Archive for January, 2009

  • Ranty McRant: Save me from Linux users!

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    OK, so you all know that I’m a Linux fan-girl. I love the operating system and I love the principles behind the operating system. But there’s one thing I utterly cannot stand, and that’s (most of) the forum users, and I am filled with sympathy for all the new Linux users who’ve bought their shiny netbooks with a “weird” operating system on it, and are trying to make the best of an unknown deal.

    In Windows, because it’s a commercial product, there exists documentation. It may be of varying quality, but it exists. Because Linux is more a volunteer effort — and everybody hates writing documentation, especially developers — there is little good documentation around. (As an aside, though, may I recommend http://www.linux.org/lessons/ for any newbies with rare slices of free time? I’m going through it myself. But back to the subject at hand ….) Which means that, sooner or later, you have to steel yourself to register at one or more fora in order to get answers to your questions.

    The answers (and the users you get them from) usually fall broadly into one of several categories.

    Category One: Brash ‘n’ Ignorant. The reply that says, “why would you want to do that anyway?”. That’s all it says. Notice that there is a difference between “why would you want to do that anyway?” and “why do you want to do that?”. And my answer to the former is: It’s none of your goddamned business. If a user wants to take a screenshot of a game in progress, or get their box’s LCD display to recite the Gettysburg address, then that’s their problem. It is not up to YOU to decide whether their action is worthy or not.  Piss off.

    Category Two: Superior Bastard. The reply that says, “read the manual and you’ll find out”. Yeah, okay in principle, but (a) Linux is a huge beast, (b) maybe the person posing the question is at the end of their tether, (c) maybe the documentation that does exist is crap. I mean, this is sooo not the way to build a Linux convert. Of course, you could say, “try this, it does this, and after it’s fixed, go to this link where you’ll find more information on the topic”, but you don’t because you’re a sanctimonious ass. Piss off.

    Category Three: The Geriatric Co-dependent. The reply that says, “(I know you’re asking specifically about WinKillerLinux version 23.54 but…) I remember using the Version 3.40 beta of WinKillerLinux, back when it was called Fred. I can’t remember exactly, but I think the command I used was something like “del896axgv -x -A”. Or something like that.” Do these people even realise that software changes? Listen, if you don’t know what you’re talking about, then don’t post. Got it? Now, piss off.

    Category Four: Insouciant Bastard. You ask how to install a printer in Linux and get back, “run cups”. What the hell is CUPS? Where do you find it? How do you find out what it does? Insouciant Bastard doesn’t care. He’s demonstrated his mastery of Linux and it’s now up to you to bow and scrape and abjectly and humbly beg for more help. At this point, he’ll usually turn into Superior Bastard. So a double piss off to you, you wanker.

    Category Five: Just Do As I Say. The user who says: “run the following command: egrep 67nu45.31 | python cntu.py -<today’s date> That should fix it”, without explaining what any of the goddammned commands DO! I won’t tell Just Do As I Say to piss off, because they’re usually holding the only lifelines you’ll find in the Tempest of Linux Knowledge-Gathering. But I just wish they’d think a little before posting. It’s the “give a man a fish” thing, guys, okay?

    Category Six: The Patronising Shit. The commands are given, some background is shared, but it’s wrapped in such patronising language that it’s as difficult to swallow as a spoonful of cut glass. Even worse than Insouciant Bastard, these people will add that the font you used to craft the message sucked, that you have not used ISO9000 standards to format the code fragment you’ve included, and that maybe you should go away and Not Bother Anyone until you can comprehensively recite from the Linux Adminstration Handbook. These people never had to learn Linux themselves. Oh no, they emerged full-blown from their mother’s loins with instant root access and man pages for brains, and they don’t want you to forget it. I’ll take your advice, you Patronising Shit, but your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries.

    Category Seven: The Half-Arsed Expert. Everything is going fine and dandy. You seem to find a poster who is both personable and helpful. They tell you to finger the fossick and you try it, but you don’t get the response they’re expecting. Try again, they say. You do that, but you still get an error message. Oh, then it gets nasty. “You must be doing it wrong,” they snarl. Or, “What the hell are you doing?”. This may be followed up by the precious, “Do you know *anything* about computers?” Notice how the victim is the one being blamed here. It’s not because they either (a) can’t explain anything worth toffee, or (b) know absolutely nothing outside a very narrow list of steps. Oh no, it’s your fault for not having a machine that is set up identically to theirs and, thus, behaves exactly like theirs. These people are even worse than Brash because they lull you into a sense of false security before dropping the equivalent of a phosphorus bomb on your head.

    Category Eight: The Student Psyches. Look, they really don’t see the problem. It’s all very simple. Are you taking notes? You download gbh+4.05 from sourceforge and hunt for the dependencies. The documentation listing the dependencies should be somewhere, just do an internet search for it. Right. Now, download the dependencies. Check against the current version of the kernel you’re using and you may have to also swap in some other files if you’re running an older/newer kernel. You can check with Kurt in Berlin, who’s keeping track of the kernel changes, if you really want to be sure. After you make the source, ftp into the server at MIT. If that one’s too slow for you, try sunflower at Cape Town University. There’s an iso there that will do whatever it is you want to do, although you may have to set a number of parameters after you download and burn the iso, and before the boot process completes. The parameters depend on your monitor type and graphics server, but Bob in Canada seems to have a handle on all this, so IM him during Canadian time and he’ll walk you through it. Etc. etc.

    These people have major time on their hands. Staying up till 2am to talk to someone halfway across the world means nothing to them. They don’t have kids that have to wake up early for school the next day, to get into uniforms that haven’t been ironed yet. They haven’t gone through a gruelling day where — you swear — Lesley from Finance has been trying to get you sacked. There are bills you have to pay, a job you have to keep, a seminar to attend, dinners to prepare, people to pick up and drop off, spouses to talk and listen to. And these Student Psyches are completely surprised (and more than a little disappointed with your attitude, to be honest) when you metaphorically grab them by the collar and, through gritted teeth, say, “Just tell me how to solve the problem, okay?”. As with most of the other categories, such users have absolutely no idea that you’re trying to learn Linux in your spare time. Precious, scant, interrupt-driven spare time that you’re trying to put aside to learn something piecemeal because the very idea — the concept of Linux — was something that appealed to you, and you think you’d like to support. I like Student Psyches, so I won’t tell them to piss off, but I just wish they could see outside their navels from time to time.

