getting closer to fine
I’ve laid out the final bone structure of my portfolio site. Each content box, consisting of the content title and the content description, will eventually be thumbnails of projects instead of text (at least for those of us with JavaScript enabled), with some JQuery thrown in for fancy-pants presentation. I know the site looks like a dry manual now, but with the forthcoming images, the page will have a completely different feel. The site will grow as my skills grow. I am so excited that I can actually put some cool shit together now that it’s keeping me from my schoolwork. Yikes!
My goals are these:
- minimalism
- orderly grid system
- layout that will accentuate the projects (with forthcoming images), rather than the fluffy stuff, like the about, legal mumbo-jumbo and links in the footer.
Constructive criticism is always welcome, especially if you’re using a browser/version different than the ones I’ve tested, which are listed under browser tests. I already know that IE 8.0 screws up the Elsewhere Photo link. IE sucks. I also already know that if I put in a very short sentence in the right-hand content box’s description that my grid breaks down. I’ll just have to be careful with my placement and paragraph lengths in the right column. I encourage “breaking” the site, e.g. zooming in and out, turning off styles, etc. The content needs to be legible and organized in all conditions.
hear ye, hear ye!
My slim fit jeans are turning into relaxed fit jeans.
Thank you Wii and stationary bike! And these.
don’t trip over my soapbox
I’ve had lots of ideas lately for part folk, part post-modern blended textiles to hang on the walls of our new house. I think Paul and I are still in apartment rental mode: no nails in the wall, therefore, no art on the wall. Our walls are bare, and consequently feel a bit sterile. I’d really like to start working on my pile of projects once I finish my web development program and get a better job. Now and then, I come across an article or tv show that seems as though it will give me either a) more ideas, or b) technical knowledge on how to construct these projects. I noticed a show on paper and textile crafts being aired on PBS, so I set the PVR to record it. I finally got around to watching it tonight while I cycled on the stationary bike. I was more than a little disappointed, because the show seemed geared toward artsy-craftsy-cutesy projects for a type of woman that I’m not.
As I thought about the five minutes of the show that I watched (I ended up watching an episode of Six Feet Under instead), my disappointment turned into anger, and then outright disgust. I finally tapped into the reason that I dislike that type of crafty shit, including the scrapbooking phenomenon that has seized hold of our “suburban” sisters. I have nothing against suburban sisters*, but I often think of them as stifled somehow. Perhaps that’s why they sometimes turn to scrapbooking to release a pent-up need to express themselves. Where my anger comes in is that, having seen some incredibly intricate and thoughtful scrapbooks, these women have latent talent that could be used to their benefit. I’m not talking about the personal, private growth that finds its way into a cardboard banker’s box in the attic, but tangible social and financial growth- the kind of growth that supports independence, social movements and real change in women’s status. I’ve traveled the road of feminism along the way, at one time being quite militant about the whole matter. I’ve mellowed and seen how our culture pushes both men and women into prescribed roles, that on one hand has a partly biological basis, but on the other, biology does not have to be destiny.
Between this and a conversation I had with a young coworker who is considering giving up a dream of going to university in Toronto because her boyfriend won’t necessarily move there with her, I’m discouraged about this state of affairs, this easy acquiescence to a passive life defined solely by relationships and the bobbles on a decorated piece of paper. I dunno where I’m going with this, except “down with scrapbooking!” Taking charge of your life isn’t scary- it’s the best feeling in the world.
*When I say suburban sisters, I’m talking in stereotypes. I live in a suburb myself.
C++
Behold, my first C++ program! Now I can print “Hello world!” to the screen in four programming languages. Look at me go. :-D
Hello world!
just me and the open road
I awoke this morning to find, on the street outside our house, the snow eaters that are so plentiful in the city of Ottawa during winter. What a wonderful way to start the day! When I first moved to Ottawa in late 2005, I marveled at not only the amount of snow (and the pain of the wind chill), but also at the removal techniques of a large, snow-seasoned city in the snow belt in Canada. The city workers don’t just push the snow to the side, as they do in, let’s say, Virginia (!), they actually bring tons of equipment to remove the snow from the street and sidewalk in order to take it somewhere else to lay until the spring thaw. That somewhere else turns out to be several somewhere elses in the city to which the snow is taken and mounded until it thaws in the spring. The photo below shows the mountain of snow at Lebreton Flats off Bayview Road in Ottawa. I used to pass this mound on my way to work in downtown Ottawa every day. I can’t stress enough how huge these mounds are, how dirty they are and just how long they take to melt. The Bayview mound will take until late May/early June to completely melt, because it’s so dense. Snow acts as an insulator, so it makes sense that getting to the core would take a long, long time.
