Okay, let's see if I can set this one up properly...
In my professional capacity, I work with computers. Specifically, I'm a programmer - I deal with a wide range of software development tasks, such as designing web-based systems. One of the webpages I've been working on recently was a pretty dry pipeline page - lots of rows of information, lots of words, not a lot of pictures. It needed a bit of tweaking, so I was industriously working away on a local copy of it. This means I had my computer (named Honeydew) running a Spyce server, which means it can serve Python-based webpages. (I'm sure I've lost 95% of my audience by this point.)
To sum up that last paragraph in more understandable terms, I was working on a webpage, which was being served by my computer, Honeydew.
This means that the address to the local copy of the webpage I was working on was something like http://Honeydew:8000/blah/blah/blah. This was fine for my machine, because I had set up my browser to not look externally for a server named Honeydew.
But I forgot this fact when I finished my work, and sent an email along these lines to my co-workers:
"Hey guys, I was doing a bit of work on the pipeline page, I think I managed to make such-and-such page look a little better, take a look and let me know what you think. Here's the link: http://Honeydew:8000/blah/blah/blah."
So when I click that link on my machine, I get the dry pipeline page I expect, because I have that browser option set. When my co-workers clicked the link, because their computers weren't set up this way, their browsers translated Honeydew:8000 into some kind of automatic Google search for "Honeydew", and they ended up with this page. Everyone agreed that it did look much better.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Bus etiquette
As a veteran bus rider, I've seen it all. I've been shoulder to shoulder in a jam-packed bus going to school, I've been the sole rider of a double-length bus for miles and miles, I've seen people fall over, throw up, get thrown out, try to get a cello to the back of a crowded bus... the list goes on and on. And with all this experience comes a strong understanding of the unwritten rules - the bus etiquette, as it were. Quite specific, but no less binding than having to excuse yourself after a resounding belch at the dinner table. Since I live in Canada, most of the bus etiquette rules aren't enforced (or even discussed), but make no mistake, transgressors will feel the disapproving stares of the surrounding passengers on them.
I figured I'd write some of these unwritten rules down, just to see what would happen. Here are a few key tidbits to try to remember, should you ever find yourself taking public transit.
And I hope this doesn't come off as bitter - take it more as a cross between a scientific study and an instructional lesson.
1. Be aware that other people exist.
You're not the only person on the planet, or even (usually) on the bus. This is more of a meta-rule than an actual rule - it's the basis for most other rules, but still merits mentioning on its own. You can easily spot the people who don't follow this - lost in their own head, sporting a vacant stare, refusing to see other people, even if they're standing right in front of them.
2. Don't block the aisle.
If you can move back or sit down, do it. True, sometimes you want to talk to your friend who has just sat in the last seat, but if space is short, you should either find an out-of-the-way nook and let people past, or just tell your friend you'll talk to them soon, and move back. What you don't want to do is just stand there, oblivious to the front-of-the-bus crush.
3. Give up your seat.
This goes not only for the courtesy seats at the front, but for all seats. If you see someone who is elderly, pregnant, laden with kids (or packages) (or both), or who just looks like they could use a seat, offer it to them! The entire atmosphere of the bus will noticeably improve.
4. Ask before messing with windows.
There's nothing like the single person who is too hot on a cold, rainy night, who yanks open a window above you (letting it rain on you), and then who moves on down the bus. Usually, if you want to open/close a window, everyone else wants you to too, but make sure to ask whoever's sitting right there if it's okay with them.
5. Make seats available.
If it's even vaguely crowded, seat real estate is too valuable to squander. Pick up your bag and put it under your seat or on your lap. Don't sprawl out over two seats, and certainly don't lie down across five of them. One of the sneakiest (and most inexplicable) ways of squandering a seat is to sit on the aisle seat of a two-seater so no one can sit with you. This is almost always done by prim little old ladies with a distinctly sour expression. [lemon-tasting expression] "I may have to take the bus, but I certainly don't have to sit next to one of them." Guess what, ladies? You do. Move over.
That's lots for now. There are many more unwritten rules, but I'll leave them for another day. Until then, happy riding!
I figured I'd write some of these unwritten rules down, just to see what would happen. Here are a few key tidbits to try to remember, should you ever find yourself taking public transit.
And I hope this doesn't come off as bitter - take it more as a cross between a scientific study and an instructional lesson.
