I averted transmogrification:

This week I was in the field again, adding features at the last minute to the software for a plane. One of the things I got working at the last minute was quite abstruse, but very important to our customer. I didn't know this, but it was so important that he had his own people come up with a backup plan, in case I failed. The back up plan was a lot more abstruse, so he really hoped I would succeed.

One of the customer's managers had to track the progress of all the many tasks coming together this month. He complained that he needed a name for the more abstruse back up plan. My main customer contact said, “Call it 'transmogrify'.” And so they did. I saw task lists reporting progress, but I had no idea what 'transmogrify' referred to.

When I got my own abstruse software working, they breathed a sigh of relief and killed the 'transmogrify ' task. That's when I found out about it. Yes! I had averted transmogrification.

What could go wrong?

Many hotels today require plastic keycards with magnetic strips to open your room door. They often give you a “Do not disturb” card that you can stick into the same card slot. No one on the hotel staff can possibly ignore this sign and open your door, because they would have to take the card out first, to unlock the door. It's a perfect “Do not disturb sign”, and if you use it, nothing can go wrong.
Almost.
One day this week I came back to my hotel room, removed the “Do not disturb” card, unlocked the door, put the card back in the door and entered my room. I locked the extra inside lock and felt perfectly safe.
Until.
Until I noticed that I was still holding the “Do not disturb” card in my hand. Where was my plastic room keycard? It was outside the room, stuck in the door slot, just waiting for someone else to use it.

Precision Cruise control:

February first, 2005, I blogged about driving 110 miles with Cruise Control, only because my back hurt too much for me to press the brake pedal. On that trip I developed an unfortunate taste for Precision Cruise Control driving.

I believe the goals of Cruise Control are to relax the driver, make driving easier, and make it easy NOT to speed. On modern cars, I suspect that Cruise Control is also the most efficient way to burn gas. The key to meeting all these goals is that you sit back and let the car do its stuff, always ready to scream awake and hit the brake pedal.

However, my tendency is to adjust my speed constantly, up and down just a few mph to adjust to each hill and passing opportunity. I feel like a virtuoso on a musical instrument, but I don't believe for a moment that what I'm doing is relaxing. Please excuse me while I gradually pass that truck …

No Maid Service!

Last week I drove again to Virginia for some field testing. Most of the hotels where I usually stay were full, so I stayed at a Candlewood Suites place. Candelwood caters to people who need to say relatively long periods of time. They give you a useable kitchen, but they do not serve breakfast. They have a few nice amenities, most of which were not useful for me. Nonetheless, I really enjoyed my stay there, so much that I had to figure out why.

I think the dealmaker is that they have no daily maid service. You can always empty a trash basket or get new towels. And they will give you new linen and clean your room each week. I entered my room, laid my stuff out the way I wanted it, and never worried that someone, in the process of cleaning up, would move my stuff about. Almost like home!

The PMS keyboard:

If you have very limited space for a computer user, you give him a chair, a foldaway screen, and a keyboard that includes a trackball. (There's no place to put a separate mouse.) The project I'm working on has several such keyboards. I won't name the manufacturer - I don't even know who it is. Many people call these the "PMS keyboards."

Now that title has nothing to do with the keyboards' moods. In fact, each keyboard acts like a reliable hunk, having no personality at all. But if there's no room for the mouse, where do the mouse keys go? There are three independent sets of them on this keyboard, big black keys with the white captions P, M, S.

I will not speculate about who thought up these captions and why. I'll just tell you what they mean, and why that's silly. The letters stand for:
Primary, Middle, Secondary. The default Windows setting is that "Primary" is the "left mouse" button. I think that the key names are very un-Windowish, because windows allows you to reverse the meaning of the keys if you're, say, a lefty, in which case "Primary" becomes the right mouse button. The engineers of these keyboards provided their own solution for lefties: a copy of these keys on the left side laid out in this order: S, M, P.

Little Blue Lights on Disk Drives:

If you need to move billions of bytes of data a short distance, the best way to do it is to pick the data up and carry it. No network can compete with short distance hand-carrying, also called “sneaker net”, for such speed.

