Of Software and Magic

Lightning crackles through my hind-brain, adenosine receptors lighting up in sequence as caffeine molecules finish their long journey from the hillsides of South America to the grey mass of proteins from which spawn consciousness. My eyes open wider, and with them my mind. Fingers flicker and dance across the keys of mankind’s most arcane device. Thoughts, ideas, visions flash across my mind, patterns forming for just milliseconds. Then they explode through neural pathways, twisting and contorting muscles that touch keys across the tiny portion of the real world that is still required for man and machine to work in harmony. Then on again, electrical pulses once more, completing the journey from pattern in flesh to pattern in silicon.

In another time and place, perhaps I would have been a shaman, ingesting powders of strange jungle plants to achieve the same state beyond mere consciousness, the same ability to communicate with the world, that I now achieve with caffeine and a keyboard. For the creation of software is unlike any art or act of engineering that came before it, and at times it borders on magical.

The carpenter’s and the artist’s work both begin with an idea in their mind, but the end product of each one’s endeavour is a real, tangible object. What’s more, the carpenter’s chisel marks and the artist’s brush strokes become part of the work itself, forever a sign that human effort created it. But not so the magic of the programmer. We have minimised our tools as far as we can, allowing fingers to dash across keys as fast as our muscles allow, and still we yearn to do away with them entirely. Like the Chi to a T’ai Chi practicioner, the keyboard to us is a limitation on the speed we can translate thought into reality, and the more we minimise it, the more effective we are.

At the end of the craft of software, there is no finished item that can be picked up, examined for workmanship, burnt to ash. There is just a pattern of magnetic domains on a disk somewhere, an electromagnetic pattern the mirror twin of the electromagnetic pattern in a brain that spawned it. By using a strange tool and a bizarre language which few understand, we take the patterns in our heads and overlay them on the world as pure information, pure pattern-stuff.

And that, dear friends, is nothing more or less than the practice of magic.

A Knot is Tied

Just over seven years ago, after one potential student house deal fell through, I asked around the Games Society to see if anyone was in a similar situation. I met one girl who was strange and hyperactive and who was looking for other people to share a house with. She introduced me to a house and another potential housemate, and that housemate proceeded to introduce me to a nightclub, an entire musical genre, and another girl whom I immediately developed a crush on. Little did I know then that the house would come to define my time at university, and the people whom I turned to in desperation to find a house would become some of my best friends.

A couple of months later, the strange hyperactive girl asked me out. I, being shy, easily breakable and largely terrified of the opposite sex, said no. Via the medium of a cryptic LiveJournal post.

She drifted out of my life for a year and a half, moving away from my university city while I applied myself to my studies and my increasingly inappropriate crushes on other people. But then, that year and a half later, she was back in Southampton for one weekend which began with following fairy paths, continued with whisky and bitter tears, and ended up with that strange, hyperactive girl asking me out for a second time. This time, I seem to recall, I said “yes”.

University finished for me in the summer of 2006, splitting us further apart. But in November of that year, we moved to Bournemouth together.

In 2007, we had a child. In 2008, we bought a flat.

Yet more years have passed. We have come a long way from being a strange, hyperactive girl and a terrified boy who refused her advances. This Friday, the tenth of June in the year 2011, in the presence of those friends from long ago and many more besides, we were married.

A Time to Panic

Life passes slowly, when epic things lie ahead.

I have two full days ahead of me as a “free” man, before I am to be married to the only woman crazy enough to have me. And, naturally, I am panicking so much that by Friday morning I expect to have exploded in a shower of caffeine and miscellaneous body parts.

I’m sure at this point I’m supposed to be nervous about my choice of wife; that I’d picked the wrong woman and was dooming myself to a life of unhappiness. Or something. But the time for worrying about that was a very long time ago.

Eric, Joseph and I

About this long ago.

No, this panic is merely a result of having to organise the biggest thing I have ever organised (by about a factor of 4, in terms of people, or a factor of 400 in terms of the precipitous fall in my bank balance). The service is organised, though we sent out 30 invites with the wrong time. The reception is organised, though if it rains we’ll be an hour early. The DJs haven’t replied since I told them “no soppy crap and no 90s boy bands”. Flowers might happen at some point, and the cake maker hasn’t been in contact for weeks.

