I Know What You're Thinking
No! Not at all, I keep telling you, the D.A.R.P.A. Telepathy Helmet got returned to them ages ago, and they never knew I'd done a - ah - 'long-term borrow' of it. No, I can tell what you're thinking because I'm so perceptive, not to mention fond of ambiguous titles. Art!
Now, this is a bit of a lightning conductor for the Facebook twod mods, as what I'm going to be talking about in this Intro is, indeed, a breakdown in communications. However - my favourite word back again!- it's nothing to do with Lez Zeppelin, and everything to do with an obsolete piece of technology. No! Not 'The Gizmo'. Dog Buns, how obscure can you get? Art!
A pager. You use it to page.
There's today's title explicated. A little explanation is due here, as the pager is an endangered species nowadays. It was a small, portable device that a person carried around on their person, which would be accessed by anyone calling it's number. It would vibrate and/or bleep, and thus the carrier became aware that another party wanted them to call back, with the number to call and perhaps a brief message. Art!
Having set the scene, I am now going to save progress and carry on watching "Godzilla Minus One", which looks verrrry impressive for only $15 million.
Back again! Not exactly bright-eyed and I don't have a tail, bushy or otherwise, yet here I am.
Right, we are now detailing a tale of both Malicious Compliance and Petty Revenge from a Youtube Reddit re-telling, featuring DBA. Art!
No! No - 'Data Base Administrator'. DBA. O I give up.
To set this part of the story's scene, it took place in 2004, when pagers, being paged and carrying a pager was still a thing. DBA was part of a department of 30 DBAs, who were cut back to 7 thanks to financial troubles.
Of course - obviously! - this being South Canada, where the employees are treated like helots, management still expected these 7 to do the work of 30. DBA's team of 7 got a new manager, whom he described as a 'Toxic Butt Kisser' which we will use as his BOOJUM! title.
I should explain that DBA and his team had all carried pagers, and were contractually obliged to respond to pages even when not at work. This rarely happened, because it had to be an Ass On Fire emergency for them to get a page.
That is, until TBK arrived. He insisted that they receive every page sent, in case one of them happened to be a DBA issue, so the total went from 0 or 1 per night to 50. Art!
DBA resorted to re-writing pager codes so he and his 6 compatriots only got relevant WARNING pages, which again cut the total back down to 0 or 1 page per night, allowing them to sleep.
TBK, with his lips firmly glued to the posterior of his superior*, went off on a rant that this was unacceptable and The Department - note capitalisation - needed to be up to speed on ALL pages.
So, DBA ever so thoughtfully re-wrote paging codes so that TBK's pager got all the calls. All of them. All the time. All night long. He stepped back to admire his handiwork and waited for TBK to wilt under the endless barrage of pages of pages.
This never happened, and he soon realised that TBK simply turned his pager off at night.
You can probably guess what happened next. An Ass On Fire emergency happened - overnight. Art!
 |
| A metaphor |
To detail a little. The database that had died was one dealing with federally-mandated information. In South Canada, you maintain targets, deadlines and Key Performance Indicators associated with federal data - or they will swoop in and fine you down to your white corpuscles, and then fine the fine. DBA's business was riding close to the deadline on this network problem, so they called EVERYBODY in that Sunday night.
Except TBK.
His 'communication breakdown' didn't dawn until he wandered into the office at 08:00 next morning, seeing everyone already there. DBA, when asked in the small hours of the morning why TBK wasn't present, casually (with a grin a mile wide on the inside) informed the CIO that TBK never answered his pager after work hours.
TBK was called into a private meeting with the CIO and CTO which lasted 10 minutes, which was the rest of his career, because after that he was fired. Art!
 |
| Actually 20 years. It was 2004. |
Less Mount Doom, More Mouth Of Hell
Yes, we are back to pointing and laughing at Modern-day Mordor, where what isn't flooded is on fire, either via natural accident such as forest wildfires, or mice with matches. Or Ukrainians with drones, one of the two. This time it's a landfill site at Shakty in Rostov oblast, which is really earning it's nickname of "Roastov". It's been burning for days and the locals cannot extinguish it. Art!
Why no massed fire-engines? Because it's only a provincial landfill. If it were a fuel depot there'd be hundreds of firefighters; they may all be still in attendance at Proletarsk and Atlas, with none to spare. Whichever reason, the place stinks appallingly, as the normal bouquet of rotting landfill is considerably enhanced by it being on fire. A 'dumpster-fire' of colossal proportions.
In our typical utilitarian and practical style, we do have a suggestion. Put up signs and attract the tourists to the Ruffian equivalent of that Kazakhstan flaming pit. Art!
Buzz Biffs BSer Bart
For some reason not easy to explain, an old video clip )from 2002) came up on Twitter (which I refuse to call 'X' because I know it annoys Elong Tusk so much), featuring stage left Buzz Aldrin, his granddaughter and a loathsome conspiranoid scammer called Bart Sibrel. Art!
Dateline 2002
Buzz here is 72
Loathsome Bart Sibrel used to work for a television company, and got fired from them when he committed trespass on the property of a NASA astronaut, which left him with a chip the size of a California Redwood on his shoulder, and an axe to grind (probably used to chop down that tree). His schtick was to harass an ex-astronaut by telling them to swear on a Bible that they went to the Moon, because Bart didn't think NASA had the collective smarts to get out of bed.
He kept harassing Buzz and grandaughter, until he actually got in front and obstructed Buzz, who - Art!
Buzz biffs
The transcription goes: "You're a coward and a liar and a WHACK -".
At which point Loathsome turns to his camera chap and asks if he got the shot. Well, these people aren't smart enough to get out of bed because no, he didn't.
The case that Loathsome brought never even made it to court. Which probably stoked up that incoherent rage even more. Way to go when you get your bottom handed to you by a man half your size and a third of your age.
Tee hee!
Is Sanity Returning?
It's greatly over-rated in human civilisation, true, yet one expects the machines to exhibit a considerable degree of comfortable interaction with it.
Yes, I'm talking about the Blogger tracking algorithm, which has been higher than Donald Trump Junior for August.
Today, we see a smidgeon of sensibility appear. Art!
A monthly total like that would mean an average of nearly 500 visitors per day. Whilst flattering, Your Humble And Modest Scribe doesn't believe this is accurate. Art!
I cannot even find Singapore on this map. Conrad is also somewhat surprised at how many Ruffians enjoy BOOJUM! because we relentlessly mock the Fun-Sized Foot Fiddler - or perhaps that's the attraction? Art!
That should be Singapore right there except it's not.
A Couple Of Gruesome Graphs For You Ghouls
The ruble seems to be about as popular as the Trump Media And Technology Group. If they were aircraft they'd belong to Plummet Airlines, that's how bad they are. Art!
DJ Tango will be able to sell his 78 million shares in September, and he'll break the speed of light to get rid of his 'meme stock' before it absolutely craters. That poor man**.
Finally -
Getting closer to Wet Saturday, when Dry August officially ends. I shall pre-empt the beginning of September by about 6 hours, just to let you know.
Chin chin!
* He must have communicated this in writing, right?
** I know, I know, wildly ambiguous.
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