Snow vacuum
I’ve never known so much about snow in my life. Coming from Virginia, which has snow, but nothing like this, I could not have imagined the amount of snow fall in Ottawa. My people back in Virginia had a blizzard this winter, for the first time in over 30 years, is my understanding. I really felt for them, because as hard as a blizzard is to navigate here, where blizzards are relatively common, I’m quite sure that most folks would have found the whole ordeal trying and exhausting. My first winter here was brutal, so I could relate. Of course, I had to bite my tongue in order not to steal their thunder. I didn’t mention that we get a blizzard about once a year, on top of the snow that falls up to a couple of inches almost every day. Should I tell them that we got a near record-breaking 13.5 feet of snow two years ago in Ottawa? Naw.
Dirty snow mound @ Lebreton Flats
The real reason for my post is that, while I enjoyed watching the snow vacuum this morning, my favorite part of the removal process will always be the little Bobcat that plows the sidewalks. A couple of years ago, I divulged my fantasy to friends and coworkers to operate a sidewalk Bobcat in winter. Just think- there’s just you, your thermos of coffee and your sidewalk, for miles and miles, or kilometres and kilometres, as it goes. My fantasy lives strong, having kept warm outside one of the coldest capital cities on the planet.
Look at her go!
Six Feet Younger
I’m really not obsessed with death. It’s just that people in my family keep dying! The generation before mine on the maternal side of my family has 11 members. Ten aunts and uncles, and then my mother was born in 1938. She is the youngest, and I am her youngest, as well as the youngest of my generation. That means that I could very well be in a position to watch everyone in my generation and older die.
At the moment, there’s little emotion behind that statement. Funerals have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. I was very young when my uncle Charlie died on my father’s side. My other uncle Frank held my hand as we walked over to the casket. I put my hand on Charlie’s arm, and it was cold and stiff. I asked Frank why that was. “He’s dead.” Oh, okay. Off to play with cousins. I wonder if the reason I relate so well to the family in the show Six Feet Under is that death is a normal part of their lives.
Because I’m so much younger than the rest of the family, many of them grew up and moved off to live their own lives long before I came along. So while I would frequently hear that so-and-so died, and that they were related to me in X manner, a flood of memories never came rushing in. What did come rushing in were thoughts of visiting living family and sometimes getting out of school. Of course, as I’ve gotten older and more understanding of the permanency of death, those thoughts are accompanied by thoughts that my family is slipping away before I get to know many of its members. Now all I have to remember them are other family members’ memories, and I am aware of how much memory changes over time.
My uncle Gerry died this week, and he and his wife Ruth are like a second set of parents to me. They lived fairly close to us, so we spent a lot of time together. My parents frequently took vacations with them; when I was younger they usually spent Christmas with us; Ruth used to sneak cigarettes with me before my parents knew that I smoked back then; and Gerry told me that he knew Ruth smoked behind his back, but he didn’t have the heart to nag her about it. I don’t think I ever told her that he knew. I’ll tell her when I see her next week. They were married for 59 years. Our lives are marked by constant and sometimes revolutionary changes, and I can’t imagine losing the one string that stayed with me for almost 60 years.
My life has been partially defined by trying to make my father proud, but I’ve always tried to make Gerry proud too. I can’t claim to have always been successful, but I know that I have two very handsome men cheering for me from the cosmic sidelines.
Entitlement, breaking the law, and programming
Admittedly, I got up late this morning. I’m usually up by 7:30, but today it was more like 8:30. Our bed runs parallel to the front of the house, and on my side of the bed is a window. Every morning I get up and check the world outside to make sure it’s still there. This morning, I saw the man who repaired our gutters parked in front of our driveway, blocking it, and dispensing some seamless eavestroughing to our next door neighbor’s grown son. Okay, maybe they’re getting some work done too, now, but that wasn’t likely, considering that the father next door is a contractor.
I got dressed and looked out the side window as I walked down the stairs. There was an electrical cord running from his truck to our outdoor outlet. The neighbor he was feeding troughing to is on the other side of our house. I wondered “are we getting a free upgrade or something?” So, I put on my shoes and coat and went outside. The gutter man was no longer in sight, but neighbor boy was. He asked if I needed to get our car out. Nope, that was the least of my worries. Then gutter man reappeared and gave his greeting, to which I replied my greeting. He said something about having more business in the neighborhood, and then continued to say “yeah, I’m using your electricity, too.” I replied “Yes, what’s up with that?” trying to maintain a friendly tone. He laughed and said “I’ll pay you for it.” Hmmm. We had needed to call him anyway to fix up two leaks that were being stubborn, which he said might happen. No surprise there. He said he’d come back over the weekend and do more caulking. I went back inside. At this point, Paul was stirring from the commotion as well.