Facebook, Twitter, Google Talk are all abuzz with people asking questions; where they should be and when, what to buy, what to bring. The morning of the wedding is shaping up to be a bizarre and convoluted guest-shuffling exercise.

A wedding appears to be not so much about love, as spending pots of cash on a great big party and going mad trying to make it all happen. And however it happens, in the end, we’ll love each other just as much afterwards as before.

Eric and I

But maybe we’ll be people again, not insanely vibrating beings hewn from raw elemental stress.

And So Into Summer

Every year, when the days start to heat up, it feels like a liberation that some strange part of me worries might never come. But it’s here now, as inevitable as any season. May turns into June with barely a second thought. The wind swings around to the south, blowing hot from foreign lands. It rises, too, tickling the tops of trees but bringing no relief to those on the ground under the scorching sun.

Field and Farmhouse

Temperatures drift inexorably towards the thirties. The gorse flowers have faded and gone, passing their torch to the buttercups in the meadows and the cow parsley that crowds every hedgerow and riverbank.

Winter and Spring have had their day. Now it is time for Summer; king of seasons, our season. It is time for deep blue skies and endless green fields. It is time for the smell of barbecues and the salty sea. It is time for the sound of parched heath underfoot and the calls of swallows in the cool evening air.

House and Brick Wall

It is time to run, and play, and swim, and laugh, and dance between the hot sand and the blazing sky.

Summer is here.

A Flotsam Person

Whilst walking the night-time streets of Guildford, Eric remarked to me that it was a place that felt permanent; a place where one could put down roots. My home, and now hers, stands in complete contrast. Bournemouth is a new town, founded two hundred years ago as a seaside resort — which it still is.

She lectured me on the joys of her old inland town, with its stone walls and canals. I asked why one would want to put down roots, when you could have a beach instead?

She branded me a ‘flotsam person’, and that was that.

Things that remind me of the seaBut I suppose I am, really. I carry things that remind me of the sea, so that I feel at home wherever I go. The feeling of being tied to a place, a town with history, isn’t for me. Like the sand that drifts forever eastwards, despite the groynes that try to stop it, I’m happy anywhere near the sea. I love the feel of transient beaches, transient lives, forever in motion. Years come and go, bringing with them the ebb and flow of people — students, summer students, tourists.

I am a flotsam person, a driftwood person, happy wherever I can wash ashore and sit on sand as the waves lap against my feet.

Promises Fallen by the Wayside

Nearly six months ago, I sketched out some ideas for a site then called “healthi.ly”, since renamed to Daily Promise. In time I coded it up, made it public, and made the same commitment I have to other sites in the past — 20 active users gets it its own domain and investment of time and effort. Less than that, and it goes how it goes.

It never did make it to 20 users. Its height was around 10, and has since fallen to just two. Today, it falls to one.

Leaving Daily Promise reminder tweet

I am leaving Daily Promise.

It remains where it is, costing me nothing, ready for use by anyone should they so wish. Its source code is still public, for anyone to grab and build upon.

I’m leaving simply because it doesn’t, after all, help me keep my promises — it merely helps me monitor them. I never found myself striving to beat my record, never felt a pang of guilt as I ticked a row of “no” boxes. I merely carried on as normal, not changing my lifestyle, just monitoring my behaviour as a set of green and red boxes that were at first fun, then over time became a chore.

Snapshot of Daily Promise chart

Two apologies are due before I lay it finally to rest:

  • Firstly to @HolyHaddock, who submitted a patch that would allow Daily Promise to allow “do this x times per week” promises — a requirement for his use case. Unfortunately it broke the way I used it, and I never worked up the enthusiasm to merge the two properly. So my apologies for your wasted effort.
  • Secondly to @telli_vision, who outlasts me as the only remaining user of Daily Promise. My apologies for leaving you on your own, and I hope that the site remains useful for you.

And of course, thank you to all the users, everyone who offered their comments during the design phase and everyone who submitted bug reports since.

