What a wonderful thing VNC is. This little remote control tool is tiny and simple to set up and use. It's one of the standard apps for any server at work (inside the firewall, of course) and is a brilliant way to handle control from a distance. At home, I have it set up on my secondary/tertiary PCs, so I only need one keyboard and mouse. Psycho even has it installed so I can come running to help when she forgets how to use her PC. Superb piece of work and highly recommended (it's free, too!).
Just had a bit of a moment here at work: I'm back in the office today as I promised a couple of people I would be. I don't really feel up to it, to be honest, but such is life. A promise is a promise.
So one of my bosses wanders by as I'm chugging through some very annoying work, to ask how things are and so on. I almost told him where to go... oops. Have to watch that: when I'm unwell, my annoyance meter rises very quickly.
Anyways, must check through the 500 spam messages and work through the 300-odd real ones to see what I'm supposed to be doing today. Boy, do I need a holiday.
Missed this, just before publishing that last item. It's important for all MT users to read this over at Kasia's. Thanks for the warning, milady!
Oh, and while you're there, check out the previous item, too. Prepare to be spammed, big time. *sigh*
This is really starting to tick me off: Since discovering that my previous propensity for sickness was due to the cigarettes I was smoking (man, were they bad... John Player Specials), I've been a lot healthier. Hell, I even do exercise these days. And no, not the horizontal kind.
So it's doubly annoying when I wake up with a pounding headache and coughing my lungs up through my nose. I hate colds. I always get them: I seem to have no resistance to the damned things. Give me a forty-degree fever and I'll ignore it, work through it and sometimes not even notice I have it. Give me back pains, stomach pains, intestinal problems, eye aches, whatever: the only thing I can't seem to deal with is the stupid common cold.
Still, it gives me time at home with the cat on my lap, I guess.
What a weekend. Since Rebecca died on Wednesday, I've slowly been dismantling her park and cleaning up to make some space. This weekend, I decided I should deal with it once and for all: clear up the stuff from which the park was built, throw out all the old useless wood, chicken wire and so on, clean the carpet and make room for storage in her corner.
The surprising thing was just how big the park was! I remember looking at it every now and then and thinking "Is that big enough for her? Does she feel enclosed or does she have room to hop around a bit and not get bored?"
Well, having cleared it all up, I believe my fears were unfounded. Seven bin bags full to bursting of wood, plastic flooring, boxes she nibbled on, protective caging and so on, plus the roll of wire I used to protect the corner where she always tried to nibble the carpet! Having cleared it all up (and cleaned the carpet three times...), I've been able to store everything that was stacked in corners of the lounge, the entryway and the bedroom, with plenty of room to spare - she had so much space!
Now all I have to do is clean the bedroom and sort out the wardrobe to finish tidying the entirety of the flat. Then I can move Pie's litter tray into the space where the park was and finally everything will be sorted. Excellent.
I was speaking to someone yesterday afternoon about why I am still single. Before going any further, I should point out that you will need to accept the following facts:
a. The person in question was actually interested.
b. The person in question was surprised that I have been single for 'so long'.
c. The person in question is human and is not mentally unstable.
d. I probably don't fit in those last two categories.
Now that we've cleared that up, I can continue. So we were discussing why I'm single and I explained (in French, which was a bit of an adventure) that there were several reasons, not least of which was a lack of desire to have my heart stomped on, beaten upon, pounded, pummeled, shredded, torn out, buried for three months in soft peat and sold as firelighters¹. The obvious counter-argument for this one is that not all relationships are like that. Well, duh. I would never have guessed. Unfortunately, we only learn by experience and all of mine have taught me that this is precisely what happens.
After much discussion, I also explained that I never know whether someone is interested or not. Women simply aren't clear about these thing. The other party, being female, countered that they are. This, of course, is utter tosh and nonsense. What she means by "being clear" is the whole girly-girly romantic flirty crap that women believe shows men that they are obviously interested. I had to set matters straight.
