Category: Miscellany

Somewhere, Out There

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October 27, 2010

12:18 pm

5 Comments on Somewhere, Out There

Life, Miscellany

Woodlands Road 89

And even though I know how very far apart we are,
It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star…

Okay, so it’s not a star, but we had the rare clear sky with the full moon this past week, and were overjoyed to see that familiar face. We’ve had quite an unexpected cold snap here. Our friends in the Borders are bewailing the half inch of ice on the wheelbarrow as they’ve just finished planting their umpteen thousand bulbs (their yard will be a sight come Spring) and D. briefly succumbed to some sort of four day sinus infection/bronchial/fever thing. It’s the sign from the universe to step away from the sugar and start piling on the oranges. (Ooh! Clementine pie! Oh, wait…)

The wind is whipping, and noses are dripping, and the Dark Night of the Soul which will go on until, oh, say March, has begun… which means it’s past time to begin rehearsing for the big Christmas shows. The City Chorus, who we were just told were highlighted on Songs of Praise this past June (that’s a BBC One Sunday a.m. television/radio hymn show, which holds the distinction of being the longest-running show in the world. It started in 1961.) puts on two big theater shows downtown during the holidays, and does matinee shows, so people can duck in from shopping, refresh themselves, and hurl themselves back into the fray. The choir whittles its main group 250-ish down to fifty voices, and D. has been begged to sing, as tenors are a vanishingly small section, as opposed to the common-on-the-ground sopranos.

“There’s never enough time to rehearse,” Director Nearly Knighted informed us, then handed us a thirty page sheaf of German carols (with harp accompaniment!) and some traditional pieces from the Oxford Book of Carols.

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Christmas music just couldn’t be easy, could it?

If anyone’s familiar with the Oxford book, it’s got carols in there, all right – with alternate tunes from the ones Americans grow up singing. And it’s got descants, of course. So, while the Christmas songs will be old standards to everyone else, we’ll be sight-reading and hoping to keep up. This two weeks after our first big concert the 20th of November, of course. Happy Holidaze. Still, since we’re not flying back to the States for Christmas, it’s something to keep us occupied. Plus, the biggest positive is that with so much wildly unfamiliar music, we won’t be sick to death of hearing Christmas songs before it’s time. Bonus!

That being said, the lights are going up in George Square – definitely before time. We walked past them last night, and our friend L. tried to reassure us — “Well, they’re not actually lit yet…” No. And again, we remind ourselves: No Thanksgiving here. They’re perfectly justified to have the Christmas season start the third of November.

Okay, ALMOST perfectly justified. ::sigh::

Meanwhile, T. has bumped into an opportunity for a book review. The usual question from many new acquaintances is “What brings you to Scotland?” and after the explanation, “So, what do you do all day?” and generally once T. mentions writing, people make noises like, “Oh, I wanted to write a book,” or, “Oh, my so-and-so is a writer,” and polite discourse concludes. This time, the script changed. A. asked, “Have you been featured in The List yet?” Well, no, T. hasn’t been featured there. It’s a Scottish publication for the arts – bands, operas, film, shows, books, gallery openings – which produces the Edinburgh Festival Guide every year, and is basically not something she ever thought to appear in, as her book is published in the U.S. However, since A. knows someone who writes for them, and since the battalion in the book land briefly in Glasgow, this is Of Interest.

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T. is instructed to bring her books to choir next week (good thing her editor gave her a few for promotional purposes), sign and sell them (Amazon UK appears to be too slow for her new fans) and a copy will be passed along for a review. Since the UK has a lot of historians who are keen on WWII, she hopes it will meet with approval. She’s also a little rattled to have so many people all peering at her, as A. practically stood on a chair and announced to the entire soprano section that, “We have an author in our midst!”

It’s good to have fiends, uh, friends out there, and we’re grateful for you, too.

Busy, busy

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October 20, 2010

10:47 am

1 Comment on Busy, busy

Miscellany

Just a quick post to say, “Na thoir breith do bhò a dhuine!” Or, “Don’t have a cow, man!”

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It’s the beginning of the school year, things are getting a bit more busy, so there hasn’t been much time for taking pictures & writing anything other than for the PhD. We’ll find some balance in there somewhere, some day soon.

-D

Quotes of the Day

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August 15, 2010

9:02 am

4 Comments on Quotes of the Day

Miscellany

Dundee 262 HDR

Two notable quotes of the morning:

Gravity is just so insistent!
-T

There is never an appropriate time to sing a Veggie-Tales song. EVER!
-D

We’ll be off to visit See Woo, for our bi-monthly restocking of Asian delicacies (edamame, curry paste, interesting veggie-meats, tofu) in just a few minutes (they don’t open until 9:30). We’re hopelessly addicted to edamame, and had the last bag yesterday, so it’s definitely time to restock!

Enjoy your Sunday!

