Since I’m writing new software for our help desk, I find myself reading nearly every question we get. Some are routine, some are rude, some are perplexing, and some are just hilarious. Regarding the website for an online class:
[T]he video for homework 3, question 7 does not appear to be a full video. The video opens with all kinds of things written on the board and begins with the professor saying, “So the answer will be…”
Maybe that’s just the professor’s way of getting straight to the point!
Quoth a colleague:
Please keep your hands, arms, and thinking inside the box.
Overheard in the office (with no evident context):
It’s no work to shut systems off.
I’m sure it’s quite easy, but could you refrain anyway? I rather prefer when our systems are running normally.
The only thing that could possibly make Hulu better has just arrived: Hulu Desktop! (Yes, it comes in Mac.)
I love that the only menu option in the entire application is “Fullscreen.”
On the other hand, I’m somewhat disturbed by this sentence, which appears in the license agreement exactly as written here (including the capitalization):
THE HULU SOFTWARE IS NOT INTENDED FOR USE IN THE OPERATION OF NUCLEAR FACILITIES, AIRCRAFT NAVIGATION OR COMMUNICATION SYSTEMS, AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL SYSTEMS, LIFE SUPPORT MACHINES, OR OTHER EQUIPMENT IN WHICH THE FAILURE OF THE HULU SOFTWARE COULD LEAD TO DEATH, PERSONAL INJURY, OR SEVERE PHYSICAL OR ENVIRONMENTAL DAMAGE
Unfortunately, I moonlight as an controller for nuclear-powered aircraft carrying patients on artificial respirators, so I’ll really have to limit my usage to only one or two shows per shift.
This has to be the best job in the world:
We stopped by the giant piano the last time I visited FAO Schwarz with my girlfriend, but quite apart from being unable to play a rhapsody of any nationality on a piano of ordinary size, we refrained from trying upon seeing the line of patiently-waiting children, who surely deserve to act child-like more than adults do.
Plus, I imagine if I’d tried, there stood a reasonable chance I would also have had to leave alone.
I sometimes find myself doing something so geeky I have no choice but to go outdoors without a computer for at least an hour to compensate.
After I filed some Shrek-related ratings with Netflix this evening, the site recommended The Secret of NIMH. My first thought upon seeing the title was, “Wow, someone made a documentary about nickel-metal hydride batteries?”
My second thought was, “I might want to watch that…” (After all, I not only watched but also immensely enjoyed the documentary about Helvetica.)
Rob Stein reports in this morning’s Boston Globe on a recent genetic modification scientists have made to some laboratory monkeys:
In this case, the Japanese researchers added genes that caused the animals to glow green under a fluorescent light and beget offspring with the same ability in order to test a technique they hope to use to produce animals with Parkinson’s, Huntington’s, and other diseases.
First, let me state clearly and unequivocally that I want a gene that makes me glow green under fluorescent lighting. That would kill at parties.
Second, proponents of animal testing would probably prefer not to describe it in terms of, ‘we really hope we can give this monkey some Parkinson’s or something.’
Netflix has (albeit inadvertently) added a nice feature: self-returning DVDs.
While I was in Phoenix with my girlfriend, we watched at our hotel a movie that happened to top my Netflix queue. Netflix sent me the DVD before I had time to remove it.
And then it didn’t arrive. I waited patiently for three days with no sign of it, but just when I was ready to report it “missing,” it got marked “returned” and Netflix sent the next movie on my list.
(Speaking practically, I assume the label got torn off and someone at the post office, having no idea where to send it, just sealed the envelope shut and sent it back — a wise and helpful solution. But it’s more fun to think it’s just a self-returning DVD.)
Let’s talk about Domino’s online ordering system, and how it’s both very flashy and fails to be in any way accurate or useful.
Full disclosure: I have an inordinately hard time ordering pizza for someone living in a major city. The very first time I tried to have pizza delivered here, I had this conversation, verbatim:
Me: Good afternoon; can I give you a delivery order, please?
Guy on Phone: No.
I switched to Papa John’s after that, who lets me order through their website. This weekend, however, I placed my standard order and then got this followup phone call:
Guy on Phone: This is Ed from Papa John’s. The location where you placed your order is closed, so I’m canceling your order and refunding your credit card.
And thus I turned to Domino’s for the day, whose online ordering system is all but legendary among my kind (i.e., the geeky and nerdy).
For the uninitiated, you place your order using a flashy interface that draws a picture of your pizza with the toppings you’ve selected (including which halves of the pizza get which toppings). It comes with this disclaimer:
The Pizza Builder will always show a large pizza. If you choose a different size, the topping amounts will vary. The deliciousness, however, will not.
Then, you can follow the progress of your pizza as it’s prepared, baked, put in a box, and delivered — up to and including the name of the person performing each task.
I remain entirely underwhelmed.
First, a minor point: I can’t place a tip on the website; I have to sign a credit card slip at the door. This delays the driver, who could be out earning his next tip if he weren’t waiting for me to write down mine. (Papa John’s drivers hand me a box, thank me, and walk away.) Plus, the driver doesn’t know until arriving if I’m going to tip well. How old fashioned!
Second, and more importantly, the flashy pizza tracker reported my pizza “delivered” fully 20 minutes before it got to my door. It even, rather tauntingly, “hopes I’m enjoying my meal.” Nope. I’m still hungry, Mr. Pizza Tracker, ’cause I still don’t have pizza.
The next time Papa John’s is inexplicably closed, I’ll just make a sandwich.
What ever happened to that “caller ID” craze that took the nation by storm back in the 1990s? It was this fascinating technology that would show the name of the person calling whenever the phone rang.
Sure, telemarketers abused the system, either sending false information or simply hiding their number as “Out of Area” or “Unknown Name,” but for legitimate calls — the ones we wanted to answer anyway — it worked great!
Of course, when someone in my “Contacts” list calls my cell phone, I can see the person’s name and even their picture now, but what about people who haven’t called before? I just get their number!
Now I have to turn to Google whenever my phone rings to figure out who’s calling. Searching for a number works well when it’s a legitimate business calling, or an illegal telemarketer, but it fails entirely for personal calls.
So I ask again: what happened to that “caller ID” craze of the 1990s? Have we just forgotten how it’s supposed to work?