Women are not clear. Women are not obvious. Doing the girly-girly romantic flirty crap (heretofore referred to as "the GGRFC") does not show you are interested: since society teaches females that their most powerful tool is their sexuality, flirting is merely second nature and the expression of a desire that could quite simply be anything. The number of times that nice guys believe a girl is interested because of the GGRFC, only to be told that "I just want to be friends" is incalculable.²
"Clear" means asking the guy if he wants to go for a coffee. "Clear" means asking the guy if he wants to go see a film some time. "Clear" does not mean inviting him to go and grab a coffee and see a film "with a whole bunch of us".
Of course, women rarely do this. Society teaches them that the man does that. It's bad to ask, because you're a tart, a slag if you do. Nonsense. Women want equality (and they're damned right to want it!), but until they start asking guys out as much as they are asked, there will be no true equality in this world. The old roles will remain, Hollywood will continue to vomit such romantic tripe as this (where, of course, the bastard turns out to be changeable to 'really nice' and all the truly nice guys are unattractive geeky assholes) and the women who really do deserve equality will suffer continued sexism thanks to their sisters who are too dumb to realise that you can't have it both ways.
Oh... and until then, I'll be single: I want someone who's my social and intellectual equal, not some dreamy-eyed bimbo who can't string two thoughts together and believes Notting Hill was realistic.
¹ And for my first ever footnote, spot the literary reference about firelighters!
² I should also add that "I just want to be friends" can generally be translated into normal English as "I like you lots, but you're nice/reliable/caring and I wouldn't f*@k you in a million years. I want to be abused by a complete bastard, then come and cry on your shoulder about it."
³ Egad. Three footnotes. Notting Hill is, I should add, an enjoyable film, which is surprising as hell, considering Hugh Grant is in it. Unrealistic, of course, but much fun.
Yesterday, arriving at home from a bugger of a day, things got worse: Rebecca the rabbit was dead. She'd lived for six and a half years and died peacefully in her sleep as far as I can tell.
She was the 'Mère Poule' of the apartment and had known all the other animals (six of whom she now joins in the Green Field In The Sky: Tot, the other rabbit, Louloute and Cachou, the guinea pigs and Cocaine, Cookie and Joy, the rats). She wasn't - and had never been - ill, munching on apples and biscuits til the last.
She was a funny old bird: still a little wild, she didn't like being picked up; she liked cuddles, but she would scrabble her forelegs at anything she thought aggressive (notably the broom when cleaning out her park area). She enjoyed annoying the crap out of Pie. She'd sit in her cage, all quiet and peaceful while he watched her, then when he started to go to sleep, she would move suddenly and wake him up... then go back to being quiet until he was almost asleep again, and so on.
She'll be missed: Pie sat by her cardboard box (in which she was buried last night) and meowed for a few minutes, but the worst was when I got ready for bed... he went to stand by the park as he always did, looked at me and meowed as if to say "Well? Where is she?"
Goodbye, Rebecca. Rest in peace.
My dad always used to say "Never a borrower nor a lender be." Of course, no one ever listens to their parents, so I have been (and am still) both! It is, however, quite startling how much crap one has to put up with when one is either or both of these things.
On the 'borrower' side, I have to admit to moving to France several years ago with quite massive amounts of debt in England. We're talking 'enough to buy a house' levels, here. Thankfully, this is all virtually finished with now, thanks to a lot of very hard work, some long hours, few holidays and the bloated pay-cheques of a computer consultant. Barring a few minor debts that remain, I have much better peace of mind than I did before and have been able to take a full-time, permanent position in the same company without fear of being evicted in the coming months.
Of course, every now and again, the bank balance will slip slightly into the red (usually due to Psycho) or an unexpected tax bill (of which there are many in socialist France) will cause havoc. Having been driven to the borders of insanity by the huge debts I had in the past, these moments are somewhat more difficult to deal with than for most people, but I get by. Admittedly, my skinny butt has been saved on more than one occasion by the generous half-yearly bonus packages that the company hands out if we've worked well.
