Biggest programming pet peeve

Since Stephen pointed out that I'm not alone in my programming nightmare, I thought I would geek out and share my programming pet peeve.

When the kind of code I write (ASP) generates an error Internet Explorer, you get a generic "page cannot be displayed" message. (You can set your preferences so that you get a real error, but the generic error is the default).

Sometimes my clients call me to tell me they have an error. It goes like this.

Client: I'm getting this error. It says "Internal Server Error..."
Me: Okay, no problem. Tell me what you were doing when you got the error.
Client: The error says "Page cannot be displayed"
Me: I know. It's a generic error. What did you
Client (reading): "This page cannot be displayed. This may be due to
Me: No wait - I don't need to know what the error says
Client: "an internal server error or
Me: Yeah, that's a generic error it
Client: "the web page may not be available. Check
Me: ...
Client: "with your service provider for more information."
Me: ...
Client: ...
Me: ...
Client: So what's causing that?

It's my own fault. I condition these people to read errors to me like they're holy scripture. So here I sit, waiting out the last few lines of the default message that doesn't tell me JACK about how to fix their problem. And then I say, slowly so they'll understand:

"Thanks for reading that to me. Unfortunately, that doesn't tell me much. Can you tell me what you were doing when you got the error?"

Usually that works and we get the problem resolved in 30 seconds, but sometimes not.

The other day, I had already figured out what the problem was and was on my way to fix it while the guy continued to recite even more information about the error in my ear:

Client: "Microsoft has a knowlegebase that can help you determine the cause of this error. If you'd like to search the knowledge base, click here." There's a web link. Do you want the web link?
Me: Dude, it's already fixed.
Client: Really?
Me: Yep.
Client: Wait, I'll try it.
Me: ....
Client: Wow! It is fixed! Thanks!

AND NOW FOR THE GOOD PART......

Client: Jeez, you're the greatest.

~fine~

Squeezing a balloon

I'm squeezing a balloon.

I'm writing a software application, and everytime I fix something, a problem bubbles up somewhere else. Squeeze that sucker in one place, and it gets fat someplace else.

I feel like it will never, ever end.

Bored

So I've been pretty much on my own for the past four weeks, except of course for two lovely lunches with old friends. It's starting to drive me mad.

Nobody's emailing me. I left for three hours today and when I got back I had three new emails. Two of them were spam.

Nobody's online. Not even Miles. What is this world coming to that Miles O'Brien is idle?

It's cold in my basement.

I read a fascinating article in the Post the other day. It was all about the generational swing between idealistic generations and practical, solution-oriented generations. Apparently, the baby boomers (idealistic) are giving way to the "millennials" (practical). Go Obama.

I would love to tell you all about it, but you're not around.

The best part of the article? I learned that the generational motto of my generation (X) is "life sucks and then you die."

Go us.

Writing

I've stepped back into fiction.

I think most people have a few dreams floating around in their heads, and most of those people think they know what the realization of those dreams should look like. But sometimes there's a disconnect between what form people think their dreams should take and what they actually want to do.

Take me. For a long time, I wasn't writing any fiction. I had this idea that I should be writing some big important novel, or at least some wonderfully popular, dreary chick lit. Isn't that what female novelists do? Take all the details of their own lives, from the mundane to the terrifying, change all the names, throw everything into a blender and pop out something poignant and terribly tragic?

I also had this thing about plot. Like, "I don't do plot." Yet everything needs to be figured out before we start, because otherwise we'll end up with really disappointing Stephen King endings, and disappointing endings are not permitted in important novels or dreary chick lit. Everything's supposed to click together like a jigsaw puzzle, all at the appropriate time, like an M. Night Shyamalan movie. So if you don't know the ending you can't possibly even start.

You can see all the double binds forming here, can't you?

Anyway, I decided to approach the question another way. Maybe, instead of forcing myself to write something that is so painfully boring, maybe I should think a bit about what I like to read. I could just write something like that, just to get warmed up a bit. So what do I like to read? Suspense, science fiction, books with lots of humor and a light tone. Quick easy reads with a nugget of beauty in them, and absolutely no pretense. Because nothing makes me put a book down faster than an author who senses his or her own importance. Ah ha.

On Sunday, I decided I would start writing a little bit every day. Nothing special - writing for the trash. Three double spaced pages of honest to goodness story. Sunday was HARD. I struggled like crazy to give birth to those three pages. Then, last night, I had a really weird dream. Not scary-weird, just "what the hell was that?" weird. So I kind of wrote around that. And it was easier.

