Beware the Joaninator

Yeah, I said I'd do this yesterday, Mom, but life happened and as it is I can't even do the mega-update I was planning. Here's a brief summary of my current status for those just sitting on the edge of their seats. I'll be posting details on each of these later as I get time alone.

• The move was a success, although I threw my back in the process and was in agony for a couple of weeks afterwards. (I need some medication now. I'm fresh out.)
• The new apartment, although smaller, is far more intelligently laid out and outfitted so it's actually much more comfortable than the older, larger place. And it has a seated toilet. I can read again finally!
• Lucas adapted almost instantly to the new environment and is entering his "terrible twos". Wilful but cute, so that makes up for it.
• I've been doing a little bit of daily teaching every day for a bit of spending money.
• We're actively looking for our own apartment now.

Each of those items will get expanded upon within the next week (knock on Lucas' head).

---

Now to explain the title.

There was one little incident in the move that was a bit negative. (I mean aside from shoving a shard of glass from a broken ink bottle deep into my thumb while unpacking.) The incident was unpleasant, but I emerged from it with a newfound respect for the toughness of my wife.

The complex we lived in was a "secure" complex with on-site, live-in security and all that jazz. All of this is run by the building manager, Mr. Peng. Mr. Peng is an irritating tick of a man; the kind of guy that shakes your hand and leaves you feeling mysteriously oily. Having him in charge of security is kind of like having the RCMP investigate its own officers' misconduct: futile and a recipe for disaster.

One thing, for example, that Mr. Peng does is he rents out empty apartments in the complex off the books to his friends. He also treats the security guards like dirt and is suspected of entering tenant apartments when they are not present (he's never been directly caught at this but there's lots of circumstantial evidence).

After moving, Joan and I went back to the apartment to clean it. We decided that the school treated us decently so we're going to be decent and clean up the place for them. This was a huge job that was shaping up to be a multi-day thing. (Marion, your "Magic Erasers" were utterly defeated by the kitchen. I was shocked.) During our time there, Joan had her scooter plugged in to charge up. When she left to pick up lunch, she didn't want to carry the charger all the way up to the fifth floor only to carry it all the way back down again when she got back. Instead she put it in the (secured) stairwell under the stairs.

When she came back it was gone.

She knew right away that Mr. Peng had taken it. Why? Because he'd tried it earlier and was caught in the act. At the time he pretended he was looking for the owner of the charger, but in reality he was walking away from the place he found it and doing so rather furtively. So when it went missing for real, he was the first (and only) suspect.

Joan worked herself up into a real fury over this. (Mental note: never steal anything from Joan. Ever. For any reason.) She was angrier than I've ever seen her before. And in the process we cooked up a scheme to get the thing back.

Joan wrote a note saying, basically, "my husband saw who took it; we won't say anything if it's returned to us within an hour". She posted this note on the building manager's door. This led to Mr. Peng's first error. He came to confront us about the "outrageous accusation". He challenged me to my face to say that I'd seen him do it. I hadn't, but he didn't know this. There are lots of places he could have been seen from and he knew it. Without any friendly gesture and without anything he could hang any hopes upon I nodded certainly. Yes, I'd seen him walk away with it.

This was the gamble. Had he stuck to his guns he'd have left room for doubt and it would have been a "he said; she said" scenario with no resolution. He was, however, shaken by the absolute positive he'd got from me there. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he'd gotten away with it.

First he tried the "I'll help you find out who took it" route. This was mistake #1. He went out and acted all concerned, asking any of the tenants outdoors if they'd seen anybody who didn't belong entering or exiting the complex. A woman who'd been outside with her son for a long time and who'd been near where anybody entering or leaving would have to have passed said "no, no strangers entered or left". This eliminated an outsider. The rest of the tenants in the building were not on the list because a) they were mostly gone and b) we're talking about people who are making a MINIMUM of a hundred grand a year.

Next, shaken by me saying I saw him walking away with the thing in his hands, he went to his apartment to show me the thing I must have seen: a plastic bowl of sorta-kinda the same colour. This was mistake #2. In doing this he placed himself at the scene of the crime at the time it happened. When he showed us the bowl, I just flatly laughed at him, explaining that I can tell the difference between a small, rectangular light cyan object and a large, round dark cyan object at only 5 stories. (Hell, I could probably spot the difference a block away!)

