September 25, 2005
The Song Remembers When
During the summer of 1994 I was already full force into promoting and operating my mobile DJ business. However, every once in a while I still ran into my previous manager, John - a person who was instrumental in getting me out to hundreds of dances for seven years previous. Although we were now competitors in business, we still chatted as friends when we saw each other (it took a few years, but this friendship eventually did die).
On this occasion, I was over at John's house picking up some equipment that he needed to have repaired. In the middle of hauling speakers and amplifiers out of his basement and into my van, he stopped and asked if I knew a Tricia Yearwood tune "The Song Remembers When"...?
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Yes, I vaguely knew that country song, but because it wasn't really a popular tune at dances, I certainly didn't have the lyrics memorized.
"Well," he said, "it's about how just hearing a song can bring back memories."
"Sure, I'll bet we all experience that," I replied.
"Yes, but this song is different". John had a far away look on his face, and I got the feeling that wherever that song usually took him, he was there right then. "This song talks is about remembering a lost love, and imagining what life would be like right now with them instead."
"OK..." I could guess where this was leading, but continued to listen.
"Ever since I heard that song, and listened to the lyrics, it takes me back to a woman that I was dating before I met my wife. Well, now that my marriage is in turmoil, I'm depressed and wondering what life would have been like if I had stayed with her instead. I heard that song on the radio this morning, and again I've been thinking about it all day."
Since I wasn't yet married at that time, I couldn't really sympathize... I know that not all married couples are in wedded bliss, but to have someone talk about their marriage like this in front of me was kind of awkward. I just stood there, waiting for John to ramble on, but he didn't. He just got silent, probably lost in his own daydream.
We finished loading the equipment and I took off shortly thereafter. Of course, the first thing I had to do when I got back to my place was listen to Yearwood's song again:
After taking every detour
Getting lost and losing track
So that even if I wanted
I could not find my way back
After driving out the memory
Of the way things might have been
After I'd forgotten all about us
The song remembers when
It didn't do it for me. I wasn't vaulted back in time like John was. I agreed with him in principle, and certainly a LOT of songs conjure up strong emotions for me, but this wasn't one. Predominandly, the song itself is a connection back to the period of time - you hear the song, and you remember what you were doing when the song came on; simply hearing a new song doesn't usually have the same effect, no matter how well-written it is.
Fast forward ten years to the summer of 2004, and suddenly a song struck me in the same way... Lionel Ritchie, of all artists. Yes, that same guy that had crowds of people pseudo-reggae dancing "All Night Long".
When I first heard "Just For You" on the radio, it's good that I didn't get into a car accident, because my mind certainly wasn't on the road:
Golden days, life was play
Pain was all a world away
We went to school we learned the rules
We trusted all they had to say
Then life took a turn
We had to learn
And we can't go back again
Yes, there it was again - the same feeling that I got when I listened to Supertramp's "The Logical Song", the one that takes me back to being 9 years old and riding a black bike up and down a small crescent in Prince Albert. Except this time it was from a song that I was just hearing for the first time - so I guess it happens.
These days, as ironic as it seems to me, whenever I hear "The Song Remembers When" I am not taken back in time to some lost love of my own. Rather, I'm taken back to 1994, standing by my van on the street in front of John's house, listening to him tell me about his failing marriage.
Posted by Hammer at 11:41 PM | Comments (0)
September 23, 2005
iMovie Made me Switch
I've been using and programming computers since the summer of 1983 (obligatory first computer reference: Commodore VIC-20). During the first decade there was quite a vast array of computers and operating systems; the second decade was pretty much dominated by Microsoft Windows. It wasn't by choice, it was a concession that I made because going through Electrical Engineering in university almost demanded it: having to share files within study groups, using engineering software that would only run on Windows, and cost of hardware on a student budget all weighed as factors.
I'm happy to say that I finally feel back in control. I'm now back to using the computer of my choice.
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Even today as a software developer, some of the most useful and favorite tools at my disposal today still only run on Windows. Therefore it comes as no surprise that up until three weeks ago I was running Windows XP both at work and at home.
One of the better purchase decisions that my wife and I made a few years ago was a digital camcorder. We love video taping our two girls running around the yard or dancing in the living room. I took the camcorder to swimming lessons, mini-golf, weddings and even taped the girls sound asleep using the night shot mode.
From owning both a camcorder and a computer, it follow that I would want to start making home movies and burning DVDs. So I went about collecting all of the pieces that I needed: a video capture card (for importing movies from the old camera), a firewire card, a DVD burner, and video editing software. Throw in a few cables to connect everythingn up, and it looked to me like I had it made. This was all about 18 months ago.
