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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