Now is when the Joaninator sprang into action. She gave the man a tongue-lashing I've never seen her give anybody before. (Hopefully I never see it again.) In the process Mrs. Peng joined the conversation and it turned into a three-way shouting match. A shouting match Joan won.

In the end she won the cruelest (and most appropriate) way I can even imagine. She threatened, in short, to expose Mr. Peng's sideline rental service. You know, not only threaten his livelihood, but to basically say "give this thing back or you're going to jail for something else I know about you".

For face reasons, of course, Mr. Peng couldn't admit he stole the thing. Instead he offered to pay for the missing charger "because we're such good friends". Joan phoned the dealer, got the price on the recharger and took the money. Then we left. And we didn't bother doing the deep cleaning we planned on because, frankly, we lost interest in being nice to the people running the building. Let them hire a cleaner now.

A little coda that was entertaining. The recharger cost 100RMB. When Joan went to get it, she told the story to the shop attendant who laughed and said it's too bad this wasn't known beforehand. The recharger, you see, was on special for 100RMB. Usually it was 150RMB and the shop staff all agreed that a thief should have been forced to pay the higher price.

A shift in direction...

For years Jeff has been my little hole in the Great Firewall that allowed me to download pornography access the web unhindered while living in China. Basically the Great Firewall is a joke that only stops lazy people and stupid people (neither of whom you really want on the Internet anyway, so you could view it as a public service). Jeff, very kindly, kept a server in his basement hooked up that allowed me to redirect all requests for web pages that were deemed a danger to the state here through a Canadian server that allowed such things.

About a month ago this server's connection went flaky and died. Jeff, being newly married and kind of in a complex part of life, didn't have the time to check it out. I didn't mind, though, because very few sites I really cared about got blocked. That changed this week as Blogger turned out to be a threat to the Chinese government. It became imperative that the problem get solved and, for some reason, Jeff was incommunicado.

I decided that it was really unfair to have Jeff be responsible for my free (as in freedom, not beer) Internet access and embarked on a project to change this. So as of today I have my own tiny, cheap VPS in the USA that runs my little backdoor to the rest of the Internet; the stuff the Chinese government thinks is too dangerous to be seen. Like my blog here. The one I'm posting. Telling you what a bunch of utter shitheads the Chinese government is for being afraid of my little key-clickings telling you harmless, inoffensive things about China (for the most part). Apparently I am a danger to the state. Funny, I don't feel any different from last week this time....

Mr. Hu Jintao? I want the six hours I spent debugging this setup back. Please mail it to me you frightened little child.

Annoying aspects of life in China.

I went, at Joan's behest, to give a sample lesson at a language training school. I had misgivings about things even before we went and, to my intense depression, found that my misgivings were, if anything, optimistic.

First off, they wanted a 40-minute sample lesson. For a class of students ranging in age from 3 (!) to 9 (!!). This is, flatly, on the face of it, ludicrous. "Oh, they all have the same English level" is not a defence. A three-year old has the attention span of an average gnat while a nine-year old has the attention span of at least three gnats. Teaching to one will bore the other, no matter what.

Oh, and of course, I had about 15 minutes to prepare for this lesson. And nobody could tell me clearly what the students had or had not yet learned. "They've almost finished the first book." "How many units remaining?" "We've started on the second book." "So you've finished the first?" "We've almost finished." Ad nauseum.

So I assembled a lesson from nothing for an age group I have no experience with and an age range which is clearly ludicrous. Only to find out that the main teacher of the class was basically incapable of communicating in English. Joan had to do interpretation on those rare occasions where I needed instructions translated because the class teacher was utterly useless. And, of course, I had three-year olds mixed with nine-year olds.

To call the resulting lesson a travesty would be too unkind to real travesties.

Did I mention that it was incredibly hot as well? That we went an hour there and back for this? I didn't? Consider it mentioned now.

Help me! I'm melting!