    Category Nine: The Helpful Poster. Like a burbling oasis in an expanse of desert (make that an aboveground oasis on Arrakis), the helpful poster is someone who understands that everyone has to start somewhere and is open to answering further questions in a helpful and non-judgemental manner. They are the reason I keep using Linux but, unfortunately, I have to get through multiple iterations of the other eight categories before stumbling across such a person.

    (And, as such, am reminded of what I learnt in psychology about the efficacy of intermittent positive reinforcement over constant positive reinforcement, and the subsequent realisation that I am little more than a rat, pressing the lever over and over again in faint hopes of sustenance, and perhaps dying of starvation as a result, in the Cage of Linux.)

    Which made me think. J is of the opinion that most Linux forum posters are complete asses because they don’t know anything and use arrogance to hide their ignorance. That’s an interesting thought, except there is no imperative for them to reply to a question. I mean, it’s not as though you’re talking to Half-Arsed Expert or Brash ‘n’ Ignorant to their faces, are you? You’re not personally putting them on the spot. In fact, they don’t have to post at all. So why do they? I always look at the number of posts from such people and they are often in the thousands. Does that mean they’ve been saying, “why would you want to do that anyway?” thousands of times? What’s the payoff for them? The little number-of-posts indicator underneath their avatar? Are their lives really so small and mean that they feel themselves defined by a virtual counter somewhere? I’m still thinking this through, but that’s where I’ve got to so far.

    The problem, though, is much wider than a handful of wankers making life miserable for people who genuinely want to learn something new. It is my personal belief that, even though Linux is a superior operating system to Windows, it will fail to gain wider traction. And the major reason for that will be Linux users themselves. While these asses are trying to big-note themselves by posting utter rubbish, the consequence is humiliation of and/or confusion for new users. As a writer, I have a rhinoceros hide, so I just roll my eyes at most thread comments and move on. But if I was a tentative newbie, the experiences I’ve suffered would be enough to put me off Linux forever.

    Windows, for all its flaws, does not call new users the equivalent of idiots, or drop smug pronouncements on what they’re attempting to do. If you’re unsure of something, you can go to the online help, which doesn’t patronise you or diss you (at most, it just annoys the hell out of you which, when all’s said and done, is a lesser sin). There’s a lot to be said for mutual respect. And the Linux “community” just doesn’t have it. Not by a long shot.

  • Review: Ip Man

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    Considering it’s Chinese New Year, I thought it would be appropriate to do a review of a Chinese movie this time around.

    Everyone’s heard of Bruce Lee. Some have heard of the martial art he created, called Jeet Kune Do. Fewer still know he trained Wing Chun before he became a star and developed JKD. The movie Ip Man is about the man who taught Bruce Lee Wing Chun. And that man’s name was Ip Man (pronounced Eeep Mun).

    Being a biographical movie, Ip Man doesn’t contain a lot of the characteristics that define your usual historical Chinese movie. For a start, not everybody dies. It starts just before the (Second) Sino-Japanese War of 1937. (Now, I’ll just digress a bit and say that this moment, in my opinion, is the start of World War Two. But, of course, you only have the largest war ever conducted in Asia that only ended with Japan’s capitulation in 1945 to the Allied Forces, so it’s not like it’s important historically or anything.)

    A lot of care was taken with the sets, and it shows. They are evocative and sumptuous, and give a wonderful atmosphere of the time in Fo Shan (Fushan), a city in Guandong province situated on the Pearl River Delta. Ip Man is a Chinese aristocrat living in the prosperous trade-based city and so has much time to devote to the training of Wing Chun. He has a wife and a young son and, despite being an aristocrat, is a polite and humble man. In Fo Shan is a Martial Arts Street, where instructors set up their kwoons. But, before they can open their establishment, it is tradition that each new instructor “exchange views” with Ip Man behind closed doors, and we see part of the action when a new instructor approaches him and, later, when a Wushu grand master from northern China also challenges him, sneering at Ip Man that he can’t know much because Wing Chun is a woman’s martial art. (The challenger is correct. Wing Chun was supposedly created by a Buddhist nun called Ng Mui, but this may be apocryphal.) Of course, Ip Man beats the crap out of him. Great stuff.

    Everything continues swimmingly, until the Japanese invade. Driven from their home, Ip Man and his family are reduced to paupers, and Ip Man makes a small living by acting as a coolie for a nearby mine. The Japanese leading officer of the region, General Miura, trains in Wushu (another branch of Chinese martial arts) and makes it a point to pit Chinese sifu (teachers) against his men and watch them fail. Inevitably, he and Ip Man meet.

    Poster of Ip Man

    There are plots and sub-plots in this movie that would take too long to explain, so let’s deconstruct it in a way that’s less narrative.

    The fight scenes. Oh. My. God. Some of the best I have ever seen, thanks to Action Director and veteran martial arts actor Sammo Hung, choreographer Leung Siu-Hung and with input from Ip Man’s son, Ip Chun. The differences between the Wushu and Wing Chun styles are shown beautifully and there’s only a little use of the wires that enable the actors to fly through the air. (I find their use a bit tiresome, to be honest.) The fly in the ointment was the Japanese, who used the standard karate “greeting”, then went on to fight Chinese boxing rather than karate. (J was totally confused, having come from a karate/judo background.) Even I was reduced to objecting, “Hey, no Japanese would execute a move like that!”.

    The characters. I’ve never seen Donnie Yen in a movie before, but I sure am impressed now. As Ip Man, he played the character with a calmness and humanity that fitted perfectly with the character of Wing Chun itself. I’ll be watching out for him again. His wife, Xiong Dai Lin (played by who-knows-who), on the other hand, was a real nuisance — miserable when they were successful and only happy when they were starving to death. Their son never seemed to age. The other characters, from the Wushu grandmaster “thug”, Fan Sui-Wong, industrialist Quan, fellow instructor and friend, Lam, a policeman turned collaborator (played very well by actor Lam Ka Tung), play their roles extremely well, turning this into a well-rounded drama, as well as being a kick-ass martial arts movie.