-D&T

be happy in your head

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August 7, 2010

11:19 am

3 Comments on be happy in your head

Life, Miscellany


by Canadian poet Tanya Davis ©2009

There is a young adult author who a couple of months ago started a book promotion asking authors and others to Tweet what they’d say to their thirteen-year-old selves, if they could pick up the phone and call them. It was clever and a lot of people started thinking of what they might say… we think we would leave this poem somewhere for our former selves to see.

Even now, there’s a feeling of guilt that comes to those who realize they prefer to stand at the edge of the room, at the back of the crowd, in the stacks at the library where no one can see them. Introverts might love people in general — and specific people as well, but also want to close themselves in a room with only a single window and a chair some days. It is a gift not to be worried by this, and to learn to seek time to oneself in order to breathe.

Solitude, in its myriad forms, is highly underrated.

Tha’s Some Evil Wee Beasties

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August 4, 2010

6:28 pm

5 Comments on Tha’s Some Evil Wee Beasties

Critters, Miscellany, Photography

Ah, swans.

We have the fairytale — the birds of great strength, elegance, grace, and beauty, with twenty-three neck vertebrae arching into that classic curve. We have the ballet. The mythology. And then, we have The Truth:

Their wings can break a grown man’s arm, they hiss, chase, and bite, crushing fingers, and drawing blood. Beautiful as they are, these things are a nasty piece of work.

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We discussed it, and concluded: we’d both rather take on a goose, and D. has had experience with a goose attack. But here, since all swans belong to the Crown, we couldn’t even really kick one if we had to — the rowers at Cambridge who were assaulted last summer by “Mr. Asbo” and are continuing to be pecked, smacked, and bloodied have no recourse but to paddle really fast, and beg the queen for help. Which is just — wow. Quite something. (Who knew the Brits could be such good, obedient subjects? Guess no one wants to risk the public flogging handed down as sentence for anyone who messes with HRH’s birds.)

This is a Mama Pen, Papa Cob, and all ten of their cygnets. It’s hard to believe, but this photo was shot from a train, as we went over a small bridge on the River Tay. And just look at them — all fuzzy and dark, not a one of them a misplaced duckling… from this distance, don’t they look cute?

But YOU know better.

Here are some swan facts for those of a turn of mind to know their enemies. ::cough:: Um, we mean, find out more about the stories, history, and lore of this gorgeous bird. Yeah, that’s what we meant.

Are You Working in an Oppressive Corporation?

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July 7, 2010

8:07 pm

1 Comment on Are You Working in an Oppressive Corporation?

Miscellany

Finnieston 147

Firewalls. Proxy Servers. They’re there to keep you safe, right? And to keep the bad guys from ruining the corporate network? Really? Hmm. Let’s think about that for a minute.

Are there websites which come up as blocked when you try to visit them? I know that, for me, when I’m at work there are. I’m told that they’re blocked for “adult content,” or for “dating,” or for “social networking,” or for “malicious software.” That last one gets me quite often, because programmers and hackers are often trying to accomplish some of the same things: send emails, manipulate the registry, change files on disk, etc. I’m “protected” from the sites of hackers, so have to go elsewhere to find the answers to my legitimate programming questions. Because the solutions are provided by hackers … means they’re somehow unsafe?

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I run a safe (Firefox) browser, believe me: it annoys ME how many times I have to explain to RefControl, NoScript, RequestPolicy, and/or FlashBlock that I really do want to allow a site to run some script, or display some content from a site that’s different than the site I’m visiting, or to see a Flash video (in the case of RefControl, though, I haven’t had to say much except, “don’t tell the stupid site where I found them, because they don’t need to know!”).

London D 31

Am I immune to viruses or malware? No: Conficker got onto my work computer and it’s still having a few echoes of that trauma. But I’m not an idiot, either, which is why I’m wondering: is blocking me from all of these “harmful” things a method of social control rather than something which protects the organization? I believe that the case for proxy servers acting as “protection” may have recently been blurred, by the idiot idea that “chat” is a valid reason to block a site. Yes, that’s right: sites which exist for the sole purpose of “chat” are now blocked where I’m consulting.

Why? Well, ScanSafe says that chat is unproductive, and that some huge percentage of the traffic they’ve successfully killed has to do with chat.

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Yes, you heard correctly: typing a message into a chat window takes up time. Time which would otherwise be spent getting up from one’s desk, walking around a dozen cubicles, and asking a question which could have been typed out in 15 seconds. Or, you know, time which could be spent sending a text message of, “do I need to go to the grocery store on the way home,” with all of the elaborate hoops it takes to get the phone to do such a thing, rather than taking the 5 seconds to ask the question, and the 10 seconds in response.

I realize that I’m inordinately attached to chatting: I’ve spent the last 15 years with a chat window open, of some sort or other. True, the first 2 of those 15 years was with Windows Messenger, asking questions of the other accountants. Those were the dark, old days of chat, when you had to be on the same network, and nobody much had a web browser. Yes: those days. Since about 1997, though, I’ve had a chat window up which could connect to T., and have asked and answered hundreds of simple questions such as, “where did you put my wallet when you unpacked the luggage?” Those questions which take no time whatsoever to answer (“In your computer bag, sorry, I didn’t think you had anything important in it.”) in chat, but which would require a phone call or a text message to answer otherwise.

