Once a year, General Dan makes a long journey to the foothills of the Pocono Mountains in order to replenish his stock of woodsman-style outdoorsy clothing; he purchases his gear from a place called Cabelas, which proudly describes itself as “The World’s Foremost Outfitters”. In fact it is actually the foremost supplier of redneck survivalist equipment ranging from camouflage gear to light artillery; and for the past two years Dan has taken me along. This was an alien concept to me, coming from England, but to the patrons of Cabelas it is simply part of the outdoor sporting life. “Sport” is the key word here.
It’s not marketed as for survival or murder – but for sport.
Bear with me as I attempt to describe the experience from the point of view of, what the average patron there would probably describe as, a liberal fag.
On entering the store you are greeted by one of the beige-uniformed elderly greeters – greeting is what they do. You look ahead to a brightly lit aircraft-hangar-sized building packed with people and clothing, but at the far end is a huge artificial mountain decorated with stuffed animals ranging from squirrels to wildebeest. It is a genuinely awe-inspiring sight.
The main body of the store is filled with flannel shirts, camouflage gear, jeans, wooly-warmers and your normal set of cracker-wear. But as you dig deeper, you will discover so much more. Let’s go straight for the bit I, liberal-fag that I am, find most astonishing.
Guns! There are thousands of them! Shotguns, rifles, handguns, stun-guns you name it, they have fucking millions of them. Anything from a second-hand pump-action shot gun for under a hundred quid, to a M16 – the longest wall of the shop is lined with them. And it is the busiest part of the place. Families line up to hold, and ultimately purchase, these weapons and thankfully there is a large area of Windows 7 machines together with a pool of consultants waiting to help anyone through the overly intrusive state bureaucracy required to obtain the licence to buy them. Obviously this doesn’t apply to pump-action shotguns as in PA no licence is required.
There are aisles and aisles of ammunition in brightly coloured boxes that look like the old Pick and Mix at Woolworths. Kids amble around joyfully looking at all of this and the lovely stuffed animals with their little cards detailing when each animal was killed.
In fact it’s the enormous number of kids there that really astonishes me. They are positively encouraged to explore the wonderful world of hunting as sport. There is not only a shooting gallery, designed to make it impossibly easy to hit every target, but also a selection of “kill the wildlife” video games that really weirded me out. In fact one of them was so disturbing that I can’t get it out of my head…
Big Buck HD is a video game that allows you to enjoy the real hunting experience from the convenience of your own trailer or arcade. It’s about killing animals with shotguns and so you, the player, have a big plastic shotgun which you aim at the HD realistic animals. You choose which species you want to slay and then have a few seconds to kill as many of them as they run by without killing the wrong type of animal (otherwise you lose points). No only do you get a commentary by a vacuous cracker who sounds like “cletus the slack-jawed yokel”, but you also get a “trail guide”. I didn’t play this game but Dan got “Nicoleta” as a trail guide; she is wearing a camouflage-style bikini and her vital job is to bend over and wiggle her CGI arse just before you successfully kill a sentient being.
Meanwhile a father pushing his child along the knives and traps aisle stopped to observe a video. “Look jimmy, a fox” he said pointing at the screen as the soft-metal guitars created an exciting backdrop to the visual thrill of a real wild fox running into the open ground. There was a bang and a chunk of the fox exploded. That child will forever thank his dad for this introduction to the sporting life. Not far away from this aisle you can pick up “bargain” holographic sights – sights which are clearly intended for shooting humans in an urban environment.
So, now for the admission: I am a hypocrite. I eat and enjoy meat. I went there and spent money, which means I probably donated to the teabaggers. But I still find the place utterly disturbing, mainly because of the liberal use of the word “sport”. The killing is the part that is supposed to be enjoyable. Not the eating apparently. Kids are *actively* encouraged to come along and appreciate the killing…in the name of sport.
There’s probably only one area of debate in which I’m not a hypocrite in fact: I fucking hate all sport.

“Some people have too much time on their hands” say a billion twitter tards and other assorted Internet gobshites when presented with something incredibly intricate that clearly took a lot of time and effort to create. It may seem pointless, it may actually be pointless, and it frequently did take a long time to create, but the suggestion that it is the product of someone with “too much time on their hands” is ludicrously pathetic and it gets right on my tits.
The most talented and creative people I know produce things at a rate that is at least an order of magnitude higher than I could ever follow. They get the same time as we all do – they just use it effectively. They all have day jobs, and they all go out and have fun. But they also have an inexplicable ability to be creative too. I wish I knew how this trick was pulled off and not knowing fills me with envy. But one thing is for certain: they don’t have too much time on their hands. No-one does. It is argued that people who do literally nothing could be said to have too much time on their hands – but they fill their days somehow.
The real problem is people who get bored; if you find yourself bored in 2012 then you are either a moron, or living somewhere that doesn’t have Internet access within walking distance. If the latter, then I feel for you. If the former then please turn off your router and stop donating your opinions. The only boring thing in your life is you.

