The letter from the barrister’s wife

Ah, spam!

Don’t we just love it. Everybody gets to taste some when it does slip through our filters to find its way into our mailboxes before we dutifully delete it without as much as sparing another thought about its contents and origins.

It’s probably fair to say that most netizens today are savvy enough to recognise Australian bank account intrusion warnings, British lottery win notices, Chinese Rolex fakes, Nigerian surprise inheritances, Russian bride offers and little blue American pills for what they are: spam, phishing attempts, unsolicited mail. Nothing new, old hat.
Faux Nigerian Google page

We’ve all but forgotten that it’s our very own greed which invites conniving criminals and those who prey on our paranoia and our desire for quick ‘n easy monetary windfalls, sexual longevity with hot babes, eternal youth and beauty, and the quest for the perfect figure.

Our own technical advances allow mass-mailers and meat puppets to make it so efficient for crooks that even if only a fraction of a percent of recipients falls victim to the scam — well, then it was profitable and it was worth it. Luckily, spam filters have advanced to the point that these percentages are diminishing.

If you’ve been online for as long as I have then there’s little that surprises you anymore where this scourge is concerned. But a few weeks ago something managed to do exactly that: the old 419-scam arrived via snail mail! Continue reading

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Marketing FAIL: Du darfst

Or: You may. But should you?

A couple of weefuckthediet_badgeks ago I was stuck behind the TV when programming was interrupted by the usual barrage of messages from their sponsors. And suddenly, amongst all the noise, a female voice proudly boasted in her German accent, “Fuck the diet!”

Huh? What? Did I hear right?

At first I was a little taken aback by this crass statement and wrote it off as a mere glitch in the matrix but when the ad came up again sometime later I got a little concerned. After all, this was early evening TV, not quite bedtime for the little ones, yet still unsuitable — not only for public TV, but also for the products being advertised: A range of slimming food products by a Unilever brand called “Du darfst” (English: You may).

Oh well, local TV is littered with garbage and gutter language by default, and the odd bit of cussin’ and swearin’ usually don’t bother me none. “Fuck it,” I figured and promptly forgot about it.

A few evenings later the wife comes up to me, reporting on the same shocking slogan she had heard earlier that day. She was equally unimpressed and couldn’t understand why (being a local product) they simply couldn’t use the German equivalent of “Vergiss die Diät” or “Scheiß’ auf die Diät” — if they must insist on being vulgar. Continue reading

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Rewind: 2011

As the end of 2011 approaches, now would be a good time to reflect on the year that was.

If you’re reading this you may have noticed that the world didn’t end in 2011 (unless you’re Harold Camping) — it’ll only end next year (if you’re a Mayan). But this statement isn’t entirely true: to some, their existing world view did end after certain governments were toppled during the “Arab Spring” as mankind attempts to break free from the shackles of religion and political tyranny. A new country was formed in the shape of South Sudan, and Anders Behring Breivik put the Norwegian island of Utøya on the map.

Driver's license of Niko Alm, the colander-wearing Pastafarian

Pastafarianism becomes a recognised religion in Austria. Nyan Cat becomes a cult. Continue reading

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There can be only one

Or: The day after the music died

It was a dreadful morning, 20 years ago today, when my mother burst into tears and into my room with the following news:

“Freddie Mercury died last night.”

The newspaper carried this short article on the front page’s bottom fold:

Newspaper article 25-11-1991

Well, that’s that then.

I’ll never see Queen perform live.
Continue reading

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Cassette Project #1: A Reprise

Indecision knows no boundaries.

Two years ago I wrote about how my tape collection had, as part of the process of elimination and digitization, actually ballooned to more than tenfold its original size. Wheat and bran had been separated from the chaff — although no negligible amount of the former has been dropped off on my desk since then.

Spurred on by Discogs now finally supporting all manner of record companies, manufacturers, studios and related entities (beyond mere labels, irrespective of how we used to fandangle them),  I’ve begun entering that serendipitous stockpile of cassettes into the database.

5 x 5 cassette tape grid

At first I just ploughed through a choice selection to test the new fields and features, and method has slowly emerged from the initial randomness: “Oldies” are now largely processed, and Polish and Indonesian pirate tapes are also dealt with. Continue reading

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Appetite for Destruction

From the dept. of “Stupid things you’ve always wanted to do…”

Take one retired microwave oven. Shove it in the attic. Forget about it.

Clean up the attic. Rediscover an old microwave oven. Haul it down. Store it in the basement. Remember it being there.

Collect junk. Sort junk. Store selected junk items in the microwave.

Find time. Grab a camera. Grap a pen and notepad. Jot down a recipe for disaster.

Behold the mighty MICROMAT!

First up would be the obligatory “CD in the microwave” stunt. Continue reading

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The Vagina Monologues

According to some definitions, a blog is -

…a Web site that contains an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks provided by the writer; also : the contents of such a site…

…an online journal where an individual, group, or corporation presents a record of activities, thoughts, or beliefs…

…a type of online diary that someone makes available to other people on the internet. (A very popular way to communicate one’s personal details without any social interaction.)

Very well then. So I’ve been effectively blogging since around 1995 — spewing crap to an imaginary audience before it became known as blogging. Fine. Whatever. Nobody reads what I have to say anyway, my words are shrouded in obscurity, little more than a fart in a tea cup. Bulletins and nonsensical non-sequiturs have recently been retro-fitted into the blog’s timeline detailing a personal descent into madness. But who cares? Influence = 0. Continue reading

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The story of the HMVH Corporation BBS

Or: The illustrated, unadulterated, and shamelessly long-winded personal memoir of a ten-year journey through the South African BBS scene.

Before there was ubiquitous, fast, and mobile access to immersive, graphic-intensive, and intrusive social networks and forum communities like Facebook and 4chan, there existed version 1 of a World-Wide Web. Even before the WWW, there was an Internet.

And before that — there were Bulletin Boards.

This is the story of one such relic.

This page will not only reveal the sordid history of the HMVH Corporation BBS, but also where its SysOp came from and the environment he operated in. It’s a story that’s reflective and relevant to the author, and it’s taken him more than seven years to be able to write this very post in the manner that it appears here and now.

I was a SysOp, and this is my story.

Bonus Feature: A crude simulation of the BBS exists here.

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