Finnieston 154

So, for over a dozen years I’ve had an always-on connection to home, and perhaps a few coworkers. This week, that connection was ended interrupted by ScanSafe.

My solution? Well, I could have installed some chat software on our ISP (and thought very hard about doing just that). But, rather than go down that route, I went with EFF’s TOR, coupled with a portable version of Firefox browser. This has the added benefit of anonymizing my communication, by routing it through a very twisty path. It also lets me chat with T. and with one of the other programmers, both things which I would not willingly do without.

Woodlands Road 25

If you work in an oppressive corporation, consider downloading one of the bundles. Yes, your work owns your computer. It does not own you. If you’re unproductive, I would hope that somebody would notice. If, however, you’re more productive by bypassing their idiotic “security” measures? Good for you, and I truly hope that you can make it work.

-D

P.S.: An added benefit, of course, is that you could check your FaceHook while at work, if you’re silly enough to still have an account.

P.P.S: I bet the network admin is going crazy, looking at my traffic: just about all of my connections have been over secure connections (HTTPS), even my searches (with Ixquick). So, I’m not leaving him much of an idea of what I’m doing on the web. Surveillance? Yeah: evil stuff. Let’s see how long it takes him to work up the nerve to ask me what it is I’m doing, not letting him spy on me.

The Cat’s Mother, the Stoner’s Dog: More Conversations With “Huh?”

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June 24, 2010

8:44 pm

4 Comments on The Cat’s Mother, the Stoner’s Dog: More Conversations With “Huh?”

Glasgow, Miscellany

“He” and “she” in Glasgow simply do not dwell; who sayeth “She” might call the kitty’s mother just as well…

Kelvingrove Park Flower 065

This is “the cat.”

Apparently the cat is a “she.”

Oh, let us explain: It was one of those surreal work conversations D. often has, when his boss is tense. (D’s boss was tense this time because D. was leaving the office, and will be letting T. hide behind him in D.C. for a week — and his boss really hates it when D. leaves because D. makes Said Boss look good, and Said Boss is rendered clueless without him. :cough:) Standing at his administrative assistant’s desk, D’s boss asked for the nth time, “Do we have your contact numbers?” D. nodded to the administrative assistant and said, “Yes, she has them.”

To which the secretary sputtered, “She? She’s the cat’s mother!”

At which point the needle skittered across the record and everything stopped. “What?!” D. asked.

“She is the cat’s mother,” the woman repeated impatiently.

D. shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “Not getting it.”

D’s boss then took great pride in explaining to him that saying “he” or “she” is rude and that D. shouldn’t use those words.

Sadly, neither Boss nor Admin could tell him how the cat fit in there, or why.

“It’s just not done here,” was the best answer he got.

Okay, let’s take a brief detour. Many students in the Olden Days of American Education learned little rhyming phrases like, “I before E, except after C, or when sounding an A as in ‘neighbor’ and ‘weigh,'” and, I discovered recently, many of them were not told what the heck that meant. (It’s also an anCIEnt, unsCIEntific, ineffiCIEnt, insuffiCIEnt and defiCIEnt rule, to which there are at least a hundred or more exceptions.) To your adult mind now, the spelling rule is kind of self-explanatory, but imagine you learned this when you were nine, okay? Not a lot of clue at that point for some. Now, let’s jump to Glasgow’s citizens, at the same age. Apparently, they were scolded — by their elders — about referring to their parents as “he” or “she” instead of as Mother Dear and Father Dearest. “She” is such a careless phrase, when referencing the woman who birthed you. Why, you could be calling the cat, with that “she!”

(Actually? NOT REALLY. Especially not if the person to whom you refer is IN THE CONVERSATION RIGHT WITH YOU, but WHATEVER.)

Said Boss and Admin have carried from childhood the rule about not using “he” and “she” without knowing when that usage is rude, and now simply eschew all pronouns, apparently. It’s kind of funny, but kind of bizarre as well.

Perhaps the admin simply “disna have a Scooby.”

Are you feeling the need to say, “What?!” here? D. did. On his business trip down to Southampton this week, D’s coworker was grumping about the client, and claimed that they didn’t have a scooby. After a bit of questioning, the coworker decoded. Scooby is a short for Scooby Doo, the supremely stupid and annoying semi-talking dog from that horrific 60’s/70’s cartoon. A Scooby is Glasgow’s version of the Cockney rhyming slang. Scooby Doo… is a clue. So, the boss doesn’t have a clue.

So, now we have a cat, and a stoner’s dog.

Yeah, we’re feeling the lack of a scooby at this point, too.

Well, we’re off. Next dispatch will be from our hotel in balmy (95°F/35°C) downtown Washington D.C., which should be interesting. Stay tuned.

Lynedoch Crescent D 391