    The Japanese. Treated too kindly, in my opinion. I know there were human Japanese officers (I’m only alive now because one ignored the presence of a radio in my grandfather’s house during a random search, rather than putting the entire family — including my father — to death, as he should have done), but the vast majority of them were brutal, petty and ruthless, hellbent on killing every Chinese they could find and, to this day, unrepentant for what they inflicted on Asia (from China to Indonesia) in the name of the “East Asia Co-prosperity Sphere”. I was surprised they were portrayed with a shred of sympathy. It’s more than they deserve.

    The plot. This is much, much more than a “mere” martial arts movie and provides enough meat for people who don’t even consider themselves action fans. Director Wilson Yip does a fine job with a complex story, wringing humanity from the unlikeliest of places. The range of characters involved, their interpersonal dynamics, the contrast of settings as time marches on in the movie, are all handled beautifully and will reward the viewer who hangs in there. What’s that, you say? “Hang in there”? I thought you liked the movie, Kaz? Yeah, I did. Until the next point.

    The subtitles. To say they suck would be to give them a degree of utility they do not deserve. Do not expect to understand much of the movie, not even the all-important info-dumps that carry no translation whatsoever. You will get the gross plot movements, but everything else is opaque. I am only able to explain what little I can because I read half a dozen other reviews of Ip Man from English-speaking Chinese reviewers before I wrote this. I’m not sure whether the subtitles were so bad because the production company just didn’t care or because they were complete idiots but, either way, they’ve taken a treasure — an absolute classic — and essentially trashed it for non-Chinese speakers. My advice to you would be to go to the Ip Man website which is informative, if unfortunately Flash-heavy. Once you’ve read the information there, get the movie and watch it. You’ll be much more appreciative.

    RATING: 7.5 / 10. A few niggles with the Japanese fighting techniques and the fact Ip Man’s son never seems to age, but slashed to buggery due to the woeful, shameful, atrocious, contemptible standard of subtitles. Considering the high calibre of the movie, the English so-called “translations” were nothing short of a travesty.

    ::Big breath :: And a Gong Xi Fa Cai to all Chinese readers of this blog!

  • The FDW and I

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    I see them around a lot, particularly when I visit Singapore. Young women in faded t-shirts and capri pants, long straight hair pulled back and tied, backs eternally bent, picking up a child, carrying grocery bags, or plucking a dropped possession from the floor. I see them in restaurants, sitting off to one side, maybe cradling a tall glass of carbonated drink if they’re lucky but, more often than not, feeding a toddler or infirm adult or patting a baby to sleep. In Singapore, they are called Foreign Domestic Workers, and they are everywhere. And I don’t know what to think of them.

    In 2007 (I think) geneticist J. Craig Venter made a comment about the movie Blade Runner in Wired magazine. And he said:

    “The movie has an underlying assumption that I just don’t relate to: that people want a slave class. As I imagine the potential of engineering the human genome, I think, wouldn’t it be nice if we could have 10 times the cognitive capabilities we do have? But people ask me whether I could engineer a stupid person to work as a servant. I’ve gotten letters from guys in prison asking me to engineer women they could keep in their cell. I don’t see us, as a society, doing that.”
    – from Wired interview with Ridley Scott on “Blade Runner”

    If I had enough money, I’d buy Dr Venter a ticket to Singapore to see for himself the slave class that, it seems, everyone does want. Dr Venter’s “guys in prison” are us. And it’s not a good look.

    The problem is, it’s like winning the lottery. You’ve always wanted a lot of money but, now that you’ve got it, you don’t know what to do with it. FDWs are like that too. Everyone thinks they want one but, once they get one, they really don’t know how to behave.

    Just because someone can afford an FDW doesn’t mean they should have one. I can’t tell you the number of stories I’ve read of workers being physically and sexually abused by their employers, to the point of malnutrition, severe injury, repeated sexual assault and death. And it only takes a brief stroll through the expat fora to also read first-hand anecdotes of expat children slapping their servants or yelling at them, all without a single word of retribution from their parents. One long-time (English) resident of Singapore gets so incensed, he deliberately makes it a point to film any child on his mobile phone abusing his/her maid in public just to try and shame the parents into decency.

    And because I was curious about this whole situation, I visited a few maid-hiring websites, only to find that most these women are wives and mothers themselves who have left their husbands and children behind so they could go overseas and earn better money to send home. One site suggested that, in order to maintain good relations, employers should let their maids phone home once a week for a limited time and fly home for a holiday every two years. Such actions would result in a “grateful” worker. Could you, I wonder, stand to see your children only once every two years, or talk to them for only 20 minutes one day a week? And, in between, pick up after your masters, cook the food, babysit the kids, wash the windows and car, and go to sleep every night in a tiny non air-conditioned space with zero privacy? I know this because our Singapore apartment had a Maid’s Room, which doubled as a pantry, and I wouldn’t have been so heartless as to put our cats in there to sleep, much less a fellow human being.

    But, on the other hand, I have no reply for those people who say that this is the only way for poor families from other countries to try and get ahead. And surely having one ill-mannered child yell at you is better than working 16 hours a day in a locked, uninsulated warehouse making sneakers or clothes for wealthy patrons till your fingers bleed. The problem is so big, the objections so practised, that I feel impotent before them.

    And don’t think I’m singling out only Western people here, although they do tend to go a bit crazy the moment they realise they can afford servants in this part of the world. Wealthier Asians have servants too. Hell, I had them growing up — my parents employed a nanny, a cook, a gardener, a house-cleaner, and a driver. As the spoilt child of privileged parents, I used to order them around with impunity, and I cringe now every time I recollect it. J, as a male growing up in socialist Europe, is horrified by the concept of the FDW. He considers the employment of overseas servants as a manifestation of sociopathy.

