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Jun. 7th, 2016

Monthwander

Busted Up Slab - 500 Wide.jpg

Where the hell have I been?

Here. Working like a sumbitch at 6700 feet above sea level, on things that may or may not be interesting to anyone but Carol and me. There is a lot of money tied up in this house, and the goal is to untie it as quickly as possible. On most days, come suppertime I am toast, and have not had the wherewithal to post anything interesting here on Contra since mid-May. Contrary to rumor I am not dead, nor anything close to it. I've been rearranging my sock drawer, for very large values of "sock drawer."

It's old news to my Facebook readers, but my garage floor has been cracked up (see above) and carted out, after which they brought in a dump truck full of road base fill, thumped it down very thoroughly, and then re-poured the concrete slab. It has to sit curing for five weeks before they can do the epoxy floor coating, but the worst of that task is out of the way.

The restorative surgery on Phage House continues. The painting is done. We've had the linen closet doors straightened. The ill-fitting cattle pen/dog run has been dismantled and donated to All Breed Rescue. We sold our snow blower on Craigslist, thinking that we won't need it much in Phoenix. The granite counters and new kitchen fixtures are in and they're drop-dead gorgeous. (Why didn't we do this five or six years ago?) The staging lady has been hired and is ready to roll as soon as we get everything not required for staging into boxes. So as time and energy allow I'm boxing up all the stuff that didn't go down to Phoenix back in December. We've given a lot to Goodwill and our friend Deidre who has an indoor flea market table. There's more than I thought. (More, and heavier. Think vintage power transformers and filter chokes.) Lots more.

But then again, isn't there always?

We should have been a little more forthcoming with our friends. Yesterday, a woman we've known since college and haven't seen in several years sent me an email to say, "We're in Colorado Springs on our way home from New Mexico. It's so sad that you're not here anymore."

Gakkh.

No writing has been done, though I occasionally take notes on The Molten Flesh. Instead I've been reading copyedited chapters on my Raspberry Pi book, which would have been much easier if I weren't trying to load half a house into boxes. (And no, I cannot explain SSL in two paragraphs. Sorry.) I still don't know when it's going to be published. Hell, I don't even know who my co-author is. I do know that writing chapters in 2013 to be published in early 2017 is a really dumb way to do things, especially for computer books. Not that it was my idea.

One of my early readers of Ten Gentle Opportunities asked me to write a side-story about Bones, an AI animated skeleton who worked the crowds in a screen at a big amusement park until he was archived because he scared little kids too much, even though at heart he was a gentle and sensitive soul. The idea appeals to me. Later in the year. We'll see. Side-stories are something I'm not used to and may have to practice a little to get right. This might be a good, er, opportunity.

The Sun has been completely blank for four days. This is peculiar, given that the solar maximum was in 2014. I would expect this in 2019. I do not expect it now. It does make me think that moving to Phoenix was the right things to do.

I am reading in the evenings, and watching a few movies. Carol and I saw Inside Out for the first time last week. It is hands-down the strangest animated film I've ever seen...and one of the best. I knew Sadness in college; she was in a lot of my classes. (Actually, there were considerably more than one of her.) If I hadn't been dating Carol then, well, I would have stood in line to go out with Joy. And when Bing Bong faded out for the last time in the Chasm of Lost Memories, I caught a tear running down my cheek. If you're going to have an imaginary friend, well, he'd be the one to have. (Mine mostly asked me to drop silverware down the cold-air return.)

I'm not done with it yet, but in The Big Fat Surprise, Nina Teicholz finally drives a stake through Ancel Keys' heart. You will live longer by eating more saturated fat. Keys and his shitlord minions murdered millions. Don't be one of them.

I have too many power transformers. Some of them are going to have to go. I see a few of them (like the old Collins items that I've had since the '70s) are going for $100 and up on eBay. Smells like easy money to me.

Anyway. I'm working very hard doing boring things, harder things and more boring than I've seen in one period for a very long time. I guess this is just what it takes. With any luck at all, the move to Phoenix will be done by August, and I can start being interesting again. Nobody's looking forward to this more than me.

Tags: , ,

May. 16th, 2016

All the Myriad Jeffs

AllTheMyriadJeffs.jpg

People misspell my name. They do. Holy molybdenum. And I have proof.

Back in 1985, when I became a technical editor at PC Tech Journal, tech companies started sending me stuff. A lot of it was press releases, some of it was swag (Carol still wears some of the T-shirts as summer nightgowns) and a great deal of it was product. Somewhere along the way, somebody misspelled my name on a mailing label. No biggie; it had happened before. It was funny, so I cut out the label and taped it to my office door to amuse passersby.