On the 'lender' side, I have also run into some difficult situations. Why is it that it's always easy for other people to ask for their money back, but when I try I just get fobbed off? Well, it's because I'm too nice, of course. Bah.
At the moment, I'm trying to convince people in both directions. One person feels bad for keeping hold of the loan I made him a couple of years ago. It was to help keep his wife's business running through a rough patch and has helped found a solid base for her physical rehabilitation clinic in their home town, of which I am, I have to admit, extremely proud to have been a part. Every now and again the subject comes up and I always find it difficult to explain that I'm happier that he keeps the money until they really don't need it. He's a splendid chap and very trustworthy.
The second loan is to another business, whom I am currently trying to convince to pay me back. Unfortunately, I made the loan to them to keep them afloat in a rough patch (spot the similarity), but they have since been bought by another company. Of course, the debt was transferred as part of the deal and I can expect the cash back, but the new owner is much more of an ass than the previous one (who wasn't an ass at all), so things aren't easy. It doesn't help that it's an international thing, either. If it work out as expected, I should have that money back by the end of the year, which will hopefully be in time to pay the rather huge business tax bill I still have for my company in the UK - I have to pay that before they'll let me close the thing.
Apart from that, I've had similar experiences with work friends: one who I helped out and the money came back within days, plus a box of chocolates; another who I paid rent for one month when she had no cash and I have yet to see a sign of anything; another who I bailed because she was stuck in hospital and not earning, and who is also full of promises but shows little sign of paying up.
So, all in all, I'd just like to say that my dad was only half-right. I would adjust his advice to read more like "Be very careful when borrowing or lending - above all when borrowing, since banks are generally bastards."
In my case, I'm pretty happy with both sides: the debt made me wake up and move my butt to pay back the banks and the loans have generally made me feel very good about myself and helped out people who deserved a break. It's one of those 'life lessons' that we have to learn, I suppose.
OK, I'm obviously missing something here (no, Ross, I checked and that's not missing). I'm supposed to be writing 'use case' documents for the reporting track of this project as part of my new role. I have the business requirements document. I have the report outlines. Deadline is a week away and folks are worried the four cases won't be ready in time.
I stick the requirements and outlines together with chewing gum and string, squish them into a template which looks a little different, but basically says the same thing in a standard format... and my 'mentor' (i.e. the chap who's kind enough to show me what I'm supposed to be doing) says they're good to go. The whole process takes about 45 minutes per case.
As I say: I'm obviously missing something here. It's just too easy. Either that, or analysis really is just a pile of BS.
Just sitting here watching Taken and it suddenly occurred to me: what if sites like this one are telling the truth.
Freaky, huh?
This weekend was long: here in France, the 11th November is a public holiday (for Armistice Day, of course - the end of World War I) and the company were kind enough to give us all a 'bridge day' on Monday to make a nice four-day break. Much relaxation and very little productivity were achieved, unless you count getting through a bunch of Hidden and Dangerous 2 missions as 'productive'.
Yesterday, however, I had a big disappointment (no, Ross, not that kind). Things are a bit rough for me at the moment, with work pressure building at an alarming rate, money being stretched a little thin and my own personal problems building to a head like an angry zit. Obviously, I try to handle all of it with characteristic aplomb (despite the internal churning of my overworked brain cell(s) and emotions), but it's not always easy and sometimes things escape my control.
For over ten years, I've been constantly supportive and available to Psycho, in her times of depression, anger, frustration and just about every other emotion. Always being there for her is tough to manage sometimes: when she's aggressive or really down, anxious or scared, j'en prend plein dans la gueule (I get it right in the face, as it were). At times, I am not as understanding as I could be, but I do my best and honestly can't think of a time when I have not been caring and gentle with her (admittedly sometimes after a less favourable immediate reaction).