    It probably doesn’t surprise you to know that we don’t have a live-in maid/servant. The kids help us vacuum the place, brush the cats, sort their own laundry, and are often marched into their rooms to tidy up their beds and toy piles themselves. We’ve also started teaching them how to cook.

    If we ever needed extra help around the house for any reason (and it would need to be a pretty big reason), I would choose a local casual worker. Someone who could do a few hours’ work and go back to their family at the end of the day. Not someone who would be at the mercy of my largesse. Who’d have to work 7 days a week with only one day off a month. Who’d only hear her child’s voice at the end of a crackling line once a week. Who’d have the threat of deportation constantly hanging over her head. Who’d have to sleep among the sacks of rice and towers of tinned goods in the stifling heat while I sleep in air-conditioned comfort.

    These women, torn from their home communities, look so sad, so resigned, so worn-out, that I feel almost physically hurt every time I see them. Except for an accident of birth, I could be that person. And so could you. And if you and I deserve dignity and respect, then so do they.

    POSTSCRIPT: I’m sorry if I’m making it appear that only Singapore has the problem of mistreating servants. It’s a pervasive problem. Hell, it’s human nature.

  • Ranty McRant: Human Resources is a job?

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    First off, I’d like to say that I’m more than open to hearing about the hard work that HR people do … if I can ever find one that does any! Ha ha.

    No, seriously, I really do wonder what HR people do.

    Collect applications from prospective employees?
    Have you ever sent an HR Department your CV for an advertised job? Yes? Ever heard back from them? I certainly haven’t, not in 20 years of being in the IT industry, after applying for various positions over the years. In fact, the moment J and I see an HR contact for a position, especially a technical position, we give up. It’s just too difficult to go there.

    Conduct interviews? I had an interview with a so-called top-flight consulting firm once, a few years ago. By this stage, I had already been interviewed by 3 other people on the team I had been applying to and had been assured by all that I was going to be recommended to join them. Beauty! At the first interview with the HR Regional Manager, she called in sick mid-morning … while I was sitting in the office foyer waiting for the interview. Okay, things happen, I thought. At the second, Kaz turns up at the office again only to find that the HR Manager plain forgot about the interview, even though it was noted down in both the headhunter’s and my (and, no doubt, her, since she scheduled the thing in the first place) diaries. I then contacted the Interviewing Technical Manager, asking if perhaps I could be interviewed by another HR person, because I felt I would not get a fair interview with the HR rep after two such mishaps. No chance, I was told. This woman was the only person permitted to conduct the final job interviews in the entire geographic region. At the third try, she was 45 minutes late. And — surprise, surprise — I didn’t get the job.

    Handle confidential information? It happens. A co-worker isn’t handling their workload properly. In this particular case, lots of other managers were having problems with this particular person (let’s call him Carl) and, as my unit worked across LOBs (Lines of Business) and across geographies, I was usually the one who heard about Carl as I trundled back and forth across the country. When the managers heard that my unit was getting a new Manager (and one, not only trained in HR but also psychology!), they implored me to Do Something. Well, all I could do was document their grievances, together with as much backing documentation as they could supply. I put everything into a folder, with a covering letter summarising the contents … then had to go on maternity leave with a premature labour (one month early) and emergency caesarian. One of my contractors called me in horror a few days later and told me what happened next.

    I had entrusted the folder to Contractor Dan, telling him to give it to the new manager during our first scheduled meeting, stressing how confidential the information was. What I hadn’t bargained on was (a) the manager changing the format of the meetings from one-on-one to a group roundtable, and (b) when Dan handed her the folder, telling her it was from me and contained confidential information, her passing it along to Carl without even opening the folder and telling him to “assess” it.

    (Oh, she apologised later, but it blew the unit apart. Everyone knew Carl liked to talk more than he liked to work, but he was an institution in the company. He’d been there for almost twenty years. He wore, as a badge of pride, the fact that he could ignore criticisms of his work and suggestions on how to do it better and — up till now — not suffer for it. But when that file hit his gaze, he was livid. Hurt by my actions and betrayed by the other managers.

    You may say, I should’ve spoken to Carl about his problems before the file hit the desk. I had. The managers had. Everyone had. Carl never listened. And, as a result, the rest of the unit was taking on heavier and heavier workloads because nobody wanted Carl to do their work for them. And Carl was finding himself with more and more time on his hands that he spent expounding philosophical nuances while the rest of us worked. I liked Carl, and was sorry about the fallout. Looking back, I think I could’ve handled things better, but I’ll never forgive that breach of confidentiality from someone who moved onto a Regional HR position only a handful of months after being our manager.)

    Smooth the path for new employees? The only times I have been able to get my first payslip paid correctly were when I personally went down to Payroll to give them my details. (Every Payroll person I’ve dealt with, on the other hand, across several positions and dozens of contracts, has been efficient, personable and professional. To me, they’re a much maligned profession. But you get muchas thanks from me, people!) On the other hand, every single freakin’ time I’ve gone through HR with my paperwork, I’ve been forgotten/not paid. J has similar tales of woe, and we’ve worked for different companies for much of our lives. In fact, his favourite story of this type relates to the appointment of an “HR guru” at a particular organisation. The man, J says, was friendly, pleasant … but kept losing J’s banking and social security information. Three. Times. In an organisation of less than one hundred people. In the end, J — you guessed it — walked his details to Payroll, where the staff arranged for an immediate emergency cheque to be cut so he could pay for his month’s living expenses. J loves Payroll folk too.

    Handle relocations? A colleague friend of ours was relocating from Paris (France) to Dallas (USA). Imagine his surprise when his relocation expenses still hadn’t been reimbursed after more than a month. When he called HR, he was told that he was ineligible for any international relocation expenses because Paris (Texas) is obviously in the same state as Dallas! Duh! “Do you have my paperwork in front of you?” he asked, through gritted teeth. “Yes.” “Does it contain photocopies of our goods transport and airline tickets?” “Yes.” “Can you see the word ‘France’ next to ‘Paris’?” “Ye- Oh.” He still had to go on and repeat that he’d come from Europe, not another part of Texas, but eventually she got the picture and forwarded the paperwork to Accounts Payable, and he got his thousands in expenses paid. When dealing with HR, this is considered an unmitigated win, even if his credit rating took a battering in the process.