When the plane I'm working on lands after a test flight, some of its removable disk drives have billions of bytes waiting to be analyzed. One computer has more than a dozen removable disk drives, each of immense capacity. Each drive has a little blue LED on it that flickers when data is being written to the drive.

One night last week the plane landed, and the usual people were not there to remove the appropriate data. Three people crouched over the computer and tried to figure out which drives to remove. They did this by running the same program again, that had written data during the flight, to see which drives it was using.
“I think that light flickered!”
“Nah, maybe that one. Run the program again!”
After awhile they formed a consensus and yanked a few drives. I thought it was quite amusing that a plane with cameras that can “see” in the dark, ended its flight depending on the vague visual inspection of its engineers, but they didn't think this exercise was funny at all.

XM Radio Humor:

Last week I rented a car that had XM digital radio. Driving down to Virginia, I listened to six hours of non-stop standup on channel 150. On the way home, the genre was starting to pall. I switched often among three humor channels -- 150, 151 and 153 – to stay entertained.

Channels 150 and 153 featured uncensored comedy, focusing mostly on recent comics. Channel 151 is “family entertainment” with many clips from long-established and dead comedians. 151 was clearly the funnier channel, not surprising when you have the pick of the best of fifty years instead of the unwinnowed present to play. An old-time comedian named Myron Cohen did a remarkable piece on 151.

I have a great interest in standup, and how it is done. I was pleased that I recognized many of the comics’ voices, and a good thing too, because my XM car radio had a lousy user interface. At the beginning of each routine it briefly displayed the comedian’s name. If you got interested later, it was too late to check. And when I got home, I found no playlists on the XM website to help me figure out whom I had heard.

I enjoyed one comedian named Larry the. (My radio displayed only ten characters, and the programmer apparently never heard of a marquee-style scrolling text display.) Larry had a mellifluous voice, nice timing, and, some original material.

On the way home, XM may have lost a satellite. I often heard five seconds of hissss, and as you can imagine, when a hiss replaces the punchline, life gets pretty frustrating. I would like to have XM radio humor in my life, and I know I’d manage not to listen to it all the time.

My fifth letter in the New York Times:

I just got my fifth letter published in the NYT. The fun part is that they have been published in five different sections, and now I guess I'll try for a sixth. This latest one seems to have shown up in the Sunday Styles section. The others were in the main editorial page (about computer-composed music), the sports section (A quarterback should not say Gawg instead of Hut), the New Jersey section (use a billboard to notify first degree murderers that punishments vary from county to county), and week-in-review (agenst speling everthing frely).

The first four letters involved several interactions with a human, when someone edited my letter. (The NYT always seem to edit, that's why letters sound so similar in style.) This time I never heard from them, but a neighbor told me she saw the letter. (I had given them permission to edit in advance, and wow, they did.) Here's an ephemeral link to the letter in the Times. (They won't let me have a more permanent link for some reason). I've got to admit that they cleverly simplified my letter and removed the more emotional content. Here's their version (which by the way, they now own, and I hope they won't complain that I'm printing it; thanks, NYT):
Well-heeled couples can throw a gigantic wedding, complete with what they only think is a marriage license. At the same time, the efforts of homosexuals to achieve any union acceptable as a marriage is placed under the greatest scrutiny.

And here's my original:

Marriage License Irony:
Devan Sipher's article, "Great Wedding! But was it Legal?" (Sunday Styles, August 5, 2007) strikes one of the largest imaginable veins of irony, yet the writer seems not to notice. Our country, our states, take the marriage sacrament so casually that well-heeled couples can throw a gigantic wedding, complete with what they only think is a marriage license. They'll be filing false tax returns, etc., etc., but they won't really get into trouble unless someone notices. Our states and cities make confusing rulings about the validity of certain ministers, and leave it to us poor citizens to sort things out.

At the same time, the efforts of homosexuals to achieve any union acceptable as a marriage is placed under the greatest scrutiny, and denied again and again. Why is the state of marriage not routinely available to those who value it?