Since the time of amassing all of the items for my movie making, I have had absolutely no success getting things to work. It didn't take long to hook the wires up and see some initial progress, but no way in the last 18 months could I figure out how to take the clips from my camcorder, edit them into a nice movie, add a soundtrack, add a menu and chapters and then burn all of this off to DVD. My computer hated me, and I wasn't liking it too much either.
A month ago, a friend of mine said that he bought a new Mac (one of the sexy G5 all-in-the-flat-display types). I asked if I could borrow his old G3 iMac, since he hadn't sold it yet. He agreed, so later that night I picked it up from him and then set it up in my basement.
When I sat down to try making a movie, I turned on the iMac and then plugged the firewire cable into my camcorder. Voila, iMovie popped open and took me to the import controls. I rewound the tape using iMovie and then told it to import. Fifteen minutes later I had enough footage, so I stopped importing. By this time, iMovie had already split the incoming video into 7 different clips, logically separated into different scenes. That was easy.
I had never used iMovie before, but it was easy to guess that I was supposed to drag these clips somewhere. I picked the first one and dragged it into the blank space below. It stayed there, so I assumed that was a good thing. I dragged the second clip down beside it. So good so far.
Then I wanted a dissolve between these two clips. I saw a button called "Trans", assumed that meant transitions, and clicked it. Yes, that was it - I saw a "cross dissolve" entry there. I dragged that down to in between the two clips, and they (very cutely) moved apart and made room between themselves for the dissolve transition. I continued adding clips and transitions until I had no more to do.
Adding music proved to be just as easy - click the "Audio" button, pick a track, and drag it down by the clips. I found that the song was too long, so I wondered if dragging the trailing edge of the song would shorten it.... yes, that worked, too. Wonderful! After all of the editing was done, I finally clicked the "iDVD" button in the bottom corner, picked a DVD theme, and then told it to burn. Time to go to sleep!
In the morning, I woke up to discover that the DVD had been ejected from the drive. I just couldn't wait - I immediately ran upstairs with it and dropped it into our DVD player. Wow, it worked!
Absolutely everything about iMovie was intuitive, and I loved it. I accomplished more in one night using a Mac than I had in 18 months using Windows. I went the next morning and ordered a Mac mini. Two weeks later it arrived and I gave the Windows machine a new home... far away from my computer desk. :)
Since then I transferred all of our documents over to the Mac, including my wife's Mozilla profile. She didn't mind the switch at all, since using Mozilla to read email and surf the web works about the same on both operating systems. She has found that our photo printer works better and is much easier to print with using iPhoto than any of the ways we tried printing with it on Windows.
So what about the development software that I used to run at home? Well, I stopped! I decided to work less from home. I can't say that I don't do any work at home now, but I certainly do a lot less. I'm pretty sure that this is good for me - what a strange side benefit to switching back to a Mac!
Posted by Hammer at 10:48 PM | Comments (0)
September 22, 2005
The Password Lady is Really Annoying
Sometimes I think I hate technology. Then, I think about it for a while (after the rage has worn off) and I realise that - YET AGAIN - I hate the people behind the technology. The designers, the programmers, the marketing people - some or all of them at once.
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I saw from the incessantly blinking red light on my "state of the art IP phone" that I had voicemail. Actually, I've had voicemail for at least a day, and I was finally finding the time to retrieve it. So I picked up the receiver, punched the voicemail button, and typed in my phone password.
You're probably already guessing that I didn't arrive at my voicemail inbox.
Instead, I was greeted by a sickly saccharine voice: "Your password has expired. You must change your password now." Oh, great - again? I haven't had this phone for even a year and this is at least the second (third?) time I'm being forced to change my password. Fine.
Then the Password Lady continues.... "a password protects the privacy of your messages. Your password must be at least 6 digits long. Use a password that is easy to remember, but hard for others to guess. For extra security, you will occasionally be asked to change your password."
Wow, that was a lot to get out - I was just starting to think about what my new password might be and she just cut into my thought process! No matter, I think I got all of that.... my takeaway was that there was no restrictions on my password other than it must be 6 digits long.
I think I'm pretty good at remembering sequences of numbers. One time I walked into an insurance agent's office to renew my license. Unfortunately, I had forgotten my wallet. So I sheepishly asked the clerk if I had to have my license present to renew it. "Well, I guess not - but if you don't have any other ID with you, then how can I bring up your record on the computer?" "No problem... my drivers license number is xxxxxxxx" She stared at me, astonished, and then punched the numbers in as I rattled off a bunch of personal information like my date of birth, address and S.I.N. Then I turned to my friend and asked to borrow $25 (he was smart enough to remember his wallet). She took the money and gave me my new license, all the while never managing to conceal her surprise.
I also recall that back in grade nine I memorized PI to 100 decimal places, just because I was bored in math class. Hmm, let's see... 3.141592653589793238462643383 ... that's all I remember now, twenty years later. Maybe I am slipping a little.