    Closer to home is what happened to J when he was younger and single-r and being transferred to Silicon Valley. He got an irate phone call from the company’s national HR Manager.
    “I see your relocation is only for one person,” she begins.
    “Y-es,” J is wondering where this is going.
    “Well, what about your wife and two children?” she demands. “Aren’t they accompanying you as well?”
    “I don’t have a wife and two children.”
    “I’m looking at your employment record now. You do have a wife and two children. Or are you thinking of relocating to Auckland by yourself?” (She was quite upset with him, J recalls.)
    “I’m not going to Auckland, I’m going to San Francisco.”
    “A move to San Francisco has not been approved. You’re going to Auckland.”
    Penny drops. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”
    “Fred Nurk.”
    “Well, I’m sorry Heather(*), but this is Joe Bloggs.”

    And the other problem is that you can’t ever complain about them. HR Manager gets your personal details wrong, sends the wrong CV to the US Visa Office, “forgets” to forward your confidential banking details to Payroll or start the ball running on the usual new-hire equipment pack? Too bad. Just suck it up or they’ll make your life worse when/if you get a transfer/promotion within the company because — chances are, especially if you’re with a US firm — you may have to interview with one of them again before your transfer goes through and — and this is the really neat bit about all interviews with HR — they usually know absolutely NOTHING about your job or responsibilities. It’s like being held to ransom by gun-toting halfwits, with you vacillating between a frenzied mixture of disbelieving amusement and sheer terror.

    I do know that HR people go to a lot of seminars, because they’re hardly in the office whenever I need to contact one. So, they’re doing something. But I’m damned if I know what it is. My parting word of advice is that if you have an HR rep that’s actually, y’know, competent (EDIT: and it’s not all bad; in my 20 years, I have met one), make sure the company pays her enough to hold onto her ad infinitum. You wouldn’t want the kinds of replacements I’ve suffered seen.

    (*) Real first name. Ah Heather, I wonder if you’ll ever know how much mirth your unremitting incompetence gave us? The fact that you actually got promoted after mistake upon mistake, rising to a Regional Senior Director level, used to fill us poor techie types with both disbelief and a string of bad jokes. In appreciation of the Schadenfreudian joy you imparted on a regular basis, I do wish you well … just not in any position that handles other people’s lives.

  • Boring geek roundup … and Palestine!

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    Late last year, I blogged about my move to Puppy Linux and said, in the Comments, that I would show off my desktop. Well, here it is:

    Kaz's Puppy desktop

    Or, at least, here it was … because I’ve changed distros again and am now with EasyPeasy! This is the name Ubuntu gave to their netbook distro. A lot of Linux users are going through angst over the name which they figure — I think — does not adequately cover the majesty that is Teh Linuxxxxx. So far, I’m finding the boot times with ep to be about equal to Puppy, but the mouse response is rather slow, leading me to assume application launches have frozen when they’re really just being thought about … for an extended period of time. I imagine this would annoy a user used to a more responsive desktop. For me, I’ll give it a bit more time before I decide to nuke the distro and try something else. It really is purty though (although I think I may try nuking that entire interface and going butt-naked desktop again. But sssshhhh, don’t tell anyone).

    Kaz's Easy Peasy desktop

    In our office at home, J and I sit across from one another. We run different Linux distros on our machines, although we have the obligatory Windows laptop for work purposes as well. It’s actually a combination that works very well, as I shift across to the laptop to do knowledge searching while I’m tweaking my Linux box. But, one thing I’ve noticed, is the bitching that goes on in our house. “Crap, how can I get Compiz to run? What Nvidia driver do you have?” “Who has the better software installer? Fedora, Ubuntu, Mandriva or Sabayon?” “I want different wallpapers on each of my workspaces!” “How do I make the kicker semi-transparent again?” “What repositories do you access?” “Do you know that I can’t even <insert task here>! This distro sucks!”

    And it occurred to me that you can’t do many of these things in Windows. (I mean, change software installers in Windows? Gimme a break!) And that, with Windows, you’re more or less stuck with what you got on the install disc. But we don’t bitch and moan about Windows; we do it with Linux. And, I think, we do it with Linux because both of us viscerally realise that it really is the superior operating system. Er …. When it looks the way we like. After we’re through tweaking. And searching the Internet for other, similar tales of woe when we can’t get the FREAKIN’ GRAPHICS DRIVER TO WORK AFTER 2 FREAKIN’ HOURS OF SWEAT! Ahem.

    Windows put me off with wholesale memory leaks over the years as well. I’m pretty sure that the Microsoft engineers thought that Outlook and Internet Explorer would be the last things running before shutdown, and so didn’t bother to do any graceful maintenance of memory during runtime or release of memory upon termination. If you’re shutting down the machine, why bother? And so these two applications would consume — and not release — tons of memory, and impact your machine’s performance. In a recent article on ZDNet, Adrian Kingsley-Hughes makes a similar point about Windows bit-rot, which is much more difficult to handle. Unlike ersatz memory gobbling while running (my complaint), bit/code/software rot is a:

    perceived slow deterioration of software over time that will eventually lead to it becoming faulty, unusable, or otherwise in need of maintenance. This is not a physical phenomenon: the software does not actually decay, but rather suffers from a lack of being updated with respect to the changing environment in which it resides.

    Or, to put it another way, programs on your machine interact with other programs and use resources available on your machine to carry out its tasks. Think of them as links to particular objects on a to-do list. Well, as you load more programs onto your machine, some of those links become redundant. Or the resources one program wants are not being released by another program. Or one item on a to-do list, which may have only had one link, now has multiple links to objects all over your PC. And, instead of cleaning up all those tasks on your list, so everything is nice and straightforward again, Windows just adds more tasks and more links. When your PC has to navigate all these links in order to do something, you can imagine how this will affect your response times.