Writing to friends and loved ones has always proved problematic for me. Unless I write back immediately, the prospect of writing becomes ever more daunting with the passage of time. Writing back to a work email, or a query is simple because it can be an informal one line response – especially via email. But returning a message from someone you really like feels like it should contain something “worthy” and time consuming, and that prospect renders it difficult embark upon. Of course if you do just bite the bullet and send *any* sort of message – no matter how short and shallow it feels – it’s contact. What usually happens then is a rapid exchange of messages which slowly tail off for another long hiatus.
Well, after over 10 years of blogging I can confirm it suffers from the same problem. Looking back it’s apparent that the posting pattern consists of bursts of activity followed by periods of quiescence.
Part of the problem is that a blog is “published” – even if no-one actually reads it. So the desire to do a good job can often prevent it happening. Having said that, I’ve looked back at some of the vintage postings here and cringed for every imaginable reason.
Anyway a month later not much has changed. Here are the exciting highlights:
* Thanks to The Producers another short film was made and I now have an IMDB page. Really!
* We have added another set of wings to the flock; Corbett, the bird that introduced us to the world of avian adoration is currently living with us as his mum (our Gran) is poorly. Get well soon Dot. Cacophonous is the only word to describe our house at this moment.
* Milestones were reached at work and there are currently thousands of people around the world that are using software that contains bits of code I’ve written. Obviously that’s not unusual for a software developer, but it’s the first time I can say that about code I’ve written for over a year.
* I currently dream in objective-c.
* The binary clock I’ve been working on is coming together.
* I really need to either switch to WordPress or implement a markdown filter for this blog.
* Fighting off the dark forces of cynicism has become progressively more difficult recently.

This is amazing. A 19th century fore-runner of The Profanisaurus. Who knew that “monosyllabic” could be such a cutting insult?

The one criticism I used to have of George Orwell’s 1984 was that it put forward the idea of a society based on an inherent imbalance of power as being stable.

If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.

Whenever there is inequality, I thought, there is the possibility of insurrection. Orwell answered this in the book by using techniques that seemed unworkable: keeping a watch on every single member of the middle class [outer-party], and keeping the workers [proles] happy and content enough not to rebel, even if they are deprived of basic necessities.
The shock for me came quite recently when it became apparent that not only was this feasible, it had already happened. Obviously I can only comment using my limited experience of the US and the UK, but in both countries there are sections of society prepared to fight to keep things the way they are regardless of how badly-off they may be: the rich fight to keep themselves rich; and the poor fight to keep the rich rich, presumably so that they have something to aspire to.
The poor will then even fight to reduce taxes as if it is only the taxes that are keeping them from the world of yachts and personal islands. Some of them will even then stand up and defend their right to be paid less by their employers in the pathetic hope that the riches will “trickle down” to them.
There is a thought in their minds that one-day they will be able to break away from the rest of the mugs and live the high life. While they are waiting, they can relax by watching ordinary people trying to achieve greatness through celebrity, on X-Factor and friends. With the rest of the mugs.
It’s really bastard difficult not to be cynical. Advice welcomed.

A while ago Mr Fritz informed me that I was really into Post-Rock. I wasn’t aware of this then for many reasons, especially as I hadn’t got a bloody clue what “Post Rock” meant; and it sounded way too much like Prog Rock. Well, time has passed and now that I know what it means I can at last come out as a fan of Post Rock…and a big chunk of Prog Rock too in all honesty.
The past few days/weeks have been obnoxiously hot – frequently in the high 90s (F) and a couple of days with the temperature well over 100 (F again). Alighting the bus this evening did not result in the usual shock of the plunge from a cool, air-conditioned, 73 into the humid hellish 90s on the street; it was still hot, but at a reasonable 80-something temperature and with a solid breeze.
The walk from the bus stop at the top of Ridge Ave to our house is not only good exercise, it can actually be pretty pleasurable at times; it affords some lovely views of Gorgas Park, the Manayunk valley, and a great deal of avian activity. Tonight as I marched towards home I was listening to music on my phone – in particular a track called “Grace Descending”. With the volume turned up way too high, the lovely scenery, the cool breeze complimenting the hot sun, and the swirling impassioned tornado of sound in my ears, I started feeling almost high. There were goose bumps, an inexorable grin and a feeling of overwhelming pleasure as the music came to its ultimate climax. It really felt like I was floating.
The experience obviously demanded a repeat; I hadn’t even reached the half way point on the road home and so I restarted the track.
As the feelings started to rekindle, a car pulled up driven by a friendly neighbour. It was lovely of her to stop and offer me a ride to the door, and it would have been churlish to decline the offer. Nonetheless there was something really sad in taking out my headphones and getting into the air-conditioned car.
Sorry for this particularly poncy post – but it’s rare to feel such powerful emotions from such a seemingly innocuous experience.

