Sometimes, if I upload a file on Dreamweaver, it doesn’t work. Usually, it’s because the internet connection has dropped for a moment. Any other piece of software, in all of history, would just cancel the upload after the timeout. Not Dreamweaver. Dreamweaver can’t. Instead, I just get this message over and over. I can’t edit the file that it’s trying to upload, and I can’t upload any other files. I either have to:

a) Wait for Dreamweaver to crash,

b) Close Dreamweaver via task manager,

or c) Wait for the 0.5% chance that Dreamweaver will successfully cancel the operation.

I’m lost as to why it’s so incredibly difficult for Dreamweaver to stop doing a operation that it has already failed at. It’s the software equivalent of driving your car into a lamppost, and holding the accelerator down until the tank is dry.

In the time it took me to write this, I could just have restarted Dreamweaver.

Swan footprints (Taken with instagram)

I can’t feel my toes. Yay for hot chocolate. (Taken with instagram)

When interfaces like this were wowing people in the early eighties, did anyone back then think that a whole thirty years later we’d still be using pretty much the same thing?

Last day of my job at Nutracheck today. Sad to be leaving, but also super-excited to be taking on a senior role on Monday.

I’ve only been here five months, but everyone was super cool and supportive about me leaving so soon. So, all the best, people of Nutracheck, see you ‘round.

thisistheverge:

Sadly, not the Verge command center. From Lost Bulgaria.com.

There is so much to love in this image. The hair. The chunky control panels. The fucking ceiling. Yes, this was a real place. This place, I think.

There’s not really a non-boring way of talking about this, so uh: you can still buy a 6502 processor. That’s a 37-year-old design. That’s, from like, medieval IT times. I guess you could still use it for some things. The patent has expired, and in some tasks, you only need a teeny bit of CPU power.

This is a sweary diatribe about my name.

My name is Glenn.

And yet, for some reason, people keep hearing “Greg”.

Fine, I can live with it, it’s an occasional irritation.

“Greg?”

“No, Glenn.”

Where I currently work, my computer was set up for me before I started. Despite meeting me, interviewing me, and having a copy of my CV and several emails from me, I had to log on as “Greg” onto a machine called “Greg-PC”.

I changed my username, now it’s Glenn, but the user folder is still called Greg. Every time I see the full path to a file, and in my line of work, that’s a lot, I see “C:/Users/Greg/” and then I miss the rest of the path because I remember that they got my name wrong for absolutely no reason. Then I flip my desk over in rage and storm out.

Okay, despite my rage, I’m working through it, and I think I’m dealing with it.

But this. Oh man. Are you ready for this?

I usually finish emails with:

“-Glenn”

at the end. I don’t really like full signatures on emails, and generally, the people I’m talking to already know who I am. Usually, it’s freelance clients, and usually, after ending an email with “-Glenn” they reply with:

“Hi Glen,
Thanks for your email-“

I’m sorry, who the fuck was that “hi” for? It sure wasn’t me. That’s not how my name is spelt. I get this a lot. An awful lot. Some people seem incapable of conceiving of a version of the name “Glenn” with two n’s.

I can see why, I suppose. There’s a lot of famous Glens with only one n. Why there’s…

• Glenn Hoddle. Oh, no, wait. Two n’s.
• Glenn Close. Oh, two n’s again. And yes, my name is apparently unisex. Back off, alright? It’s better than Leslie.
• Glenn Miller. Huh.
• US TV idiot Glenn Beck.
• Glenn Medeiros.
• The fictional Glenn Quagmire from Family Guy.

Actually, there’s as metric shit-ton of famous “Glenn”s. In fact, I could find just one famous “Glen”. Glen A. Larson.

And that might explain it. People of a certain age will have grown up seeing the name “Glen” at the end of… well… everything. Quincy M.E., Knight Rider, Battlestar Galactica, The Six Million Dollar Man, Buck Rogers in the Twenty-Fifth Century… I bet everyone aged 30-45 has probably seen the name “Glen A. Larson” written on screen more times than all the other “Glenn”s put together. I now believe that this one famous Glen has ruined it for all the other, cooler, Glenns.

Fuck you, Glen A. Larson.

-Glenn

Today this blog was brought to you by the letter N and rage.

I just wrote a long post romanticising the car ferry journeys I used to go on as a child. I clicked “Save to Drafts” instead of publish. I just did you a favour. You owe me one.

rocketboom:

Are you a Geek or a Nerd? This infographic from Brandflakes for Breakfast will help you decide for yourself, regardless of what your older brother thinks.

I seem to fall exactly in the middle - I love and hate and do and don’t do stuff from either “camp”. This means I am a new, undefinable social class of human who is unique and special. Or a dork.

Wow, dork has several other meanings I was not aware of.