When
· Naughties
· · 2005
· · · December
· · · · 31 (3 entries)
Pictures of Not Much · I’ve used “prognosticator” as a veiled insult, just because it sounds so nasty. Last year I played that game though, in a post with a title like this one’s; now it’s a quiet New Year’s Eve (we’re tired and have a big day tomorrow), so why not consider last year the start of a tradition? So let’s look back and see how I did last year, then try again. And again toss in some pretty pictures of not much ...
My Cut-and-Paste Tech Year · This meme’s been sloshing around since early December, which seems too early to me. Herewith my year in 12 cut-and-paste sentences, all about technology. (For the rest of life, see here.)
January: What am I doing categories for? What is anybody doing categories for? What is everybody doing categories for? February: Chat and wikis are not exactly what the collaborative-future visionaries of past years had in mind. But they seem to hit an awfully-big 80/20 point. March: Java is boring. April: This discussion is too important to be left to the batshit license loonies. May: Whether or not you really think Harmony is worth doing, you have to like people who are hurling themselves at big tough problems, and not in the interests of getting rich. June: It’s a lot cheaper and more tractable (and power-efficient) to double the number of threads than to double the clock rate. July: The kinds of people who want to put stupid, irrelevant, badly-written junk in the Wikipedia in my experience are easily discouraged. August: All the software fashion slaves will tell you: down on the plantation, Massa’s new missus is a far-Eastern belle named Ruby. September: Those who know what
January: What am I doing categories for? What is anybody doing categories for? What is everybody doing categories for? February: Chat and wikis are not exactly what the collaborative-future visionaries of past years had in mind. But they seem to hit an awfully-big 80/20 point. March: Java is boring. April: This discussion is too important to be left to the batshit license loonies. May: Whether or not you really think Harmony is worth doing, you have to like people who are hurling themselves at big tough problems, and not in the interests of getting rich. June: It’s a lot cheaper and more tractable (and power-efficient) to double the number of threads than to double the clock rate. July: The kinds of people who want to put stupid, irrelevant, badly-written junk in the Wikipedia in my experience are easily discouraged. August: All the software fashion slaves will tell you: down on the plantation, Massa’s new missus is a far-Eastern belle named Ruby. September: Those who know what
curl is are probably snickering now. October: “We’re doin’ our best, Cap’n... Aaaaaaaaagh!” November: 8. There is no Step 8. That’s all there is to it. December: Software of the future will be Open Source, will have a sophisticated and smart user interface, will take responsibility for making sure it’s up to date, and will meet essential human needs. My Cut-and-Paste Untech Year · This meme’s been sloshing around since early December, which seems too early to me. Herewith my year in 12 cut-and-paste sentences, none about technology. (For the tech year, see here.)
January: The children run wild in a universe entirely occupied by snowballs, sleds, snow forts, and of course snow people. February: The food is excellent, the goats are charming, the view is good, the air on the mountainside is a pleasure to breathe, and the motto is Da’ Feta Mo’ Betta; what’s not to like? March: In the fashion-boutique windows, flirty little wisps of flowered fabric, summer skirts and halters, are sad in the wet grey light; I suppose lots more languish unworn in closets and drawers all over town. April: You can pretend that a lifestyle where you drive everywhere is OK, but it’s not free, it’s not even cheap. May: So how about that barista with the hammer and sickle? June: We may not be able to save the world, but maybe we can save one brave woman. July: The streets are thronged with the youth of Europe, and a pretty scruffy lot they are, too. August: Hey New Orleans: when you get yourself back together, I’ll come down and spend a bunch of money on booze and music, that’s a promise. September: We, the devotees of the Church of Baseball, howled as one in sorrow, then relaxed and remembered our beers and so on. October: The medley of Slovenian folk-songs and Deep Purple hits went on till 2AM. November: But slow is OK, because time is what he has, no end of it; and when you’re my age that time rushes by, fast and unceasing like a spring flood. December: She handed over the coffee and giggled at me: “It’s a bum!”
January: The children run wild in a universe entirely occupied by snowballs, sleds, snow forts, and of course snow people. February: The food is excellent, the goats are charming, the view is good, the air on the mountainside is a pleasure to breathe, and the motto is Da’ Feta Mo’ Betta; what’s not to like? March: In the fashion-boutique windows, flirty little wisps of flowered fabric, summer skirts and halters, are sad in the wet grey light; I suppose lots more languish unworn in closets and drawers all over town. April: You can pretend that a lifestyle where you drive everywhere is OK, but it’s not free, it’s not even cheap. May: So how about that barista with the hammer and sickle? June: We may not be able to save the world, but maybe we can save one brave woman. July: The streets are thronged with the youth of Europe, and a pretty scruffy lot they are, too. August: Hey New Orleans: when you get yourself back together, I’ll come down and spend a bunch of money on booze and music, that’s a promise. September: We, the devotees of the Church of Baseball, howled as one in sorrow, then relaxed and remembered our beers and so on. October: The medley of Slovenian folk-songs and Deep Purple hits went on till 2AM. November: But slow is OK, because time is what he has, no end of it; and when you’re my age that time rushes by, fast and unceasing like a spring flood. December: She handed over the coffee and giggled at me: “It’s a bum!”