So yesterday, I was rather aggressive with her on the 'phone. I felt like crap and she asked me the same stupid question twice in a row, when I'd answered her the first time. Add to this the fact that she was only asking because the 'right' answer (which I didn't give her) would work out nicely for her (and not for me) and you can understand that I was not particularly happy. She took it really badly and hung up.
Later in the day, I decided to call her. I wanted to talk with her, to explain why I felt so bad and why I'd been rather aggressive with her, to apologise and to try to rectify things a little. I didn't particularly want her forgiveness, as such, but some understanding of the situation and, I guess, a shoulder to lean on for a wee while. What I got instead was the information that [ton] agressivité me pourrit la vie ('[your] aggressiveness ruins [more literally 'rots'] my life'). When I saw her later in the day, things weren't much better, either.
Considering she was, until yesterday, one of the three remaining humans in whom I actually maintained some form of trust and confidence, I am very disappointed.
Last night, I had a very strange dream indeed. I don't remember a huge amount about it, but the odd thing was that I was snogging an incredibly smart woman, just before I woke up. Smartest woman I've ever known, according to the dream I was having...
So why was this weird? Because, although (as we all know) the people in our dreams generally represent different people in real life, she looked almost exactly like Srah, who I've never, ever met. Cue Twilight Zone music.
Last night I sat and watched the pilot episode of the new TV series, Tarzan. Admittedly, I don't watch a great deal of television but I do enjoy various series. They're sort of a guilty pleasure for me. Friends and Stargate SG-1 are the unmissables, but I'll also try to see Andromeda, Earth: Final Conflict, The Dead Zone, Whoopi, Roswell, Tremors, Futurama, Millenium and a couple of others if they're running. Yes, I know that's a lot of crap to watch, but they're pretty mindless, lots of fun and only last 20-40 minutes per episode which fits nicely into my evenings, given the fact that I have so little time for myself these days.
So how's Tarzan? Well, let's refer to Spike's Recipe Book For Having Your Series Pilot Picked Up By A Major Network, shall we?
Ingredients
1 Paragon of Justice (preferably female)
1 Hunky or Sexy 'Interest' Character (of the opposite sex to the Paragon)
1 Dependable Boy/Girlfriend
1 Partner Who Doesn't Play By The Rules
1 Evil Genius Who Makes Stupid Mistakes
1 Paragon Sibling (opposite in personality to Paragon)
Optional Ingredients
1 small pack of Fortuitous Coincidences
1 giant-sized pack of RBH (Romantic Bullshit Hook™)
3 sachets of Tacky Dramatic Lines
1 pack of Guns
1 pack of Martial Arts
1 pack of Monsters
1 pack of Special Abilities
Method
Start with the Paragon. Peel a couple of layers off (not too many or there will be nothing left for later). Mix immediately with generous quantities of Paragon Sibling and Dependable Boy/Girlfriend. Care should be taken when handling the Sibling to make it cute and likable, preferably a continual whiner who contrasts the Paragon's seemingly staid and boring personality. Dependable Boy/Girlfriend must also be carefully diced so that it seems dull and uninteresting compared to the Interest Character, yet maintains interest and viewer sympathy when pushed aside later.
Separately, take out Interest Character and leave to one side without paying much attention to it for the moment. Ensure hunkiness/sexiness is apparent to anyone observing preparation.
Introduce the Partner to the Paragon/Sibling/Dependable mix. Care should be taken to ensure that the Paragon is placed between the Partner and Dependable Boy/Girlfriend in such a way as to augment RBH™ (if used). Leave to gel.
Once the mix has gelled, introduce Interest Character, liberally sprinkled with large amounts of Fortuitous Coincidences and your choice of Guns, Martial Arts, Special Abilities and/or Monsters. If the finished recipe is intended for inclusion in Prime Time meals, you must include the entire pack of RBH™ and ensure it is pre-mixed with at least one sachet of Tacky Dramatic Lines.