Gutter man knocked on our door when he was finished, and we let him in to chat. I asked him if the neighbor was having work done too, and he said no, that he just sold him the troughing to use in his own construction work. Apparently, contractors find it difficult to purchase eavestroughing from businesses specific to eavestroughing. That kind of arrangement takes business away from the eavestroughers. Understandable.
As he left, he gave a passing apology for the electricity and said he’d be back this weekend. At first, I couldn’t help but laugh. But now that the situation has settled, I’m not happy that our gutter man stole our electricity. If he had asked, I would have had no problem with it. Instead, he chose to cut a corner, and now I’m left wondering how many other corners he cut while working on our roof. I had planned on recommending him to people and even got some extra business cards from him in order to do so. I don’t see that happening now.
In other news, Paul and I both had a massive, collective brain fail today. Because I let my driver’s license from Virginia expire in 2007 and didn’t bother getting a Canadian one, I’m now going through Ontario’s graduated licensing system. I currently hold what’s called a G1 license, which is basically a Learner’s Permit. I can only drive with an experienced, fully licensed driver in the car; I can’t drive on highways; and I can’t drive between midnight and 5 am. Paul and I had to run errands downtown today, then do some grocery shopping, and I drove us. We went over the lunch hour, so traffic was heavy, by Smiths Falls standards, and parking was sparse. Paul needed to go inside the bank, but I couldn’t find a parking spot. He said, “just drop me off, and I’ll meet you at the post office when we’re both done.” Sounds like a plan! I double-parked while he got out and continued to the end of the block. As I reached the stop sign, I thought, “Oh, shit, I’m not supposed to drive by myself!” I don’t take chances here in Canada, as I’m not yet a full citizen. I didn’t even jaywalk until I got Permanent Residence. I began to get anxious and desperately searched for a parking place. Lo and behold, I saw a police car pulled over ahead with its lights flashing. I turned onto the next side street and kept going straight until I found a space with no chance of hitting another car, i.e., no parallel parking, which surprisingly enough, I’m good at. I wasn’t interested in taking any chance, though. Everything is fine now, but we had a good scare, and laugh, out of the whole thing.
Oh, and I finished the guessing game for my final project in C programming and got an A+ in the course! Yippee!
you want what in two days?
For the past week, particularly the last two days [which would have been Saturday & Sunday- see below], my ability to procrastinate has never been stronger. Particularly yesterday, I found reason after reason not to plant myself at the computer and get some programming done. I can normally resist the urge to follow the tumbleweed, and at least get things done at a slower pace. Not yesterday. The crossword puzzle on my iGoogle page called to me. Then, I remembered that I needed to pick up something at the pharmacy. Of course, that entailed recruiting Paul for a long walk, including a stop at a new cafe in town. We then sat on a park bench watching the motorcyclists and hot rod drivers congregate across the street at Tim Horton’s. Did I mention we live in a small town?
Somehow, between winterizing the house, working on other courses, and registering for next term, among other things, I fell behind in my C class by about two weeks. I did catch up this week, but I am still struggling with the very last part of my final project, due tomorrow at midnight. I wrote a program for a guessing game with two variations. The first has the computer randomly pick a number between one and one thousand by using the computer’s clock to seed the random number generator. The user then makes guesses. This game is finished and wasn’t too much trouble. The second variation has the user pick a secret number, and the program tries to guess the user’s number. The user enters the lowest possible number and the highest possible number, and informs the program whether its guesses are too high or too low. (I even got the program to catch cheaters who set the lowest possible number at a point that is higher than the highest possible number. I’ll give you a minute to wrap your head around that.)
The user needs to communicate to the program a string, “too high,” “too low” or “correct.” My brain is mush at this point from staring at so much code, and I’m drawing a blank at having the program test a string. C is great with math, but when it comes to strings, I find it a bit archaic. (Not that I have experience in other languages that are perhaps better with strings.)
So, off I go for more programming and will hopefully resolve this problem. As always, I’m sure the answer is hiding in plain sight. I actually felt nauseated at the end of the day yesterday. I wonder if it was the non-stop programming, and I hope it doesn’t happen again today.
Say what?
*I started writing this entry three days ago, and I’ll mention the appropriateness of that fact, even though it can be inferred by those with a keen subtlety radar.