The Password Lady, oblivious to my internal thought process, chimes in again: "Enter your new password followed by pound. For help, press zero."
Now I said that I was good at remembering sequences of numbers, I didn't say that I enjoyed having to change them. I purposely re-use three or four different telephone voicemail passwords, and I think that having to change them is absolutely stupid. This isn't a public location where Bad Person Bob is staring over my shoulder trying to learn my bank PIN. No, this is my office (cubicle) with four walls around me and nobody standing behind me. Forcing me to change my password just annoys me, it does NOT increase the privacy of my messages. These passwords that I choose to use are "good" for me because (1) I don't use them for anything else, (2) they aren't based on my address or phone number or any other identifier, and (3) I can remember them. I have been remembering the set of them for 7 years now (my passwords predate this new IP phone system by quite a few years).
Oblivious to the impending danger, I proceed to type in a 6 digit number, different than my current 6 digit number (because even though I wasn't informed as such, I'm guessing it wouldn't let me set it to the current one). Then the Password Lady comes back with the worst possible response: "invalid password. Please try again."
Say what?
Thinking that I had not heard her correctly, I punch the same (new) 6 digit number in again. No, I had definitely heard her correctly: "invalid password".
Here is where I got really mad at Password Lady. I started punching keys like crazy, in rapid succession to what I thought should be the change password process steps, and it got me nowhere. I slammed down the receiver and started to vent my frustration to my co-workers, who were now just laughing at me.
After I grabbed a coffee and calmed down a bit, I dialed into my voicemail again and I played stupid user: I waited until Password Lady was completely done speaking before typing anything in at all. I listened intently. I followed directions explicitly. I tried a completely DIFFERENT 6 digit number this time.
"Invalid password."
That's two new ones gone. But I don't give up. I try yet a THIRD new password (I have four in total that I use, this is my last chance)...
"Invalid password."
Wow, does this ever suck. There have to be some unexplained rules to what constitutes a valid password, and I have no idea what they are. I hang up and try agin. This time, I punch in "111111", expecting that this has to be the worst password anyone can think of and it has got to be rejected.
"You have successfully changed your password. Main menu..."
Unbelievable. The system likes this horrible password, but won't let me use my "good" passwords. This is increased security? I mean if anyone ever were to be gazing over my shoulder, you would think that hitting the "1" key six times in a row is pretty easy for them to pick up on.
The only logical conclusion for me is that this new system remembers all of my previous passwords and stops me from recycling them in an effort to "enhance" security. So here are my questions to the designers of this system:
1. If you are going to prevent users from recycling "x" passwords in their password history, why don't you tell them BEFORE they try to change their password?
2. Why don't you let users know WHY the password update failed, instead of just "invalid password"?
3. Do you really think that requiring users to change their passwords in your schedule is going to increase security?
To answer #3 myself, I say "no, it doesn't". Allowing users to change their passwords when they wish is a good thing. But forcing them to change it on a schedule is foolish, and it leads to the situation at my wife's place of employment: since passwords there must be updated monthly, people append the number of the month to their password. If my wife's base password was "money", then in January she would set it to "money1", and in February to "money2", and so on. She says that this practice is quite common as users share this scheme with each other. So in effect, these users never change their password... it's just their base password plus some known and calculable value.
By the way, I think I may have solved my problem with Password Lady... I sent an email requesting that voicemail be turned off for my telephone. :)
Posted by Hammer at 10:08 AM | Comments (0)
Everyone's a Winner
February 2005 and it's nearing the end of curling season. I get a phone call just after supper, asking if I'll spare on a mixed team for a game later that night. No problem!
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After supper I start getting mentaly prepared for the game and by the time I hit the rink at 8:30 I'm more than ready to go. I meet up with the team for which I'm sparing - or at least with the first two of them, a husband and wife. I look around... there should be three people. I ask "who is the skip?" The reply: "he's not here yet". Hmm, that's odd, since game play starts in 5 minutes.
The person at the front desk hollers over to the woman on our team "oh, your skip called, and he can't make it tonight". Even more strange. Since we don't have time to pick up a second spare, we decide to play with three.
We get out on the ice and the husband asks "will you skip tonight?" Oh boy. I'm normally a lead or second - in fact, those are the ONLY positions that I've ever played. And oh yes, this is my first season of curling. "We are just learning to curl," he says, "and neither of us is comfortable being skip." The only thing that came out of my mouth was "OK", even though I was trying to think of any kind of reason why I shouldn't be the skip either. But the looks on their faces - well, it was almost fear, and I just couldn't say no.
We tossed the coin and lost, so the other team had hammer. The first six rocks of ours (thrown by the husband and wife team) all ended up short. The front of the house was just a mess. Unfortunately, the second for the opposition had managed to get one on the button during her first shot, so in total we had about nine guards in front of one lonely opposition rock.