Leave the final mix to simmer on a low-interest heat for at least 30 minutes. If money is not a problem, you can raise the heat by paying for Really Impressive Publicity™.
Yup, it seems to follow that formula quite nicely. I know, I'm a cynic. What can I say? The whole thing just reeked of being carefully constructed for prime time (as it undoubtedly was, of course). There are definitely some positive points: the female lead is actually quite good, personable and attractive without being a bimbo, the male-model Tarzan guy seems physically capable of doing most of what he does, very little wire-fu is used (except for 'inhuman leaping', which is always acceptable) and the style of martial arts used is that wonderful one from Brazil (I believe) based on monkeys.
On the down side, whoever wrote the text really does need some lessons in reality. I know, whoever said reality had anything to do with television, right? Well, not I. Then again, it would be nice to avoid situations such as this one from said pilot episode:
Jane: "We have to get you home [to the Congo]. They think you're dead. This is our only chance!"
Tarzan: "No."
Jane: "Why not?!"
Tarzan: "I don't belong there. I belong here. With you." (Cue Intense Look™)
I mean, come on. I'm weird and have long hair, too, you know. I walk barefoot a lot. OK, so I'm not a male model and I don't save women's lives as they're about to be murdered by beating the crap out of their assailant, but those are just details, dammit! How many people in real life would get away with spouting nonsense like that to the first pretty woman they meet and not being thrown in jail for being a stalker?!
I am so tired that I can hardly think. I don't know how I dragged myself out of bed this morning, how much coffee I will need to keep my eyes open or how I am going to try to get through the mountain of work scheduled for today when I am having trouble typing a few words that make sense. This afternoon's meeting will be an exercise in not closing my eyes.
I want to go home and sleep. Right now.
626 (aka the Scariest of Rosses) and I were chatting this morning, as is our wont. We touched on blogging a little, since we're both techie geek types, and he mentioned a review site he had seen linked from somewhere else. I won't include the name here, because I'm going to be a little mean about it.
One of my part-time, outside-of-work, unpaid jobs is at The Wargamer, where I used to write reviews. These days, with work becoming more hectic and Psycho eating all my spare time, I edit other people's work. Of course, this requires a great deal of concentration: spelling mistakes are easy to spot, particularly with the help of Microsoft Word, but a good knowledge of grammar is essential. Programs can spot potential mistakes in a document, but are still unable to make decisions on, for example, the flow of content within a piece of writing. The Wargamer maintains high standards, too.
Consequently, when I visit other reviewing sites, I'm harsh - particularly with the quality of writing. The way I see it is that one should not be writing reviews about other people's work if one cannot maintain a higher quality level in one's own.
The site 626 and I were discussing this morning is, to be bluntly honest, funny in its naïveté: a small group of apparently teenaged girls write reviews about blogs. The problem is that, in the same breath as criticising a site for using wonderfully ugly internet slang such as "b4" and "u r", the reviewer makes her own blatant errors, including "Im", "but your just" and the truly exceptional sentence "There all there". Quite what the last of those is supposed to mean eludes me.
To avoid misunderstanding, I should point out that I think it's a nicely designed site, is easy to read and has some reasonable commentary. It's also good to see teenaged people trying to write balanced criticism, rather than just spouting crap or verbally destroying everything they can find. They really just need an editor, to improve the quality of writing. I'm sure I could work with half a dozen teenaged girls. Go on, twist my arm.
Today was 'company medical day' for me: here in France, the law stipulates that every full-time employee must go for a medical every year, at the expense of their employer. To be honest, it's a bit of a joke: they ask a bunch of ridiculous questions, such as whether you've been ill in the last year and so on, then do some really basic checks.
"Read this" - OK, I can see.
"Breathe" - yup, lungs still working.
"Try to touch your toes" - yup, spine still there.
After these gruelling tests, they give you a little green piece of paper that says you are 'apte' (capable) for your job. Still, it makes for a nice 30-minute break from work, I suppose.