Two weeks later, I got another one. I cut it out and taped it to the bottom of the first label I had taped to my office door. For the next 17 years, I would semiregularly get shipping labels upon which someone had utterly murdered my name. And not just my last...which is understandable enough. But how many myriad ways are there to spell "Jeff?"

Lots. Each time I got one (most of the time; I let duplicates and some odd permutations get away) I cut it out and taped it to the bottom of the last label in what had become a fairly long string. At some point the string stretched from high eye-level almost to the floor, so I started a second string. Eventually I had to start a third. And a fourth. The strings of funny labels followed me from PC Tech Journal to Turbo Technix to PC Techniques/Visual Developer. When I emptied my desk on that horrible day in 2002 that it all caved in for good, I piled my strings of labels into the bottom of a box and threw a great deal of other stuff on top of it. I tried several times to empty the box, but it was so emotionally wrenching I never quite got to the bottom of the box.

Until now. And lo! There they were!

Most of them were me. A few were sent to mythical firms like The Coriolanus Group, The Cariotis Group, the Coryoless Group, and once to The Coriolis Group at 3202 East Germany. (It was actually Greenway.) The scan at the top of this entry simply serves as evidence that I didn't make it all up.

How were all these mistakes made? No mystery there: All the people who sent the labels took my name over the phone. I had MCI Mail by 1985, and CompuServe not long after that (76711,470) but the PR universe was a generation behind us nerds. And so when I thought I spoke "Jeff Duntemann" clearly to a rep, she wrote down "Jeff Stuntman." Or maybe "Jess Tuntemann." Or...well, see for yourself:

Jeff Stuntman

Gaff Duntemann

Jess Tuntemann

Jeff Duntenann at Turbo Space Technix

Jeff Duntem

Jeff Sullivan

Jeff Puntemann

Jeff Donteman

Steve Duntemann

Ms. Temann

Jeff Dunte-Mann

Jeff Duntermann

Juff Duntemann

Carol Dunkemann

Jeff Quntemann

Jeff Dunkmann

Jeff Deniemann

James Duntemann

Jeff Dunningham

Nancy Duntemann

Jeff Dunttemann

Jeff Duntamun

Jeff Duncan

Jeff Punteann

Don Temann

Jeff Duntecmann

Jeff Dundemann

John Duntemann

Jeff Doutermann

Jeff Donovan

Jeffis Sutemann

Jeff Duntavent

Jeff Doutemon

Prof. Jeff Mr. Duntemann

May. 15th, 2016

Odd Lots

May. 13th, 2016

Remembering the Known Unknown, Redux

It happened again. I tried to remember a person (two persons, actually) and remembered several things about them, but not their names. This sounds ordinary enough (especially if you're a Boomer) but hold on a sec. There's more.

First, if you've never read this entry of mine, it's might be worth a look. If it's TL,DR, I'll summarize: I tried to remember the name of a favorite poet, and failed. However, I did remember that his name was the same as the name of Indiana Jones' rival in Raiders of the Lost Ark. I couldn't remember that name either, but I knew it was the same name. After I had gone on to something else for awhile, the name popped up out of nowhere: The poet. The rival.

Clearly, human memory is not a set of SQL tables.

So the other night, I was reading some article online, and it mentioned the hapless Jayne Mansfield in passing, referring to her as a classic "blonde bombshell." That's a phrase I hadn't heard in some time, and after I wondered briefly why there were no brunette bombshells, a peculiar thing occurred to me: There had been two blonde bombshells whose names were odd but very similar, structurally. I remembered that the women themselves were similar, but then again, "blonde bombshell" was a type in its day, and there were many, including Jean Harlow, Marilyn Monroe, and Jayne Mansfield. Ok. I dug deeper, and came up with another weird recall: Their names both had three parts...but no names appeared. Why is it that I could know that two names each had three parts and were structurally similar, without remembering the names themselves?

Two hours later, while I was reading ARs of the mass storage chapter in my Raspberry Pi book, two names surfaced in the back of my head simultaneously:

Mamie Van Doren.

Monique Van Vooren.

There's nothing remarkable about either of them, and as I am not a fan of blonde bombshells to begin with, I had to wonder why I remembered them at all. Then again, I can sing the entire theme song of Car 54, Where Are You? which hasn't been first-run since 1963. Memory is a weird business--especially when it stops working effectively.