When it was my turn to throw, I patiently looked at our second while he and his wife chatted down near the hack. After a while I called out to him "are you coming?" He looked a little confused. "You have to hold the broom for me!". "Oh, OK". I called a raise on one of our guards, and showed him where I wanted the broom for proper ice.
I sat down in the hack, concentrated, and then delivered a near-perfect raise... the raised stone bumped their counter back, and now we were sitting shot behind that massive wall of guards. And that's the way it stayed for the next three rocks, so that we ended up stealing one.
The second end was almost a repeat of the first - this time I called for heavier weights so that we shouldn't have had so much junk in front. But by the time it came to my first shot, again the opposition was sitting with one near the button. This time, it was behind three of our guards and one of theirs, but there was a rock-and-a-half port that I could see to get to shot rock. I again called the second to hold the broom, and gave ice for a nice chap and lie.
As I set about to deliver the rock, I wasn't paying attention to where our lead was... I just assumed she was watching the game and knew exactly when she might be needed. Bad assumption. I slid out, released the rock, and then realised that NOBODY was there to call on for sweeping. Looking around I saw that the lead was standing at the sideline, talking with two of the opposition players.
I stood up and asked, "did you just assume that I was going to deliver that rock perfectly, and it wouldn't need sweeping?" She and I both looked down the sheet and followed the rock as it sailed gracefully through the port, tapped the corner of the shot stone to send it back, and then slowly rolled behind cover. She looked at me and said "see, it didn't need it!"
This lax attitude toward play continued, but I stayed sharp. Oh boy was I on my game! After stealing for three ends in a row we were up 4 to 0.
Then, going into the fourth end, standing down in the house and holding the broom for our lead, it struck me. These people were not here to win. They didn't care. They were out to socialize with their friends - the opposing team! They were doing way more talking than playing. And I actually think that I was decreasing their enjoyment of the game, as my teammates didn't appear to enjoy beating their friends by an ever-increasing margin.
So I did what I thought was best... I started throwing the game. When it came time to make my shots, I gave myself the proper ice but I purposely did not hit the broom. I ended up "just missing" a few key shots, which of course drew a few "oh, too bad" remarks. I was missing in such a way that it did not look obvious at all.
By the end of six ends, we were now tied 4 to 4. Then, the opposing skip asked if we could be done the game. I looked around and it was obvious that everyone but me didn't care if they were on the ice or off, they just wanted to talk. And actually off the ice might be better, since it would afford some beverages. We all shook hands and agreed to end the game "tied".
So I re-learned that "winning isn't everything". I thought that I had that one down pat from grade school, but decades later it appears not. Everybody wants different things from plying sports, and that night our team's goal was different than my personal goal.
Strangely enough, it was still rewarding to me to see how close I could come to making a shot without actually making it. That can be hard to do.
Posted by Hammer at 12:44 AM | Comments (2)
The Rainbow Connection
It was around October 1988, and a friend of mine was spinning tunes at a local bar (which has since vanished from 8th St Saskatoon and turned into a restaurant). The bar had just changed hands and the new owner was looking for ways to draw a university crowd.
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My DJ friend, Kelly, talked with the owner and said that I was attending university, so why not take advantage of this? The owner laid out a decent deal: if I brought in at least ten friends, then we would each get one free shooter.
Deal!
Over the course of that week I talked with other people in my residence and we all thought this was a good idea. Why not. I was doing my part, advertising for the bar and helping my friend.
Friday night came along and we all knew the plan. Or, at least part of it - the free drinks part. The part that we weren't told was that the bar owner was kind of expecting that we would then stay around and buy more drinks, thereby making him an overall profit by the end of the night. Kind of obvious in retrospect, but we didn't think of it.
So we primed (drank in our residence rooms) like it was going out of style. There were only two women (two of the guys' girlfriends) and they stayed sober so they could be the drivers.
So far this sounds like too many other university drinking stories - no, that's not the point.
After a few hours of priming about 12 of us ended up at the bar. The owner was pretty happy to see us, and sure enough he delivered through on his end of the deal. Except, the shooters he sent with the waitress were absolutely horrible. I think he had already figured out that most of us were too drunk to care.
We downed the shots, and then we all got out on the dance floor. One of my friends requested "The Rainbow Connection" (you know, the song from that Muppet movie). Damned if my friend Kelly the DJ didn't pull the song out and actually played it.
So there we were: 10 guys and 2 women, most of us barely able to stand up, all in a circle swaying side to side as Kermit the Frog belts out the song. Ouch. If that didn't convince all the other bar patrons to stay the hell away from that place, I don't know what else would.
The bar owner asked us to leave, and please don't come back. We just laughed as we stumbled into the cars and the (still pretty sober) women drove us back to the residence.
Posted by Hammer at 12:10 AM