Out of morbid curiosity, I decided one day to write a little computer program that calculated the humidex according to this formula here. (The formula is a pain in the ass to do by hand, you see.) This results in me having waaaaaaaay too much information about just how unpleasant the weather in Wuhan is on any given day.

According to the weather report I have, the current temperature is 35°C and the dew point is 28°C. So, plugging this into my little utility:

$ humidex 35 28
50.90470549019746

I get confirmation that I am, indeed, living somewhere in Bolgia Eight.

Humidex of 51?!?! Come on! Why not just set me on fire, dammit!?

Living the Life of Cassandra

I've always felt some affinity for Cassandra of Greek fame. (For those not up on the classics, she was given the gift of prescience by Apollo, who was smitten with her, spurned Apollo's advances and was then cursed to have her accurate predictions of the future never believed.) I have a variant of her curse, you see. I see something. I have a very good idea of where it's going to go. I tell people. I'm not believed. It comes true.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I had this problem in my places of work, for example: a case in point being the company Entrust. The code name for one version of the software that was being pushed was "Project Banff". It was late and by all estimates was going to be slipping even further behind. Management came up with a "brilliant scheme" to provide "incentive" for getting it out on time.

"On time" for them was, if memory serves, the end of August of that year. Realistic estimates for completion put the real delivery date around October. This was unacceptable, so one of the VPs—the development VP—came up with this brilliant incentive scam scheme: if the product is shipped by August, the company would take all the developers and all the testers out for an all-expenses-paid trip to Banff for a week (or maybe two? -- memory fails from so long ago).

Now I was in an unusual (or, as it turns out, not so unusual) position in Entrust. I was a lowly software developer. Further, I had absolutely zero ambitions for a management role. Yet I think I may have been the only person in the whole company who'd actually taken, you know, honest-to-goodness management courses. Further, I was one of five people I knew—none of us managers (sorry, Jeff – you had no budget, so you were a supervisor, not a manager)—who actually read... well, anything, really, but especially books and articles on management and motivation. And what I knew from my training and my reading (as did anybody else in the vanishingly small group of us who knew anything on the subject) was that performance bonuses tied to a timetable failed. Always. 100% of the time.

You see, the management thinking behind such bogus schemes is that workers are malingering and grossly overestimating the time required to do tasks. If they are given an incentive, they'll stop goldbricking, put their noses to the grindstone blah blah blah blah blah blah. But this is, not to put too fine a point on it, total bullshit. At least in high tech it tends to be total bullshit. (It may be in other fields too, but I'm not in a position to knowledgeably discuss such.) In reality, in high tech the workers tend to be strongly self-motivated and, if anything, are too optimistic in their estimates. A fairly popular agile development process (or unprocess) has, in fact, as one of its techniques a way of calculating just how overly optimistic developers tend to be in their estimates and using these calculations to get a better approximation of the real amount of time required. So when you have an estimate for delivery in October, one thing is 99% certain: the absolute earliest that it will be delivered is in October. Further, any attempt to squeeze it out earlier without reducing the features to be delivered will have the opposite of the intended goal. You will delay final delivery.

I pointed this out to the VP in question. (Stupid me: I believed him when he said he was interested in employee feedback!) I further made the prediction that the actual delivery date, if this incentive plan wasn't unhooked from delivery date, wouldn't be August nor even October. I said that the delivery date would be more like March of next year. I was, of course, not believed. Because the VP in question, based on his almost months of experience in upper management, believed firmly that he could mutate reality just by wishing it so.

Fast forward to August. The release is a disaster. Only a small number of groups had actually delivered their stuff by the due date (the toolkit group I was part of being one of them – Jeff's influence here, and true to the "no good deed goes unpunished" adage he was viewed with suspicion for this). The product is nowhere near ready. The delivery slips past August. Past September. Past October. Slips all the way to April of next year (proving my point that developers are overly optimistic, seeing as I had predicted March). Because exactly what I predicted happened: an initial push of hard work started. Then people noticed that, despite putting in 12-hour days (testers especially), no real extra progress was being made. In under two months the whole company realised that the Banff incentive wasn't going to happen. In that time the developers and, more so, the testers had burned themselves out completely. Despair set in, followed by ennui. Developers didn't care any more, so the product slipped further and further and further behind. When it was finally shipped in April, this was with features scaled down on top of everything else.

