The Boston Diaries

Tuesday, November 03, 2015

In other news, in orbital mechanics, you can catch up by slowing down

Figure 1a shows how incidents happened substantially less on Saturday and Sunday even though traffic to the site remains consistent throughout the week. Figure 1b shows a six-month period during which there were only two weeks with no incidents: the week of Christmas and the week when employees are expected to write peer reviews for each other.

These two data points seem to suggest that when Facebook employees are not actively making changes to infrastructure because they are busy with other things (weekends, holidays, or even performance reviews), the site experiences higher levels of reliability.

Via Lobsters, Graham King » Facebook’s code quality problem

I guess Facebook's old motto of “move fast and break things” was probably not the best motto a company could have.

Monday, November 02, 2015

Notes on an overheard conversation while driving in Boca Raton, Florida

“Is that a Mercedes?”

[Of course it's a Mercedes! This is Boca Raton! It wouldn' be anything else but a Mercedes!]

“Yes, that is a Mercedes.”

“It's ugly!”

“It sure is … boxy.”

“Why would anyone drive one?”

“To deliver mail in Boca Raton?”

It's November 1^st. You know what that means—National Novel Generation Month! It's the National Novel Writing Month for those people who can write code but not necessarily prose. Last year I completed The Quantum Supposition of OZ and it garnered a respectable number of comments (mostly about punctuation, but hey, I'll take what I can get).

I don't have any definitive ideas right now, but I did make a note of machine generated TED-talks as a possible idea. I might also have time to do The Psychotherapy of Racter, or The Descent into Madness of Dr. Eliza. So many possibilities …

Saturday, October 31, 2015

“Twice-times-a-thousand glares and winks and blinks and leerings of fresh-cut eyes.”

There must have been a thousand pumpkins on this tree, hung high and on every branch. A thousand smiles. A thousand grimaces. And twice-times-a-thousand glares and winks and blinks and leerings of fresh-cut eyes.

And as the boys watched, a new thing happened.

The pumpkins began to come alive.

One by one, starting at the bottom of the Tree and the nearest pumpkins, candles took fire within the raw interiors. This one and then that and this and then still another, and on up and around, three pumpkins here, seven pumpkins still higher, a dozen clustered beyond, a hundred, five hundred, a thousand pumpkins lit their candles, which is to say brightened up their faces, showed fire in their square or round or curiously slanted eyes. Flame guttered in their toothed mouths. Sparks leaped out their ripe-cut ears.

Halloween.

Sly does it. Tiptoe catspaws. Slide and creep.

But why? What for? How? Who? When! Where did it all begin?

“You don't know, do you?” asks Carapace Clavicle Moundshroud climbing out of the pile of leaves under the Halloween Tree. “You don't really know!”

“Well,” answers Tom the Skeleton, “er—no.”

Was it—

In Egypt four thousand years ago, on the anniversary of the big death of the sun?

Or a million years before that, by the night fires of the cavemen?

Or in Druid Britain at the Ssssswooommmm of Samhain's scythe?

Or among the witches, all across Europe—multitudes of hags, crones, magicians, demons, devils?

Or high above Paris, where strange creatures froze to stone and lit the gargoyles of Notre Dame?

Or in Mexico, in cemeteries full of candlelight and tiny candy people on El Dia de los Muertos—the Day of the Dead?

Or where?

The Halloween Tree by Ray Bradbury

The Halloween Tree, my favorite Ray Bradbury book. I remember stumbling across it at my grandparents house one summer and absolutely loving it. I managed to pick up not one, but two copies of the book since then. The imagery of the book closely describes the feeling I used to get as a young kid living in Transylvania County (you know, the birthplace of Count Dracula and all cool Hallowe'enish things).

But the crisp air? The crunch of dry leaves under your feet? The feeling that summer is gone, winter is coming? Of Christmas carols dominating the radio for the next two months? Not so much here in South Florida. Bunny is sitting outside in her shorts, waiting for ~~the little hellions~~ some kids to show up, yell the obligatory “Trick or treat!” before loading their outstretched bags with sugar bombs. I'm sitting inside, where the A/C is keeping the place cool.

Friday, October 30, 2015

Today, he would probably be arrested and we'd never hear from him again

The story of the mass panic caused by Welles’s War of the Worlds remains popular, but recent research has suggested that the extent of the commotion is far more limited than the myth allows. Newspapers at the time greatly exaggerated listeners’ panic - most of the show’s audience understood the play was fictitious - as a way to discredit radio, which was emerging as a serious competition to newspapers.

Via Impudence, This Day In History | October 30th 1938: ‘War of the Worlds’ broadcast…

Ah, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Anyway, I remember my Great Aunt Freddie (she was my mom's father's sister, and yes, Freddie really was her name) telling stories about this radio broadcast. As a kid, she was attending an evening church service that Sunday when a frantic guy burst in claiming that Martians had landed in New Jersey. Sadly, I don't recall more of the story other than that. I would have liked to have known the pastor's reaction to that.

Thursday, October 29, 2015

When typewriters cost as much as a computer

Mark Twain's “new fangled writing machine” cost him $125 back in 1874, which in today's dollars is around $2,500. That was about how much the original Apple Macintosh cost. Even today, $2,500 will get you a fairly tricked out Apple computer. I find it kind of odd how that works.

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Kapow

As I was pulling up to the exit for Chez Boca, I noticed a very bright light ahead of me, very much like a flood light they use to light baseball fields. Then it dimmed.

A few moments later, a bright flash of light, closer this time. And because I was closer, I could tell it wasn't a flood light, but a tremendous explosion of electricity from one of the utility poles along side I-95. That can't be good, I thought to myself.

A few moments later, another bright explosion of electricity from the utility pole, sparks showering down nearly ontop of rush hour traffic. I hope this isn't affecting Chez Boca, I thought.

Of course, it was …

Safety Dance

Oh, that safety kit!

[In case of an emergency, this is here to make you feel like you are prepared.]

Fellow cow-orker T came into my office, carrying the safety kit we all got. I have no recollection of ever receiving one, but sure enough, in the bottom drawer, underneath some unused boxes of office equipment and outdated HR memos, was the titular safety kit.

[It's nice to be reminded that the safety kit, which comes in a sturdy white cardboard box, does indeed, contain a sturdy white cardboard box.]

Which includes six packets of water, good until 2019 (we checked).

How about that?