Daily Promise belongs to the world’s ever-increasing body of free software. If you like it, use it. If you don’t like something about it, take it, build on it, and make it yours. I’d love to hear from you.

An Ending in Darkness

I lie unmoving on the floor of Joseph’s bedroom, stretching my back into shape as I listen to the splattering of raindrops against his window. A cold north wind blows them on, a rare wind in these parts. So rare is this wind, and so sheltered is our flat from all other directions, that the sound of rain against glass seems alien for a moment.

Seven hours we spent on the patio today, eating and drinking and being merry, happy for our extra holiday and not giving a damn as to the reasons why. My feet ache, my back aches, and I’ve been through about half a bottle of Pimm’s since lunchtime.

It’s half past nine, but it feels like it could be midnight.

This morning, the world full of light and caffeine and promise, I had a thoughtful post in my head. It was about royalty, and what purpose they served, and it was about smiling couples and flags waved in the streets while NHS bad news is buried and Stoke’s Croft burns.

But this evening, the world is full of darkness and alcohol and rain beating against windows. I’m starting to feel detached again — unconcerned with human things like weddings and internets and eating and sleeping. Thoughts are difficult and half-formed; better save that thoughtful post for another day.

EDIT: Thanks Newsweek, for negating the need for my blog post with just four words: http://yfrog.com/gz7batfj

Summer Calling

It is past midnight here, and a warm onshore breeze is just beginning to slacken. I stand barefoot between the blinking lights of the town and the endless beaches that sweep up the sea, whole again.

There’s sand in my shoes, sand in my bag and sand strewn across the carpeted floor, but it’s matched by the sand in my heart and soul that I can never leave behind.

image

Home is here, beneath the blazing sun, ankle deep in salty water. Home is here, amongst the lobster-red tourists and dripping ice creams. Home is here, where barbecues cloud the sky and stars reflect upwards from the open sea.

Home is here, between a glorious Spring and the beckoning arms of a long, hot summer.

Easter’s Approach

Not too many years ago, Easter fell early in the month of April. I spent it camping in a blizzard somewhere near Birmingham, packing in as many people as our tent would hold so that we wouldn’t freeze overnight. My choice to spend the daylight hours running around a frozen muddy field in a hakama was also, with hindsight, not the best of all possible choices.

Years have passed, and this time around, Easter falls late. The lilac trees are already in bloom, while cherry blossoms and dandelion seeds tumble in the wind.

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Even at eight in the morning, the sun is high in the sky and the mist is boiling away. Blue skies overhead promise a beautiful day, hot and cloudless, just like dozens more to come.

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It’s April, then it will be May. The holidays are here, the tourists are here to pack the beaches. Slowly but surely, Spring is becoming Summer once more.

Johannes Kepler and the Fabric Mice

Cover of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"Joseph has a book called “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” which intersperses the lyrics of the famous nursery rhyme with pages in which fabric mice contemplate their place in the universe.  One of the pages which particularly strikes a chord with me has a mouse looking up at the night sky and wondering “are there stars for us all up there, or do some folks have to share?”.  I’m not sure Joseph is as enthused as I am about the answer to that question — that not only is there a star for every human being (and mouse) on Earth, but that in just the observable portion of the universe we have about 10 galaxies each — a total of around 100 trillion stars for every single one of us.[Wikipedia]

In similarly humbling news, the Kepler team yesterday announced the results of the first four months of the spacecraft‘s planet-finding mission.  Even if only 90% of their candidates are real planets[Morton & Johnson], that still means they found an an astonishing 1112 new planets in four months.

The plot of extrasolar planets discovered by year now looks something like this:[Wikipedia, Borucki et al]

Graph of Extrasolar Planet Discoveries, by year

Never has the trend of bars on a graph given me a more wonderful feeling about the future of our species than this. We may have budget cuts, wars and enough weapons stockpiled to wipe humanity from existence, but I can’t help looking at a graph like that and thinking that we’re going to get there. Though it might be thousands or tens of thousands of years from now, we’ll be out there; our descendants spread across the hundreds of human worlds, counting yet more stars to call our own.