Back in the entry I cited from 2013, I posited that we could think before we could speak, and so we probably store the names of things separately from their attributes. I still think this is true, but I think it's even more peculiar that I could remember attributes of two names without remembering the names themselves. The key may be that we use different neural machinery to store names and attributes, so if the attributes of names are to be remembered, they get remembered by the attribute machinery rather than the name machinery.

It makes evolutionary sense: Knowing that the guy in the next cave is short, strong as an ox, has a stone axe buried permanently in his skull, and has a bad temper is a survival skill. It didn't matter that he didn't have a name when there were only four caves in the neighborhood. The attribute that needed to be remembered when looking his way was "twitchy badass." Names probably evolved out of attributes; think "Eric the Red." But the attributes came first. Names came about when the world grew so complex that passing knowledge among peers through shared experience was no longer enough.

Evolution doesn't replace. It overlays. So all that weird freaky ancient stuff is still down there somewhere, and is more loosely coupled to the newer stuff than we might like--especially when it's the newer stuff that starts to malfunction first.

May. 8th, 2016

I Should've Been a Jedi

Hey, country music fans, find yourself an overripe banana (or in Sarah Hoyt's universe, a ten-pound carp) and get your swingin' arm ready. I used to write a lot of filk songs but got out of the habit twenty or thirty years ago. Well...guess what?

Just in case you're not familiar with the original, it's on YouTube.


I Should've Been a Jedi

(By Jeff Duntemann; to Toby Keith's "I Should've Been a Cowboy")

 

I'll bet you never heard ol' Luke Skywalker say:

"Princess Leia, have you ever thought of runnin' away?

Settlin' down, would ya marry me?

(or at least get me the hell away from Tatooine..)"

 

She'd've said "yukkh!" in a New York minute;

Incest's against the law; there's no future in it.

She just stole a kiss as they swung away;

Luke never let his hormones…get out of place.

 

Refrain:

I should've been a Jedi

I should've learned there is no "try…"

Wavin' my light saber, knockin' the arms right off some ugly guy.

Blowin' them Empire ships

Right out of the sky;

Nukin' those Death Star cores;

Oh, I shoulda been a Jedi.

 

I mighta had a sidekick with a fuzzy mane,

Flyin' blind by the Force, just like Ben explained.

Takin' potshots at a Tusken Raider;

Givin' a hand to your daddy Vader…

 

Blast off, young man, ain'tcha seen them flicks?

Outer space is full of rayguns, wookies, and chicks!

 

Sleepin out all night inside a tauntaun's guts,

With my dreams in the stars instead of freezin' my butt…

 

(Refrain X2)

I should've been a Jedi!

I should've been a Jedi!

Tags: , ,

Apr. 30th, 2016

What Coding Starvation Does to You

I haven't done any programming in so long I'm starting to hallucinate. Here is today's hallucination. Lor' help me, I would have written the whole thing if I hadn't already read somewhere that counting syllables in arbitrary words is hard.


Open Dictionary text file; 
Create new output text file;

WHILE NOT EOF(Dictionary) DO
BEGIN
REPEAT
Readln(Dictionary,WordEntry)
UNTIL WordIsNoun(WordEntry);
ParseOutWord(WordEntry,WordItself);
If CountSyllables(WordItself) = 1 THEN
BEGIN
Capitalize(WordItself);
Writeln(OutputFile, WordItself+'y Mc'+
WordItself+'face')
END
END;

Close dictionary file;
Close output file;

Apr. 26th, 2016

Sad Puppies 4 and the Doomsday Slate

SP4 Logo 500 Wid.jpg

Earlier today I sensed a great disturbance in the Internet, as though millions of heads had suddenly exploded in anguish. Oh, wait--today was Hugo Nominations day! So I took a quick look around, and...

...the Puppies had done it again.

I would try to analyze the numbers here, but the folks over at Chaos Horizon have already done it for us. Check back there over the next few days; I suspect a lot more analysis is coming.

My first insight: Only novels get any respect in the SFF universe these days. 3,695 people nominated in the Best Novel category. The next category down only got 2,904 nominations (Dramatic Presentation, Long Form) with ever-slimmer pickins' after that. Barely a thousand people nominated for the Best Fan Artist category.