What really kills me is that when I was young -- and a terrible writer -- the Times printed dozens of letters in the weekly magazine. Today they print precious few, and I have no hope of getting a letter in the magazine now.

Bonk!

Last week I made another business trip to a small airport in bucolic middle-Virginia. The planes are pretty small here (wingspan up to seventy feet from tip to tip, I think). The first day I remembered that on each of the previous three trips, I had walked into a plane wing. The wings are just high up enough that I don't see them if I'm looking down or distractedly forward. I decided not to have this experience again, because I'm always afraid of damaging one of these planes and causing some delay in a schedule.

Hours later I came out of the bathroom and walked through the hangar while making a note in my PDA. I thought I was walking in the safe alley (tape on the ground tells you where to walk), but I wasn't exactly paying attention.

BONK!

Think like a programmer!

Today, I'm going to Think like a programmer.
If somebody makes a product that competes with Gmail, and is better than Gmail, they will call it Hmail.
If Google makes a new version of Gmail that looks at mail in an entirely new way, and makes you react to your mail instead of working through it, they will call it G++mail.

More Tomatoes:

Last year I planted ten tomato plants, and eventually harvested more than 500 (mostly delicious cherry tomatoes). This year I planted earlier. I doubled the size of my plot and planted only seven plants. Last year's tomato plants were a jungle, and I wanted no more of that. I envisioned a plot with neat, separate bushes, in which I could easily see every ripe tomato, and reach them all with ease.

It quickly became clear that this year's crop was maturing slower than last. I was sure my experience in pruning, planting and fertilizing would count for something, but my fewer plants completely overran their larger space, leaving me with a dense jungle of green tomatoes. But they've been ripening, and this week they surpassed last year's total, with possibly two hundred more to come before the plants stop bearing. We have too many tomatoes to eat right now, but at least, they're delicious.

My fifth letter in the New York Times:

I just got my fifth letter published in the NYT. The fun part is that they have been published in five different sections, and now I guess I'll try for a sixth. This latest one seems to have shown up in the Sunday Styles section. The others were about computer-composed music, that a quarterback should not say Gawg instead of Hut, that New Jersey should use a billboard to notify first degree murderers that punishments vary from county to county, and agenst speling everthing frely.

The first four letters involved several interactions with a human, when someone edited my letter. (The NYT always seem to edit, that's why letters sound so similar in style.) This time I never heard from them, but a neighbor told me about seeing the letter. (I had given them permission to edit in advance, and wow, they did.) Here's an ephemeral link to the letter in the Times (they won't let me have a more permanent link for some reason). I've got to admit that they cleverly simplified my letter and removed the more emotional content. Here's their version (which by the way, they now own, and I hope they won't complain that I'm printing it; thanks, NYT):

Well-heeled couples can throw a gigantic wedding, complete with what they only think is a marriage license. At the same time, the efforts of homosexuals to achieve any union acceptable as a marriage is placed under the greatest scrutiny.

And here's my original:

Marriage License Irony:
Devan Sipher's article, "Great Wedding! But was it Legal?" (Sunday Styles, August 5, 2007) strikes one of the largest imaginable veins of irony, yet the writer seems not to notice. Our country, our states, take the marriage sacrament so casually that well-heeled couples can throw a gigantic wedding, complete with what they only think is a marriage license. They'll be filing false tax returns, etc., etc., but they won't really get into trouble unless someone notices. Our states and cities make confusing rulings about the validity of certain ministers, and leave it to us poor citizens to sort things out.

At the same time, the efforts of homosexuals to achieve any union acceptable as a marriage is placed under the greatest scrutiny, and denied again and again. Why is the state of marriage not routinely available to those who value it?

What really kills me is that when I was young -- and a terrible writer -- the Times printed dozens of letters in the weekly magazine. Today they print precious few, and I have no hope of getting a letter in there now.

Your Results will Vary:

I've become an editing demon lately. Between critiquing other people's writing and my own, I've gotten quite imaginative about finding poor word usage. Advertisements often use awful English, but they have an excuse. In a few words and a little time they need to convey a message, and if they can save space while adding punch with poor English, then why not?