1. Be aware that other people exist.
You're not the only person on the planet, or even (usually) on the bus. This is more of a meta-rule than an actual rule - it's the basis for most other rules, but still merits mentioning on its own. You can easily spot the people who don't follow this - lost in their own head, sporting a vacant stare, refusing to see other people, even if they're standing right in front of them.
2. Don't block the aisle.
If you can move back or sit down, do it. True, sometimes you want to talk to your friend who has just sat in the last seat, but if space is short, you should either find an out-of-the-way nook and let people past, or just tell your friend you'll talk to them soon, and move back. What you don't want to do is just stand there, oblivious to the front-of-the-bus crush.
3. Give up your seat.
This goes not only for the courtesy seats at the front, but for all seats. If you see someone who is elderly, pregnant, laden with kids (or packages) (or both), or who just looks like they could use a seat, offer it to them! The entire atmosphere of the bus will noticeably improve.
4. Ask before messing with windows.
There's nothing like the single person who is too hot on a cold, rainy night, who yanks open a window above you (letting it rain on you), and then who moves on down the bus. Usually, if you want to open/close a window, everyone else wants you to too, but make sure to ask whoever's sitting right there if it's okay with them.
5. Make seats available.
If it's even vaguely crowded, seat real estate is too valuable to squander. Pick up your bag and put it under your seat or on your lap. Don't sprawl out over two seats, and certainly don't lie down across five of them. One of the sneakiest (and most inexplicable) ways of squandering a seat is to sit on the aisle seat of a two-seater so no one can sit with you. This is almost always done by prim little old ladies with a distinctly sour expression. [lemon-tasting expression] "I may have to take the bus, but I certainly don't have to sit next to one of them." Guess what, ladies? You do. Move over.
That's lots for now. There are many more unwritten rules, but I'll leave them for another day. Until then, happy riding!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Late night madman
Here's a hint that you've lived in the big city too long...
We were awaked a couple nights ago around 4:00 in the morning by a crazy guy out on the street. For what seemed like a good 15 minutes, he was wandering up and down the street, absolutely screaming his head off - swearing, vigourous death threats, the whole nine yards. If this had happened to us back in the day when we had just moved to the big city, we would have been wide awake, calling the cops, fearing for our lives, that kind of thing. As seasoned veterans of the city life, however, we had a different reaction.
First off, we didn't even fully wake up. (Usually, that sort of thing is reserved for fire alarms only - and they'd have to be pretty skookum alarms, too.) We kind of heard him, listened for a minute or so, and then started simultaneously critiquing his technique. "Oh no, that's no good, he's screaming far too loudly, he's going to wear himself out." "Yeah, unless he takes a breath, he's going to pass out and wake up with such a sore throat." "And you call those death threats? Hardly. He's just saying the same thing over and over again - no imagination whatsoever." "He could learn a lot from crazy swearing guy." (Crazy swearing guy is our local regular.) "There's no modulation, it's just full volume the whole time. He's got to learn to capture people's attention."
At least, that's what I remember. I'm sure we weren't quite so eloquent, it was likely more along the lines of "Stupid loud man, too loud, no imagination, needs to pace himself, stupid stupid. *snore*" But still, it amuses me that our first instinct was to grade him on his performance.
We were awaked a couple nights ago around 4:00 in the morning by a crazy guy out on the street. For what seemed like a good 15 minutes, he was wandering up and down the street, absolutely screaming his head off - swearing, vigourous death threats, the whole nine yards. If this had happened to us back in the day when we had just moved to the big city, we would have been wide awake, calling the cops, fearing for our lives, that kind of thing. As seasoned veterans of the city life, however, we had a different reaction.
First off, we didn't even fully wake up. (Usually, that sort of thing is reserved for fire alarms only - and they'd have to be pretty skookum alarms, too.) We kind of heard him, listened for a minute or so, and then started simultaneously critiquing his technique. "Oh no, that's no good, he's screaming far too loudly, he's going to wear himself out." "Yeah, unless he takes a breath, he's going to pass out and wake up with such a sore throat." "And you call those death threats? Hardly. He's just saying the same thing over and over again - no imagination whatsoever." "He could learn a lot from crazy swearing guy." (Crazy swearing guy is our local regular.) "There's no modulation, it's just full volume the whole time. He's got to learn to capture people's attention."
At least, that's what I remember. I'm sure we weren't quite so eloquent, it was likely more along the lines of "Stupid loud man, too loud, no imagination, needs to pace himself, stupid stupid. *snore*" But still, it amuses me that our first instinct was to grade him on his performance.
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