So how was my foresight rewarded? With a rueful "I guess you were right", right? Wrong. My foresight was rewarded with an accusation that I had personally seen to the project's utter, complete failure. I was specifically named by the VP as one of the reasons for the failure. I guess my negative vibes (which didn't actually impact the productivity of the team I actually worked with, oddly enough, seeing as that team was one of the very, very few who delivered everything on time for the Banff trip...) were transmitted to the company as a whole—even people I had never met—and caused the project to die. Or something.

So why am I regaling the world with this tale now seven (or is it eight?) years later? Because this is only an example of what hits me every damned day of my life, practically. Joan giving me another perfect example of this.

On Friday Joan's laptop (my old Sony) starts acting up. The "L" key doesn't work at all and the "Backspace" key is flaky. I tell her, very candidly, that the computer needs to be repaired; that we should take it in on the weekend. Joan, of course, doesn't believe the only person in the household who knows anything about computers. Besides, she wasn't going to need the computer for anything in the near future anyway.

Well, the distant future of three days later, she's got a big task to do that needs the computer. (This being China she's given the big task with under 24 hours of notice before it's due, of course.) And not only is the "L" key not working now, nor is the Backspace working at all. Nor the delete. Nor the right arrow. Nor the shift key. Nor ... You get the picture. Too bad nobody warned her at all about having to get it fixed, eh?

This is my life, almost every day. See why I feel for Cassandra so much?

I don't know how to nap.

It sounds ridiculous, but I'm serious. I don't have the knack. People around me -- especially here in China -- can take naps. I can't.

If I plan for a one-hour nap and don't have something external (a person, an alarm clock, etc.) to wake me up, I'll wake up hours and hours later. There's no upper bound on this. I've taken a nap a 1PM and woken up at 3AM before. What's worse, though, is that when this happens, my sleep cycle is so thoroughly screwed I have insomnia for the next few days straight just as if I've been jet-lagged.

"So," you suggest, "why not use an alarm?" Well, I've tried that. If I use something (or someone) to wake me up after an hour, say, I wake up more tired and more muddle-headed than I was when I decided I needed the nap. The whole point of the nap is lost that way.

I'm really jealous of the people around me who can nap. It looks so ... restful.

Don't Step in the Leadership

I never had any insight into what, precisely, was wrong with corporations and corporate management until I came to China. When you live in a country that gives the illusion of freedom and choice, it's all too easy to miss the more unpleasant cases within it.

One of the things that drives me most crazy in China is the so-called "leadership". These people aren't leaders. They're bureaucrats. Vicious, petty bureaucrats from the lowest levels on up to the Chairman of the Party. And, as such, they have all the leadership qualities of bureaucrats: none whatsoever.

A case in point is what's happening with my extracurricular activities. Smart people would see self-motivated employees doing extra work for the benefit of their employer and/or employer's customers and say "wow, that's great!" But that's not how corporate nor communist leadership thinks. They think instead, at a deep level, "if people are doing things without my oversight, that means they'll think I'm useless". So they meddle.

Way, way, way long ago, back when I worked at Pronexus, I saw this behaviour first-hand when Ian, the owner, walked into a skunkworks design session that Jeff Cooper and I were having with an eye toward updating the technology of Pronexus' product line so that it could thrive and expand in a rapidly-changing world. He demanded to see everything we were working on and then, basically, canned the project. (He later claimed he didn't tell us to stop, but I interpret "I'd rather see you working on things that will actually see the light of day" as a statement that he's never going to allow our project to see the light of day. I wasn't the only one who interpreted it that way either.)

This was my first taste of "leadership" screwing things up to their own detriment just so they could stay in control. I saw similar things happen at Entrust (Jeff and I, in fact, were just talking about one such incident two nights ago) all the time. New ideas are suppressed not because they're bad ideas, not because they won't make money or do good things but because any such new ideas are a threat to the position of the leader that allowed it to happen without oversight.

So imagine a country of 1.3 billion run exactly like that.