    Although I haven’t run Mac like he has, I agree with Kingsley-Hughes that I’ve never appeared to have this problem with any of my Linux machines either, and I’ve used some distros constantly for a few years, contrary to my apparent recent fickleness. I also have to agree with him about the problem of having “new drivers without installing the old ones [.] ATI and NVIDIA, I’m looking at you!”.

    Too right. If I look at the software on my machine, it’s littered with old Nvidia drivers that have not been removed. Sloppy work.

    I have a GeForce 9400GT graphics card on my newest machine and could I get an Nvidia driver for it? Pfffftttt! You’d think that the best strategy is to go to Nvidia itself and download the Linux driver that I was told — through various snaking hyperlinks in their documentation — would get the card working. 9400 GT support, they assured me! They were WRONG! Hint for other players: do NOT download proprietary drivers from the manufacturer’s site. I know it hurts, but wait until it hits the repositories or you’re in for a world of pain. Two hours later, after running in failsafe mode for tweaking experiment after tweaking experiment, I decided to go to my distro’s repositories and — lo and behold! — found Nvidia driver release 180. Which, incidentally, was not in the repositories two days earlier. Install. Compiz. Working. Finally.

    The last bitch about Windows, before I end this blog, is the rebooting. Install an app, reboot. Upgrade an app, reboot. All on top of the usual Microsoft updates, that require … reboots. And the updates get pretty damned insistent, so it’s sometimes just easier to interrupt your entire workflow just to restart one damned machine than get those annoying reminders popping up out of nowhere all the time. I was seeing it with Puppy on upgrade/installs as well, which was more than a little annoying, even though I knew why it had to happen. The bottom line is, I do not expect constant reboots with Linux.

    So I’m a happy little camper at the moment. Everything’s stable and working on both my big Linux box and small Linux netbook. Nothing to do here for a while. [faint voice from stage right says something] What’s that? Cairo Dock? Nope, hadn’t heard of it. What’s that you say? Fully customisable? Personalised icons? Curved panel of favourite applications with a reflection effect? Little fish swimming below the icons? Coolness! Where do I download it?

    ADDITIONAL: Have you noticed how quiet I’ve been on the political front lately? That’s because if I unbottled what I’m truly feeling about the Gaza situation in particular, I’d be a seething, roiling mass of incomprehensible rage. China Hand has a good, and less spittle-flecked, analysis of the situation. Go here (January 15 entry).

  • Review: The Good, The Bad, The Weird

    3

    My first disclosure is that I luuuurve spaghetti westerns, and have done ever since I was a kid. But what about kimchi westerns? I ask this because I recently had the opportunity to view a Korean spaghetti western on a plane flight. Now, as you know, watching movies on a plane is a lose-lose proposition. The film has no doubt been edited for size and content and, with the constant humming from the engines, combined with the sardine-like ambience in Economy class, a good time is not guaranteed. Nonetheless, I persisted.

    The Good, The Bad, The Weird
    is film-maker Kim Jee Woon‘s homage to spaghetti westerns, and it’s a treat. An obvious allusion to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly, it is a filmfest of bullets, explosions and laconic coolness from the hero.

    Movie poster for The Good, The Bad, The Weird

    Some Western viewers have commented that the politics is confusing, so let’s get that out of the way first. The movie is set in the 1930s. The Japanese have installed a puppet regime in Manchuria, which has taken control of Korea. Of course, Korea wants independence. That’s it. Now, onto the movie.

    Petty robber Tae-Goo (Song Kang-ho aka The Weird) unwittingly comes into possession of a treasure map while robbing a train. Unfortunately for him, Chang-Yi (Lee Byung-hun aka The Bad), the leader of a band of bandits, has been paid money by the map’s original owner to retrieve the map and thus double-cross the Japanese official to whom the map had been sold. Do-Won (Jung Woo-sung aka the Good) is a bounty hunter who’s chasing down Chang-Yi and gets embroiled in the whole treasure map business. When the three discover that the map is genuine, tensions ratchet up. With the Japanese Army, and assorted other thugs, on their trail, will they have time to even escape with their lives, much less find the treasure?

    Oh, I haven’t had this much fun in ages. This movie is a treat from start to finish, from the writing (by Kim Ji Woon and Kim Min-suk, that even English subtitles couldn’t subdue) to the breathtaking landscape of Manchuria where the film was shot. Jung Woo-sung is terrific as The Good, a smooth, suave, sharpshooter of few words who’s totally focused on bringing Chang-Yi to justice. Unfortunately, being The Good, there isn’t much scope for Jung Woo-sung to give a totally over-the-top performance, but I’ve seen him on the covers of many other Korean movies, so may have to get some of those as well.

    The Bad, played by Lee Byung-hun, is brilliantly psychotic. As his character is completely off the wall, Lee Byung-hun is given ample opportunity to stretch the character as far as he could, and the result is intense and enjoyable. In fact, his portrayal of the teteeringly insane Chang-Yi reminded me of director Jerzy Hoffman’s treatment of Henryk Sienkiewicz’s With Fire and Sword. The character Jurko Bohun is portrayed as slightly deranged in the movie and is played with the same kind of unbalanced brilliance by Aleksandr Domogarov. I remain impressed with both actors.

    But the prize must go to The Weird, as portrayed by Song Kang-ho, a well-known, “self-taught” actor. His bumbling character, with its startling mix of rough compassion and ruthless brutality, is a classic, and the movie is worth seeing for this role alone. And the landscape of Manchuria, with those gorgeous sweeping shots, is a fitting fourth character to the action.

    Mighty Peking Man produces the best single-sentence review of The Good, The Bad, The Weird:

    “Above anything this film is trying to showcase, the action is what shines the most — it’s crisp, fast, inventive and brutal.”

    Being an veteran Asian film-watcher, he doesn’t think this is Kim Ji Woon’s best film, citing A Bittersweet Life as superior, but even he admits the film is damned stylish. You can read his full review here.

    But I’m not a veteran of Korean film-making. In fact, I believe this is the first Korean film I’ve ever seen. But it’s so good that I’m nominating it as my Film of the Year.