Still, I was greatly amused by a TV ad for a treatment that makes hair grow back. The ad put these words on the screen:

Extraordinary Results. Your results may vary.

Now please excuse me while I imagine my own personal varying results: Gee, lots of hair grew back on the right side, but almost nothing on the left.

The Internet is a fine scale:

For some things you really need a scale. But for other things ... recently we moved a heavy printer and a copier down a narrow flight of stairs. I wanted to tell my moving friends the weights of these objects, so they would know what they were getting into. I found their weights via a few quick web searches, even though both items are a few years old.

Ivy-Covered Walls:

Almost twenty years ago, the university in our town built a large parking garage that looked like a boxy trellis. It had three levels for cars, and its walls, six feet up and above, became see-through wire cages. I thought it looked awful, although some will disagree. I asked a grad student in architecture about it, and he said, "You wait, it's going to be beautiful. Ivy will grow up those walls, and the whole building will be hidden by green vines.” In fact, it WAS a trellis, you see.

But the ivy never came. It was always trimmed back by the university's gardeners. The parking garage had become a pawn in a war unknown to its architects. Women at this time were speaking out against the tyranny of the dark night. They wanted to feel as free as men to walk dark streets and passageways, no more attacks, assaults, date-rapes, acquaintance-rapes or just plan rapes. Ivy would turn the interior of that garage into a brooding, enclosed nightspace. Cutting the ivy down left the garage, which could feel spooky and deserted at night, more open to the stars, the moon, and nearby night lights. The university took many steps to become a safer place, and cutting this ivy appeared to be part of those efforts. Although I must say, it was not easy to see how keeping the ivy down would make it easier to spot a thug, or stop an incident.

But today the ivy's growing. In some places it's twenty feet up the garage's walls, and by 2012, I think the architect's vision will be complete. The campaign to Take Back the Night continues, but it has shifted to slightly different issues. No one, a far as I know, is complaining about the ivy, and it looks pretty nice.

The Shuffle-based iPhone:

Now that Apple's iPhone's around, there are persistent rumors of another iPhone based on the iPod Nano. Such a phone would be wonderfully small, but the Shuffle-based iPhone is the true goal. The Shufphone will have no display, just a single button that you press to accept and drop calls. To synch your Shufphone with any standard Mac or PC address book, you simply pull the 'i' key off your keyboard and push the Shufphone down in its place. Tap the Shufphone to update your address list and playlists, and then pull it off your keyboard and stick it back on your shirt.

Every few minutes, the Shufphone will play a song or call one of your friends at random. You'll never be lonely again!

Flavored Water:

You can find many kinds of flavored water at your supermarket. But like flavored coffee, flavored water is something you can do much better at home. You get fresher flavors, and you can adjust the strength of the flavoring. Instead of letting those vague tastes frustrate you, spend twenty or thirty calories to get some real taste! Here are exhibits A, B,C, and D:

• A: A glass of Sprite Zero plus a tablespoon of Boysenberry syrup.
  
• B: a glass of cold water plus a tablespoon of Boysenberry syrup.
  
• C: A glass of water, plus a little lime juice and sugar to taste.
  
• D: Seltzer water with a splash of fresh orange juice.

Ahhhhhh...

Ooooh, My Awful Right Shoulder!

Everywhere I look, I see computer users falling by the wayside. Carpal Tunnel, RTS, ... the perils are hard to avoid. I've been typing data into computers for forty-six years, always aware that, in some strange, unknown way, I've got to guard my body. I've had my ups and downs, but a few years ago I fell and banged my right shoulder into a metal door-edge. Ever since, my long sessions of computer use have been dogged by shoulder pain.

Years ago I decided that the mouse was my weak point. In theory I ought to be able to move a mouse with my wrists, resting my shoulder muscles, but in fact I use my shoulder. I've occasionally shifted the mouse to the left side to give my right shoulder a rest, but my right side is much less accurate, and a mouse needs to be positioned accurately. I tried a gesture pad for awhile, but I still used my shoulder muscles. Recently I decided to try a trackball called the Marble Mouse. I've tested trackballs before, and they always felt weird. The Marble Mouse felt weird too, for a good week, but now I use it naturally. My right shoulder moves when I shift between trackball and keyboard, but otherwise, I'm being really good to my right shoulder, and my right shoulder is kind to me in return.

