Bring the venom

Thanks, William. That phrase is a keeper.

Who made Clippy, the late, hated Microsoft Office assistant? I feel a bit bad for the graphic artist somewhere who, presumably, worked long and hard to create Clippy. She drew his shape, gave him movement and motion, polished his wire body to healthy, but not ostentatious, sheen. And after all that toil, the artist had done worse than fail. Certainly not liked, Clippy wasn't even inoffensive; his appearance on the screen prompted loathing, rage, and "the venom".

Admittedly, it wasn't all the artist's doing. She probably had nothing to do with the twisted, programmed logic that summoned Clippy only when a user least wanted him. And regardless, some number of attempts to shove improvements down the throats of the masses are bound to fail. Nonetheless, the image the artist created is what still, years after Clippy's demise, triggers visceral spitting and hissing. It must be disappointing to her, but I hope she can laugh about it.

[Ed. note: Before you ask, I really don't know about the gender of Clippy's creator, but "she" makes it easier to distinguish her from Clippy. For Clippy is definitely a guy, unless you would wish that albatross and Gilbert Gottfried's voice on the fairer sex.]

Is a working knowledge of Basque obscure?

Thanks to seeing Eric twice over the last week, I know that the answer is "not enough". After all, being able to translate from Basque to English got Eric published. (Zikloa, by Joseba Olalde, Arabera, Gasteiz, 2004 - and yes, all of those words are spelled correctly.) So now he's off to spend two years studying patristics, the theological debate and evolution of the first five centuries of Christianity. It's not just St Augustine; there's a dizzying array of bishops and heresies and monk rumbles.

It's a joy to me that I know someone who wants to study these things, who has the knowledge of ancient languages to study these things, and who can already discuss them at length in historical context, and see the connection to his personal and modern Church life. People really can be extraordinary.

Apparently my daemon is a kiwi

Courtesy of Ros, Kerry and I have been enjoying the His Dark Materials trilogy by Phillip Pullman. Actually, Kerry finished this week, and I'm close behind. (No spoilers, please.) One of the prominent inventions in the book are the animal-formed "daemons" that accompany all humans. They are reflective of the person's true nature and emotions, so I expect it's a very common reaction for readers to speculate on what their daemon would be.

My wonderings were put to rest when I ran into some troubles with the router at the office this morning. It's taken to rebooting itself, which takes down the network for 5-10 minutes - annoying and embarrassing for me, the keeper of all things IT. Of course it's more difficult to diagnose the problem as the reboot erases the event log on the router, so to create a remote log on one of our computers, I installed, yes, a daemon. But not just any daemon: a Kiwi Syslog daemon.

And so my true nature is revealed, all thanks to the half-bit router Verizon gave us with our DSL service.

On your MARC...

I write you from the gently-swaying sumptuousness of a MARC commuter train, gliding home in quiet, dignified comfort, befitting a day well-spent in productive labor.

OK, I'm probably a little excited about it now, but it's been years since I've taken the train for my regular commute from Columbia to DC. Though I've said many times that I don't mind the drive down to the Metro at Greenbelt, I find that I mind even less the 7-minute drive to the Dorsey train station. And with the price of gas double what it was when I last a MARCsketeer, I don't mind shaving 40 miles of driving from my daily routine. Plus, the MARC gives more space and more uninterrupted time than does Metro to do useful things, like write The Hollerer. (Now if only I could actually post it from the train...)

A new commute is part of settling in at my new job at Greengate. In fact, it will become a proper job next Monday when I switch from working under a short-term contract to being employee #1 of the firm. (Actually, they have not dubbed me "employee #1", but if I claim it, who's around to argue with me?) I'm pleased and excited. I've enjoyed this job for the last two months, and I've learned a good bit. Admittedly, a lot of it has been about copiers and phones as I coordinated our recent move to a new office, but doing some of everything is part and parcel of working in a firm of four, and something I looked forward to when I accepted the job in May. I get on well with my three bosses, or so it seems; none of them suspiciously pick up the phone or leave on international travel when I knock on their door. This job is a great opportunity, and I couldn't expect to be more pleased by it.

Honoring Aunt Debbie

My Aunt Debbie, Mom's eldest sister, passed away last spring. This last weekend, Kerry and I spent a couple of days in Duxbury, her hometown, with her sisters, children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews, remembering her life. The capstone was a beautiful time, arranged by Debbie's children, at the arboretum of her old home. The arboretum itself is a lovely sight, designed and first created by Debbie's father, my Grampie, then in turn re-created by Debbie. Around the edges of the large yard were about 25 pieces of Aunt Debbie's artwork, from the meticulous and inventive collages of the last ten years, to photographic portraits, poetry, letters and cards, and even some of the books she wrote for her grandchildren. As her eldest daughter, Melanie, put it, it was as much an art show as a memorial, and the many family and friends of Debbie there truly appreciated the chance to remember and revisit her creative spirit. There were also numerous photos of Debbie's life with family and friends, which called up fine memories. The entire event was wholly fitting and moving; I am certain she would have appreciated it.

As at any memorial, there was also the joy of seeing family whom we see too infrequently, in this case Debbie's sisters, children, grandchildren, etc, mentioned above. We were together less than 48 hours, but all under one roof - a 350-year-old roof, at that - we were able to catch up quickly. We are intending a reunion next year in South Carolina, reprising a great gathering in the summer of 2002. We are already looking forward to it.