The really good news is that there were 4,032 nominating ballots cast, roughly twice what Sasquan got last year. It's impossible to tell where those new people came from, but whatever their provenance, I'll bet MidAmericon II isn't complaining about all that delicious money. That was the idea, after all: The subtitle of Sad Puppies 4 is "The Embiggening." I was not alone last year in suggesting that the only thing really wrong with the Hugo Awards is that almost nobody participates. 4,000 ballots sound like a lot, but when you consider that 100,000+ people routinely attend events like DragonCon and ComiCon, the Hugos start to look like a rounding error. If 25,000 people registered for Worldcon, and 20,000 nominated, there wouldn't be enough logs in the Western Hemisphere to roll any single faction to victory.

By my counts (starting with a nice tally on Breitbart) only ten nominees out of a total of eighty were not on one of the Puppy ballots. 70 of 80 is 87%. Obviously, a lot of those 87% were just really good people and works that probably would have been on the ballot anyway. However, one must consider finalists like the TV cartoon show My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic, and (egad) "Space Raptor Butt Invasion" by Chuck Tingle. The works are real, and not hoaxes (though I had to check on Chuck Tingle to be sure) but the nominations sound to me like shows of force.

Which brings us to the Big Ugly: Which Puppy list was the most influential? Another count from the Breitbart results tells me that 61 out of the 80 nominees were on the Rabid Puppies list. 76%. 36 out of the 80 (45%) were on the Sad Puppies list. I grinned to see that, as much as the Puppies claim to loathe Mike Glyer and his fanzine File 770, both are on the final ballot--and both were on the Puppies lists. Anybody with an IQ greater than 17 knows what's up with that: Last year's tactic of voting against anything on the Puppy lists will be...complicated...in 2016.

What the anti-Puppies seem to be saying is that they'll kiss off 2016 and bide their time, confident that E Pluribus Hugo will be added to Worldcon rules next year, and the Puppies will henceforth be out of luck. I'm not going to explain EPH here, though I'm willing to give the new rules a fair chance, knowing that they will be analyzed to death by people way better at number crunching than I. (I doubt I'm alone in thinking that changing the rules after you get your butt whipped sounds, well, weak-king-ish.)

The problem is this: The Puppies may not dominate the ballot in years to come, but one particular slate just might. Nothing in EPH makes the No Award slate difficult to use. (As I suggested earlier, having several anti-Puppy favorites on the Puppy lists will indeed make it a little tricky.) Last year the anti-Puppies encouraged their followers to vote a slate of one--No Award--against any category dominated by the Puppies. It worked: Five categories were reduced to irrelevance via the No Award slate. I suspect it's going to happen again this year.

What happens in the wake of EPH? Well, c'mon. Do you honestly think Vox Day won't use No Award too? He's said straight out that he intends to burn down the Hugo Awards. Last year the APs pretty much did it for him, but if he can get his recs into three quarters of the slots, he can burn down as many categories as he wants via No Award. This isn't the place to get into all the usual fistfights about Vox and where he gets his power and why we all need to condemn him. (That's been done to death.) This is the place to realize that what one side can do, the other side can too.

It's a mess, eh? Well, I have an audacious suggestion: Change the Hugo rules again so that No Award is outlawed. If EPH works as designed, the APs won't need No Award. And if No Award is outlawed, somebody like Vox can't use it.

No Award is The Doomsday Slate. Unless it's outlawed, people on one side or another will use it until there's nothing left of the Hugo Awards. Think hard now: Is that really what you want?

Apr. 25th, 2016

Shoveling Heavy Metal

I literally didn't know that it was Earth Day until the metal recycler guy thrust a bright green T-shirt in my hands. I had just sold them $77 worth of metal, and on Earth Day they were giving away T-shirts. He invited us to stay for their free Earth Day barbecue, but I had to decline: I was still shoveling.

I missed Earth Day mostly because I was shoveling. That morning I had shoveled close to 300 pounds of metal into the back of the Durango. About 30 pounds of that was bronze and copper, and another 100 or so was aluminum. The rest was iron and steel.

My scrap metal collection is legendary; why did I let so much of it get away? Easy: I dumped the stuff that wasn't likely to be useful. Chunks of pure copper don't machine well. Brass is way better--I wasn't giving away any brass. The bronze was a sort of special case. Carol's dad had given me several husky bronze Acme-threaded bearing brackets that once gripped a lead screw from some very large but long-dead surface grinder. Each one was bigger than my fist. I'd been staring at them (and carting them from state to state) since the early 1980s, and never came up with a use for them. In the cause of The Duntemann Ensmallening, I decided to trade them in for something much more useful: cash.