Today, after running my English Club and my Linux User's Group meetings for almost a month now, I was told that if I want to use a classroom over lunch hour I'd have to write a document explaining what I was using the classroom for and that I'd have to register my "lessons". Here I am, building something that will add value to the school's image and they decide that since it's not being done with proper oversight that I have to be told to do extra, unpaid work -- on top of the extra unpaid work I'm already doing voluntarily.

Guess who's not doing extra, unpaid work for the school anymore?

Another Busy Week

Well, it's been another busy week, but this time at least I'm used to getting up before 6AM to start my day.

On the home front I've been making very heavy use of my printer and the refill kits. I learned three things by using the refill kits:

1. Printer manufacturers have one Hell of a scam going on with their ink prices.
2. Printer ink is really, really, really messy.
3. Printer ink is also very, very, very persistent.

I'll be sure to keep you posted on the fascinating life of printer cartridges.

Other computer-related stuff isn't so happy. My network feed has been ... well, it's China Telecom. That pretty much says it all. It's low-grade service presented by a bunch of people who'll be paid the same whether the customer is happy or not, so would rather sit on their fat asses all day than actually provide a service. This is what happens when you have government-mandated monopolies (or, as Microsoft demonstrates, monopolies of any kind).

Sometimes doing business in China is intensely frustrating. I knew that China Telecom was going to be a problem the moment they set up my connection. The guy setting it up got very antsy when it turned out I wasn't going to be installing China Telecom's spyware/adware to connect -- and that, indeed, I wasn't going to be using Windows at all. He kept trying to load the software -- Windows software, note! -- on my system and was wondering why it wasn't working. While he was out talking to someone on the phone, I just took the userid and password he was using and put them into my router. Time taken? About ten seconds. When he came back, I was merrily surfing away. He still wanted to go hassle someone else to get a Windows laptop to "check my connection". (Apparently having the connection working in front of him wasn't enough to convince him that it was working. Or something.)

Sure enough, the first thing I found out about the feed after a week of use was that they had about 100 people connected to a line which could give actual broadband service to maybe a tenth of that. During the evenings in particular I'd get about 5KB/s speed tops. About the same as using a dial-up modem. That's "broadband" according to China Telecom. I decided then that I really want to get a different provider.

The building I'm in has boxes for China Netcom. China Netcom isn't very reliable as a provider in my experience -- they go down more often than a Vegas streetwalker -- but when they are working they are bloody fast! My normal speed when I was using them was 8 times the maximum speed I can get from China Telecom even in theory. (900KB/s vs. 120KB/s) That means that they were over 100 times faster normally than what I'm getting from China Telecom, say, right this minute.

Try contacting China Netcom sometime, though.

Their equipment has no telephone numbers on it for contact or servicing. Their web site is a dog's breakfast of one window after another before you get numbers that... don't work. Email? Hah! No business in the world has good email support. Not even the companies that exist, for all practical purposes, entirely on the Internet. A big telecom company? Not a chance.

So after literally months of searching, we finally figured out how to contact China Netcom. Who don't serve this building. They have the equipment here, though, because when they get enough customers they'll hook up the boxes and provide service to the building. But they won't actually sign up any customers because they haven't hooked up the boxes. The circle of stupidity that was this explanation apparently made sense to them, even as it sprained my brain before I thankfully shut it off.

So back to hammering China Telecom. They insisted up down and sideways every time they were contacted that they could do nothing to increase the speed of service. Until the last conversation where they said if we contacted the University office (which had hitherto never been God-damned mentioned!) we could actually pay more for improved service. Which is something I literally asked one week after getting connected and seeing how crappy the service was!

And we still can't upgrade because of stupid bureaucracy that Joan doesn't have time to deal with and the foreign affairs office doesn't want to deal with because it would mean actually doing a job.

And this is business in China. Big business, I mean. Small businesses aren't run by retards. They want money and if you're willing to give it to them, they're willing to bend over backwards and then twist themselves into a pretzel to help you give that money to them. I'm getting my leather jacket resized now, for instance, and while they're at it I asked for a couple of alterations to the styling. No problem there! But big businesses? They seem to think that just existing is reason enough to give them money. "Give us money," they say. "We'll figure out what we'll offer you in return. Someday."