    RATING: 10 / 10. Brilliant! Even on a plane.

  • Bullying

    1

    We had a chance to try out the school’s policy on bullying this week, the first week back at school for The Wast and Little Dinosaur.

    Bullying. Bullying. At all the International and Australian private schools I passed through, bullying was part of the rich, natural fabric of life … usually directed against me. Although all said schools had a supposedly “zero tolerance” of bullying, nothing was done, even when I was desperate enough to go to the Office, or to my class teacher, and report it myself. That’s not to say that all the blame lay with the schools. My parents also contributed to the problem by not wanting to rock the boat or upset any authority, so there was never parental support backing me up in that regard.

    With a jaundiced eye, then, I heard the “absolutely no tolerance” statement about bullying coming from the Vice-Principal of the current school and mentally yawned at the appropriate juncture. Until Little Dinosaur emerged from the school bus crying on Monday afternoon, followed soon after by The Wast with a stunned look on his face. It seemed that a boy from Primary-1 decided to bully our kids by pulling LD’s hair, taking some stickers she’d got at school and slapping TW across the face. (The kids, having been moved around countries for the past couple of years, and home-schooled part of the time, have no experience of such behaviour. Neither of them retaliated, being more confused and hurt than anything else. This kind of incident has rocked their naivety which, I’m sorry to say, is no bad thing, the world being what it is.)

    The bus driver refused to give the boy’s name, and we were livid. After taking down the particulars of what happened from our kids, J charged down to the school first thing on Tuesday morning, ready to do battle and wave the “no bullying” policy in their faces. (It was decided that J should do it because he’s an orang putih (white man), but more about that in the second part of this blog.)

    And he got the wind taken out of his sails completely. The Vice-Principal was utterly apologetic, explained that the young boy had already been told of punishment through a period of ostracisation, the bus driver informed, and parents told of consequences (J didn’t ask what they were, but we’re pretty sure it’s corporal punishment) should he repeat the behaviour. So, between the end of school on Monday, and the start of it on Tuesday, everything appeared to be settled. Subsequent bus trips have been uneventful, but we’re monitoring on an ongoing basis. That’s the good news.

    Okay, so let’s get to the orang putih bit. If I want something down in this part of the world, I get J to do it. The hierarchy of status around here goes something like this: white man, Asian man, white woman (depending on her position), Asian woman. Sometimes, the white woman scores below the Asian woman, but not in casual encounters. The result of this is a lack of courtesy that drives me insane.

    The men here see absolutely no problem in charging first into the elevator or a room or a queue of any sort. J tells me that, where he works in Singapore, the women always tell him to get into the elevator first and are stunned when he holds back and insists that they precede him. In a recent encounter, J and I were joining a male and his two female cohorts in the car. When J made to offer me the front seat, the man told him not to be silly. “You’re the man,” he said bluntly, in front of all of us. “You should be in the front.” “And that’s okay,” I replied sweetly, “because if we’re involved in a crash, you’ll cushion the impact.” Needless to say, Zaharin and I are not subsequently on the best of terms.

    It’s the same in the corporate environment. I’m often the peer (or higher) of the suits I normally rub shoulders with, yet I’m relegated to invisibility status purely because I’m a woman. It doesn’t help that I have brown skin. When we go to a restaurant, the menu gets given to the males first. The drinks get given to the males first. The door is opened for the male; if I’m in front, or alone, I have to struggle with it myself. And it doesn’t seem confined to one race. If they’re Asian, chances are they’re chauvinists. Chinese, Malay, Indian, Korean, Japanese. The occasional skerrick, the single grain, of courtesy that I get from the rare Asian man only serves to highlight the fact that better behaviour is possible, but just not important enough for anyone else to emulate.

    Do you know what impression you give, gentlemen? Not only to Western-educated women like me, but to Western businessmen as well? That you’re primitive fucks. (I do believe that’s the first time I’ve sworn in this blog, and please forgive me, but this is an emotional subject for me.) You want to know why Americans and Europeans hold you in some contempt? It’s because of your combination of sleazy toadying to them and arrogant sexism towards women. It’s the mark of bullies, not mature adults. The Westerners may discuss serious things with you, but they’re laughing at you behind your backs. I know, because I’ve been party to such discussions. I’ve even received apologies from some of them on behalf of thoughtless behaviour from their Asian colleagues. So let’s just say you aren’t making yourself any fans here, boys.

    As for Asian women? Well, if they continue to accept this behaviour, then they’re nothing more than doormats who deserve to be stepped on. I don’t accept this behaviour. Neither does J. We are both appalled by the singular lack of manners in this region. But we’re also appalled by the fact that the women just seem to accept it. We don’t, but we’re specks in a sea of entrenched chauvinism. I don’t put up with such behaviour but will my actions to redress the balance make the slightest bit of difference? I don’t think so. In which case, should I even continue trying? I feel like Canute with his insight into kingly power. Fight something I know I will never change, or ignore it? What do you think?

  • The obligatory review of 2008

    0

    I’m an occasional reader of Harper’s Magazine and subscribe to their FREE Weekly Review, a succinct and pithy overview of — as you’ve probably guessed — the week that was. I tend to think that I’m up with most of what’s happening, but there are always multiple mentions in Harper’s that point to how wrong I am.The last email from them in my Inbox ended up being a year in review, and I hope they don’t mind if I reproduce it here for your enjoyment. I wish I knew who wrote these Reviews, they’re a treasure.

    The United States marked the five-year anniversary of the war in Iraq. Over four million Iraqis had fled the country or been internally displaced, and the total cost of the war, currently about $650 billion, was expected to rise to $2 trillion over the next five years. Oil rose above $147 a barrel, and Abu Dhabi bought New York City’s Chrysler Building for $800 million. Somali pirates stole a Saudi supertanker. President George W. Bush announced that North Korea was no longer a state sponsor of terrorism. The CIA expanded its covert operations in Iran. Bozo the Clown died, as did Jesse Helms, William F. Buckley Jr., Paul Newman, Heath Ledger, Indonesian dictator Suharto, comedian George Carlin, didgeridoo master Alan Dargin, and, at age 110, Louis de Cazenave of the Fifth Senegalese Rifles, one of the last two living French veterans of World War I. “War,” he once explained, “is something absurd, useless, that nothing can justify.” Ariel Sharon was still alive, and Israel bombed Gaza in retaliation for ongoing rocket attacks. Tom Jones insured his chest hair for $7 million.