Ditto the aluminum, most of which consisted of aluminum grinding wheels from very large but (probably) long-dead surface grinders. The largest were 24" in diameter and 5/8" thick. All had once had a coating of fine diamond abrasive on their edges, suitable for the grinding of carbide dies, which was what Carol's dad did for a living. When the diamond coating got thin at any spot along the edge, the wheel was swapped out for a new one and scrapped.

He gave me a lot of them.

I did keep a few, and I have used a couple in the last 35 years, especially the smaller, 8" diameter ones. The rest of the aluminum pile was odd stuff I'd picked up cheap at hamfests in the 42 years I've been going to hamfests. As for the steel, well, it consisted of odd and generally rusty chunks that used to be frames for chairs, lamp base weights, a beat-to-hell surface plate, and several 3' lengths of badly galvanized (and now corroding) 1" threaded rod that I no longer remember obtaining at all. 1" threaded rod is stock at Artie's Ace Hardware in Phoenix, and I don't have to scrub the rust off of theirs. Out it went.

I'm probably due for another Advil. There's a hard deadline for emptying the garage utterly: On May 4 the jackhammers will show up to take out our crumbling garage slab. Much of what I will be doing between now and then will be shoveling. Tomorrow I'll shovel a load of ancient computers, computer accessories, dead cordless phones, ratty computer speakers, and cables (RCA / VGA / parallel etc) into the car to take up to Best Buy for recycling. I still have to Craigslist my small workbench and figure out how to con somebody into taking a middling list of dead or limping radio gear, including my Kenwood TS-520S (blew out its balanced modulator) a WWII Navy MAB receiver, condition unknown, and a Heathkit HW-22A that's immaculate but may or may not work. (I bought it cheap at an estate sale, sans cables.) Most regretted may be my Hammarlund HQ-145X general-coverage receiver, which was my SWL radio in college and later my Novice receiver. It always had a few quirks, and probably has a couple of bad tubes, as it doesn't bring much in anymore. (I haven't had it opened up in 30 years or so.) Alas, the Hammarlund is enormous, and does nothing that my IC-736 doesn't already do, in a third the space. I'll miss it, I guess. But that's what an Ensmallening is all about.

I'm going to ask $75 for the whole pile and see what happens. I could probably have gotten more for them by selling each item individually, but it would be a bad use of my time, considering all the shoveling that still has to be done.

I may try to foist a few things off on my hapless partygoers at our nerd party next Saturday. We still have a Midcentury Modern steel stepstool, decorated with drips of every color known to Sherwin Williams, and a "flying saucer" charcoal grill from the '50s. Beyond that, what's left is lumber scraps and useless crap that's going out on the curb this Wednesday, if I can force myself to keep shoveling.

No ifs. Shovel I must, and shovel I will, until the Ensmallening is done.

Apr. 16th, 2016

By Request: A 30-Year-Old Manuscript Page

Whew. Took another 30-odd pounds of paper up 14 feet of stairs and out to the garage, and I'm catching my breath again. This is turning out to be weight training with a vengeance.

Anyway. Reader Vince asked (in the comments under my entry of April 14, 2016) if I could post a page from the manuscript of my 1986 book, Complete Turbo Pascal, Second Edition, which turned up while purging the collection in our furnace room. I chose a page at random just now, slapped it on the scanner, and there you go. It's mostly readable, even at 500 pixels wide, because it was good-quality output from my first laser printer. The page number means nothing. Each chapter was its own file, with page numbers starting from 1.

Keep in mind that this was a book focused on the IBM PC and (egad) Z80 CP/M. In other words, this was a book about getting things done. I acknowledged the pure spirit of completely portable Pascal--and then dynamited it into the next county.

It's interesting to me, as a writer, how the conventions for writing book-length nonfiction have changed in the last 30 years. When I wrote my chapters for Learning Computer Architecture with the Raspberry Pi two or three years ago, we agreed to work in a common word processor format (.docx) using comments, and applying paragraph and header styles to the text as we went. The chapters looked like printed book pages even while they were being written. Thirty years ago, we wrote in whatever word processor we wanted, and then sent a huge big pile of paper to the publisher. I don't think I sent actual files to a publisher until the first edition of my assembly book in 1989--and I sent the files on 5" floppy disks through the mail after sending that big pile of paper!

By the way, my Raspberry Pi book is still a live project, and I sent back my second chapter of six yesterday after author review of copyedits. Beyond that, I can't tell you much, especially when I think it might actually hit print.

Ahh. Breathing normally again. Time to lug another boxful out to the garage.

Flickr : pascal, programming, writing

Apr. 15th, 2016

Odd Lots

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