I mean really! I was there, I was waving (metaphorically) hundred-RMB notes in their faces saying at the top of my lungs "I have money! I want to give you this money! Price is no object! Let's do business!" and getting blank incomprehension in response. With China Netcom they just had to string one cable about 25 metres. That's it. And I was willing to pay a month's salary to get it! About enough to pay for ten people in one of their existing accounts for a whole year! And China Telecom? Add "incompetent" to "criminally corrupt" to the list of charges I'm drawing up against them in my head.

OK. Now I've got that out of my system.

In other news, at just the right time I'm getting two of the books from my wish list sent to me. Someone also shipped me a book that has opened my eyes to web design. It was in electronic form, so the physical copy is now in my wish list as well -- it's a really good book about web design with hardly any HTML or CSS in it. A book that isn't just boilerplate and pages and pages and pages of code, but instead offers a deep glimpse into the world of visual design.

Tomorrow -- China Telecom willing -- I'll be making a very special celebratory blog post, so please stay tuned.

Windows Security And Other Oxymorons

So, last time I installed Windows on Joan's laptop (my old Sony), I made a mistake. I installed Windows.

OK. More seriously, I made the mistake of installing anti-virus software after connecting to the network. Long before protection was in place her system had viruses up and running which could not be cleaned out with any anti-virus application. Still, the system was usable and there's no other Windows systems on the network for her to infect, so we left things lying.

Lying, that is, until her system was slowed down so much under the assault of viruses and adware that just minimising a window would take longer than 30 seconds.

So today it was "back up all your data so I can reinstall all the software in the known universe" day. This time, however, I did the smart thing and installed Windows, installed an anti-virus package, then installed the network. If this doesn't work, I'm going to tell Joan that she's got no choice. It's time to switch to Linux.

Down The Rabbit Hole

Only it's not a rabbit hole this time. It's....

Let's back up a bit.

So, this afternoon Joan goes to the washroom. (We have a squat toilet here to Joan's delight and my eternal unhappiness.) As she prepares to go, the gold chain around her neck which has my father's old wedding band on it unlatches and slithers down her chest and into the toilet.

The wedding band, luckily, lands next to the toilet on the floor.

Still, the chain is down the "rabbit hole" -- about a one-meter drop down to the trap. (This, incidentally, is why I prefer western toilets. I mean another reason why. As disgusting as it would be, I could, in a western toilet, just reach my hand in and grab the chain.) Further, the way the plumbing is set up, to get to the trap and open it to gather the chain would require us to go to our neighbour downstairs. Who isn't at home, this being Spring Festival and all that. On top of that, we need a monkey wrench to open the trap, a tool I sadly do not have in my toolbox. Of course we could just hire a plumber but since this is Spring Festival season the for-hire workers we can usually not throw a brick for fear of hitting three or four on the head are nowhere to be seen.

So we've been using half-assed measures like snipped coat hangars tied to wooden poles trying to snag the chain from the toilet. As of 5:30PM today, about an hour after the incident happened, I managed to snag it to the point of it being visible once. Sadly it slipped off and plunged back down the hole then. Since then I've not been able to snag it again. Joan's trying it now.

I'll update this post with our progress for those who are sitting on the edge of their seats wanting to hear how it comes out.

Update #1
As of 6:30PM still no luck. Joan hasn't quite given up hope yet.

Update #2
We've given up as of 7:10PM. I can only think, "Thank God it wasn't me who dropped it -- I'd not hear the end of it for the next six months!"

In other news, it turns out we forgot a scheduled class with our four girls at the hospital today. I hate holidays.

Final (I GOD-DAMNED HOPE!) Update:
The chain has been found. It never actually fell down the toilet. It fell into Joan's clothing after a segment gave out. (The clasp is rock-solid.) She had me, her mother (and herself, but that's not important) fishing in a stinky, grotesque toilet for hours. She went out for a walk with the necklace hanging somewhere inside her clothing. Then, when getting ready for bed, it fell out on the bathroom floor.

How irritating.