    Australian police tasered a ram. France banned TV shows for babies. Pope Benedict XVI toured the United States, and the Vatican released a list of seven “social” sins – including littering, genetic tampering, and creating poverty – to complement the seven cardinal vices. The World Health Organization announced that virtually untreatable drug-resistant tuberculosis could now be found in 45 countries. Japanese men began to wear bras. The cost of rice increased by 30 percent, and food riots broke out in 30 countries. The United Nations expected the number of starving people in the world to rise to 950 million. North Korean hunger scientists announced a new noodle. In an expanding thousand-square-mile low-oxygen zone growing along the coast of Oregon and Washington, every fish, crab, and sea worm was dead. A 7.9-magnitude earthquake centered in China’s Sichuan Province left tens of thousands of people dead and millions homeless. The Summer Olympics were held in Beijing, heralded on television by fake, computer-generated fireworks. Structures built for the 2004 Athens Olympics were falling into ruin. A man in Swansea, Wales, died from eating too much fairycake, and an elderly German woman filed a lawsuit against a hospital in Bavaria after she went in for a leg operation and was instead given a new anus. Paddington Bear turned 50; both the cubicle and the assassination of Martin Luther King turned 40; Viagra turned 10. One in 100 American adults was behind bars.

    The Supreme Court ruled 5-4 that detainees held as “enemy combatants” by the United States at Guantanamo Bay have a constitutional right to challenge their detention through habeas corpus petitions in federal courts. Scientists located the part of the brain responsible for understanding sarcasm. Global stock markets lost $3.1 trillion in four days, and the Dow Jones Industrial Average fell below 10,000 for the first time in five years. The real estate boom in Dubai slowed. Nobel Laureate V. S. Naipaul declared that there are “no more great writers,” and Bob Dylan won a Pulitzer Prize. Illinois Senator Barack Obama was elected President of the United States. Gunmen terrorized Mumbai, and inflation in Zimbabwe reached 23 million percent. Iceland went bankrupt. Zookeepers across the United States put their animals on diets, feeding gorillas according to a Weight Watchers point system and offering polar bears sugar-free Jell-O. The thoughts of a monkey in North Carolina controlled the actions of a robot in Japan. New York researchers used carbon nanotubes to create the darkest material known to man. Two teams of physicists, one in Calgary and the other in Tokyo, successfully stored nothing within a gas in the form of squeezed vacuum composed of uncertainty.

  • Durian and petai, oh my!

    0

    It was a stinky New Year’s, although Malaysians will recognise the items from the heading and smile a little. Being Malaysian-born, it’s no surprise that I’m talking about FOOD!

    Let’s hit petai (per-TIE) first. These flattish green beans come in long, strap-like pods that resemble organic ammunition belts. The Parkia speciosa tree may reach 30 metres in height. I remember my father always coming back from army manoeuvres in the jungle, loaded up with bundles of petai that my mother and I would then peel. You can eat the beans raw or cook them, usually in a very thick and strongly-flavoured sauce. The crunchy texture of petai doesn’t change much after cooking.

    All kinds of “native” fruit, vegetables and herbs are getting raves from natural health practitioners nowadays, so what does petai help with? The list includes depression (although I think that’s due to the hot, sticky curry or sambal mix that usually enfolds it), PMS, anaemia, high blood pressure, constipation (again, I think it’s the sambal mix it’s in), hangovers, obesity, smoking, stress, nerves, mosquito bites, morning sickness and warts. I remain a bit sceptical about all this, but J tells me he was listening to a one-hour radio programme that extolled the virtues of petai, so the news is certainly getting out there. Here’s a nice picture of a petai dish from Wikipedia. It’s making me a bit hungry even looking at it.

    There are a few downsides to munching on petai, however, and they include bad breath, smelly farts and smelly urine (they contain the same set of amino acids as asparagus, but stronger, imo). So you’ll definitely want to warn whomever enters the bathroom after you … or not, as the case may be.

    Reaction from n00bs: We had it in a Thai dish, fried with prawns and chilli. J says its definitely an acquired taste, commented on the hard texture, but said he’d try it again … in a few months. It certainly cleaned out my colon, so I’m not complaining.

    And we finally cracked the durian that kindly Mr. Loh gave me. The smell of durian is like sugar-coated onions that have been sweating in the oven. (J gave this to me when I had a particularly bad throat infection once, and it helped, so don’t laugh.) And it doesn’t get any better because, to be perfectly honest, once you crack the thick thorny skin, you are confronted with something that looks like a smooth, yellowish obese sausage of cat-sick. Have a look at this (like the previous pic, credit to Wikipedia) and tell me I’m wrong:

    There are more than a dozen different durian cultivars, each with its own characteristics. I’m a fan of the yellow, sweet, mushy varieties, although I hear there’s a red variety in Sabah.

    Reaction from n00bs: (The type Mr. Loh gave me was white and sweet but with largish seeds.) After saying he’d join me for a taste, The Wast chickened out when confronted by the smelly reality. Only J and my darling, sweet Little Dinosaur ponied up to have a tiny bite. Her reaction can best be described as every vaccination she’s had as a child, rolled into one. I’m not talking about crying, but a stunned look of utter bewilderment, accompanied by a quick, erratic stiff-legged gait around the dining room, followed by a quick dash to the refrigerator to pour herself a drink. J tried something similar by downing a can of Guinness, until I pointed out that if you make a “tcha” sound with your tongue, the taste of the durian comes back into your mouth. He tried it and reported, quite sorrowfully, that I was right.

    But, for me, it was heaven. Petai for dinner and durian for midnight supper on New Year’s Eve. What a lovely way to end one year and begin another. Happy 2009 to all!