Today we launched the new version of our software. A year’s worth of work unleashed on the world for the first time. Maybe that’s why I was so susceptible to strong emotions on the way home.

Noam Chomsky explains why American Libertarians don’t understand that “Anarcho-Capitalist” is an oxymoron. It also explains why American “conservatives” are the least conservative people on the planet.

So I’m Back from a week of San Francisco and WWDC, and almost at the end of another week of work. But what can we learn from this experience?

1. Virgin, the airline, is not the blissful airline I remember. Bulkhead seats now cost an extra $130 and provide the stuff that was always free before. Everyone else has to pay. Worse still, the mandatory Safety Video is tail-ended with three commercials that are also mandatory; you can’t turn the little TV off while it bombards you with coca-cola flavoured shite. It was one of the worst TV experiences I’ve ever had: the power button doesn’t work! It was like 1984!
2. According to the WWDC keynote video, us Apple developers don’t just help ourselves and Apple to get rich, we also help blind men see and beggars to become doctors! That made me feel special.
3. San Francisco reminds me a lot of Brighton – not just in appearance but also because the improbably wealthy mingle with the homeless while the acidic odour of piss permeates every street.
4. Mountain Lion, Xcode 4.5, “modern” Objective C, Instruments and LLDB all look like essential keystones in a utopian world.
5. The weather in San Francisco is genuinely excellent, even for a heat hater like me.
6. Philadelphia is a nice place to come home to.
7. The Philly Police are dimmer than a 1mW energy-efficient bulb during a power-cut.
8. Tom, thankfully, hasn’t changed.
9. America now has higher quality beer than Britain. If you disagree then get on a plane and let me educate you.
10. The area of SF that intersects Nob Hill and Tenderloin is known colloquially as “Tender-nob”

A great deal has happened over the last 10 months, and very little of it was blogable; not because it was naughty or libelous, but because I needed a source of income and so I couldn’t risk upsetting my employers any more than I had already.
Things have now changed, lessons have been learned (on all sides), and the company feels like it’s together enough to produce what it promised: a genuinely good suite of products that all work together. That they’re also flying me and a colleague out to WWDC tomorrow also helps immeasurably; it’s exciting for too many reasons to articulate in my current state of mind.
Obviously I’ll try to bore you, dear reader, as much as I can about WWDC and San Francisco – but be warned that there’s a strong possibility of meeting up with My Dear Dirty Tom while I’m there so it may turn out to be ever so slightly interesting.
San Francisco alone is an exciting prospect, but the WWDC schedule makes it look like a geeks paradise.
Happy.

When I was a kid my dad used to run a record wholesale business from our house. As a modern business in the 1970’s it really needed some way to ensure valuable orders weren’t lost simply because we were out at the time. So we became the lucky users of a piece of futuristic technology that we could show off to anyone and everyone that visited: a telephone answering machine.
It was a huge brown console full of moving parts, big clunky knobs that really did “clunk” when you moved them, a GPO logo, and a “display” consisting of a little window which revealed a section of a spinning disc underneath while a recording was taking place; just like the glassy blue barbers’ pole in OS-X…sort of. It obediently recorded callers messages whilst applying bizarre audio effects supplied by the perpetually degrading, non-replaceable tape mechanism. It didn’t take long before everyone had one in their house.

BUT THOSE DAYS ARE GONE!

Voicemail is the modern-day equivalent, but it too is already an anachronism, existing solely for those people who need to cling on to the past.

Here is a generic voicemail message that captures the essence of 99.9% of voicemail messages you’re likely to receive:

“Oh…hi…it’s X here. It’s…er…Tuesday…no, wait…Wednesday…no Tuesday at around…er…7…7:20…7:25. I was just calling to…er…see if you were up to anything over the weekend. So give me a call back when you get this…or actually I may try to call you again later. See you.”

Back in the olden days, this tedious message still held some potentially valuable information for the recipient:

• X called.
• The call was placed at 7:25 on Tuesday.

The rest of the message is pretty much free from information and can be inferred from the existence of the call: “call me back, or I’ll try again”.

But today all of the valuable information there is automatically handled by your phone! You know you got a call and you know when the call was placed! Yet people still leave these tedious messages on voicemail systems. Please stop doing that! It’s costing you time and money for absolutely no reward. And it’s costing me irritation that I have to check my voicemail (even though I already know you called) just to get rid of that bloody little tape-spool icon.

If you want to tell the callee something of consequence then why not use an SMS message (ie a “text message”), an email, or something similar like Facebook? That way the recipient can read and digest your message at a time convenient for *them*, rather than a time convenient for you.