So here's to fiction. Maybe my garbage will arrange itself into something poignant, or not. That's okay. At least now I might be getting somewhere.

Walking is a blast

As baby phases go, I was deeply concerned about walking. The idea of chasing Sam back and forth and up and down just did not appeal to me. I thought my life would get so much more complicated.

Looks like I was wrong.

Walking is awesome! Sure, I have to follow him around a little bit. I have to keep him away form the floor lamps and the trash can and the oven (which still isn't child proofed), but my lord! This is so much better!

First of all, he can explore all kinds of things on his own. This makes toy fatigue a thing of the past. He can go from one thing to another and play for as long as he wants to play before moving on to the next thing. And I don't have to guess!

Secondly, I don't have the hold his hand every second, which means that I don't have to do the hunch back dance. Not only is this good for my back, but I can actually sit in one spot and watch him play, only jumping up when I have to intercede on behalf of the aforementioned floor lamp or trash can or oven.

By the way, he moos at cows.

Feeling lonley

Hello world. I feel lonely.

I've been glued to my computer monitor for two and a half weeks. I finally emerged long enough to go to lunch with my dear friend John and his nice girlfriend Melanie.

John and I have been friends for 18 years. That's astonishing to me. And you know the best part? Zero drama. None. While it's true that I may in fact be the only girl in the great state of Maryland that hasn't dated John at one time or another, the fact remains that I haven't. And that's worked out really, really well for us, thanks.

John and I didn't go to the same high school, but it seems like we talked on the phone every single day from 14 to 17. We talked so much that my mother often wondered aloud, "Why on earth doesn't that boy just ask you out?" Before she met him, she would say it like she was annoyed I was tying up the phone. After she met him, she said it like I was denying her grandbabies by not eloping to Vegas with him. Immediately.

Parental pressure not withstanding, here we are 18 years later, having lunch at PF Chang's with Melanie. And there is all kinds of secret code going back and forth, but I'm trying to keep it on the down low so Melanie won't get the wrong idea. And you know what John says to me? He says this:

"This is the first time since I've known you that you've seemed really, really happy."

I am floored. I am floored because John and I, as close as we have been, have not been so close lately. Because I haven't seen him in two years, and I've been too busy to miss him. And suddenly I remember all the late night phone calls and all the bad breakups. I remember all the times he confided in me and stood up for me when I needed it most. I found myself hoping I'd been just as good a friend to him but, the truth is, I'm not so sure.

I'm floored because after all this, he still sees what's in my middle.

So yes, John, we will do this more often. Because as hard as life presses on us, it's our job to press back. I hope I've been a good friend to you so far, but I want to do better. Thanks for being there, and thanks for reminding me what matters most. I love you.

Greetings irrelevant ones

Greetings my fellow irrelevant ones. Happy super Tuesday.

I'm not entirely sure what's so super about it, except that it happens to fall on Mardi Gras this year, which gives me an excuse to drink beer and whine about the delegate selection process.

26 states and territories hold primaries or caucuses after super Tuesday. That's 23 states, plus the District of Columbia, the US Virgin Islands, Guam and Puerto Rico. Maryland holds its primary on February 12. Uh...you wouldn't know it.

Could somebody please explain to me why, in the 21st century, we can't all vote on the same frickin' day? Hillary doesn't have to climb on the back of a steam locomotive and ride around the great plains shaking hands and kissing babies. We all know who Hillary is. And Barrack. Etc.

You know what really pisses me off about this? I never get to vote for anyone interesting. Heck, most years, by the time we hold our primary, there are only a couple of suckers left. It's like waking up the morning after Halloween only to learn that Iowa and New Hampshire bogarted all your Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

Why do Iowa and New Hampshire get to go first anyway? Is it because we feel so sorry for them for being so boring the rest of the year? Poor Iowa. Nothing ever happens in Iowa! Let's get John Roberts out there to sit in a diner in his overalls for three and a half weeks opining about the majesty of the American political process.

Which brings me to the real problem. Guess what! It's the media! The media has stretched this primary thing out so long, I think it actually started before Bush was re-elected. Did you know Wolf Blitzer started that beard at the beginning of the primaries on a dare? You don't even remember him without it, do you?

Back to my beer.

PS: Andrew clearly doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does.