The next part of the puzzle is how to minimize those mouse/keyboard moves. An obvious answer is to have a lot of buttons on the mouse. If many common keyboard actions can be done from the mouse, I won't switch back and forth so often. Many yeas ago there actually was a forty button mouse, and I thought that was silly; I'd love to try it now. My Marble Mouse has four buttons. I use one for the “back” command, which avoids the most common large mouse motion I might make. I'm trying to do something wondrous with button #4, but I don't know if it can do what I want.

The fourth button works with the Mozilla browser, to call up EasyGestures menus. These are programmable menus that, if I can figure them out, will give me about thirty commands to operate from the mouse without resort to the keyboard. If I can figure out how to program these (the defaults are mostly useless to me), and if I can find a similar feature to go with Open Office, I may be able to give my right shoulder the reward for a noble career that it deserves.

An Optical Illusion:

Once again I found a way to play a joke on myself. The lap pool I swim in has a white bottom with a column of small blue tiles in the middle of each lane. When I swim the crawl stroke, my head is usually under water, and those tiles give me a sense of my speed. The pool is mostly three feet deep but at one end the depth drops to five feet, and there, I always seem to slow down – the tiles move past my eyes more slowly. I could not understand how the depth of the water could affect my speed, and I tried many changes in my swimming to make sense of this.

Finally I determined that I'm not slowing down at all. When the depth increases, the same blue tiles are farther from my eyes, and therefore they seem to go past me more slowly. You can see the same effect by sweeping your eyes across any tiles, first up close and then several feet away.

Where are the instructions?

The instructions for using anything can be printed in any tiny custom format, and squeezed into a minuscule space. When you open a new purchase, this funny question arises: where are the instructions?

Recently we bought a simple air mattress with a battery-operated pump. It was just the thing for a visiting guest. I had a little trouble setting it up, though. I bought the requisite batteries, I took the plastic thing out of its box and opened it up. There were no, repeat, no, instructions on the box. There were no, repeat, no, instructions in the box. After searching a while in desperation, I decided to hope for the best. The obvious place to start: inserting the batteries. I pried open the battery compartment, and guess what I found?

A new lateral thinking puzzle:

"Lateral thinking puzzles” challenge you to think “outside the box,” or at least, creatively. They tend to sound peculiar, and their peculiarities imply oblique solutions. Here's a simple one:

A woman is convicted of premeditated murder on the testimony of her sister, but the judge decides she cannot be punished. Why?

The answer is that they are Siamese twins, presumably sharing some internal organs so that they cannot easily be separated. But in the 540th podcast of Keith and the Girl, Keith Malley scoffed, “Alright. So she goes on to commit fifteen murders, and the judges keep saying, oh I'm so sorry, we just can't punish. Yeah, right.”

After hearing two examples of Malley's imaginative scoffing, I suggest a term for it: “lateral lateral thinking” applies lateral thinking to spoil a lateral thinking puzzle, exposing the artificiality of its constraints. Here's another of Malley's lateral lateral thoughts from the same Podcast:

A woman lives on the tenth floor of an apartment building. In the morning, she gets on the elevator and goes down to the lobby, and off to work. In the evening, if there are other people on the elevator, she goes back up to the tenth floor. If she's alone, she goes to the seventh floor and walks up three flights. Why?

The answer is that she's a midget. “Yeah,” says Keith, “but she can push the button with her umbrella.”

The next time you find yourselves amidst a bunch of lateral thinking puzzlers, you might try your hand at lateral lateral thinking. Or you might pose this new puzzle, that I suspect Keith Malley does not realize he invented: A Siamese twin who shares internal organs with her sister is convicted of fifteen premeditated murders. Her sister is innocent. How shall she be punished? (I'm warning you, I haven't thought of an answer yet.)