Daily Archives: June 15, 1998

cAPS lOCK

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What use does the caps lock key have on a modern computer keyboard? Seriously.

The caps lock key is nothing but a pain in the arse.

Back in the days of typewriters to do a capital letter meant holding down the shift key with ones little finger. This caused the entire set of keys to move down, making the capital letters being the ones that struck the paper. It was held in place by a spring, so it took quite a bit of effort For doing a lot of capital letters for an important heading, such as “THE MINUTES OF THE HAMILTON EAST LADIES BOWLING CLUB 1968 ANNUAL GENERAL MEETING” the typists little finger would get pretty sore holding down that big heavy shift button for all that time. So the shift-lock button was invented so the capital letters could be locked in place for ease of typing that eye-catching heading.

But then came computers and the flexibility of layout with word processing programs. No longer did people have to resort to capitals for an important heading. Italics, bold and different sizes of headings and different fonts could achieve that.

And more significantly, the shift button, instead of having the weight of all the metal keys and a spring, it only has a light spring underneath it. The little finger has no trouble holding down the shift key and typing sentences.

But still, sticking with the convention of the old typewriter keyboard, the same one that has commonly neighbouring letters places apart so the keys don’t jam, the shift key remains.

I never use it. Or if I do, it’s by accident. Like when I go to type a capital A and accidentally hit the caps lock key, and suddenly ALL THE TEXT IS IN CAPITALS. iT TAKES ME A WHILE TO NOTICE IT, THEN i DO, i CURSE AND TAKE THE CAPS LOCK OFF. You will note the feature of the lower case ‘i’s, which is a result of trying to capitalise when in caps lock.

It was something of a revelation when I discovered I never ever used the caps lock key. I don’t use the SysRq, or F5 – F12, but they actually can have uses (I just have to find out what, especially that SysRq…) and none of those keys can get accidentally activated.

So this is what I demand: I would like to see the caps lock key taken off keyboards. I want to see an end to tHIS. No one I know has been able to come up with one good reason for caps lock to stay. It must go.

Join me, friends, in ridding the world of the menace of cAPS lOCK.

Postscript: I’m now using a Mac, which while it still does have a useless capslock key, it doesn’t let tHIS happen.

Hotpants and Boredom

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“Hey Robyn, we need people to work at the show next weekend. You’ll get a day off in lieu. Are you interested?”

“OK, sure. Sounds like fun!”

Yeah, it sounded like a fun thing to do. There was an trade show exhibiting things that men are supposed to be into. Cars, stereos and other things that do things. The company I work for had a stand with its new thing that does stuff and needed people to make it seem REALLY EXCITING. So I volunteered.

The first sign that things were about to go horribly wrong was the t-shirts. Some had been printed up for the show, unfortunately they were fitted mens t-shirts and were very very snug-fitting. I tried on an XL-sized one and was shocked and terrified by what I saw. It fit, it just fit too well. The phrase “ample-bosomed” came to mind.

The alternative was a black XXL-sized Beefy-T, which I was instructed to wear with black jeans. It looked like a metaller maternity wear. All that was needed was “Metallica… and justice for all” to be printed on the back of the t-shirt. I would have probably looked more glamourous in a pink muu-muu.

I arrived at the show and discovered the following. Because I was female, it was deemed that I knew nothing about anything even vaguely technical and therefore would be spending the day handing out bags with a trial CD in them.

So I stood there with a bundle of bags, looking like a metaller chick saying “Would you like a bag?” to anyone who walked past. Unfortunately the girls in mini skirts on another stand were getting more attention and the predominantly male attendees were ignoring me.

The guy who was in charge of the stand decided that I wasn’t working hard enough and came over to show me “how it’s done.” He thrust a bag towards a startled man and said “Here! It’s free!” the man continued to be startled and walked on. He would have had more luck if he was in hot pants. After a few more attempts he finally got someone to take one and told me to do the same. Right-o.

Then disaster struck. We were running out of bags! I seized this opportunity to grab some CDs, bags and free trial stickers and ran up to the exhibitors lounge to make them up.

The exhibitors lounge was an enclosed area on a sort of mezzanine level that overlooked the exhibition hall. From there a most disturbing thing could be heard. There was a stand somewhere that was playing a Fleetwood Mac greatest hits CD over and over again. Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow when I’d be at home!

I sat at a table stickering CDs then putting the CDs into bags. Behind me were two models dressed in hot pants and tank tops who were working for a tyre shop’s stand.

They appeared to have only met the day before, and I sat listening to one of them say stuff like, “When I was 17 I got pregnant and I really wanted to keep the baby, and my boyfriend did too, but we decided to adopt it so we did. I’ve been trying now to have a baby with my partner, but we haven’t had much luck. I think I might stick with modelling for a few more years…”

I brought a couple of boxes of filled bags down and was afforded half an hour for a lunch break. I wandered around looking at the other stands. Cars. Stereos. Boats. Televisions. Motorbikes. Disposable razors. Oh, it was all there.

Then it was back to the bags. This time a man and a woman who hadn’t seen each other for a few years were catching up.

“I’m operating a franchise for motorcycle parts and maintenance. It’ll take a few years to break even, but as we are operating a quality operation, we’ll be there in no time.”

“I’m a rep for a company that sells high-quality audio and video cabling. You know, people don’t realise that the quality of the cables can really make the difference.”

“I know what you man. I was at another stand here and the bloke there offered me a 10% exhibitors discount, but I said, “Mate, I don’t expect a discount.” I wouldn’t give him one, and I don’t expect him to give me one. Guys come in and say “Can I get 10% off for cash?” No, you bloody well can not. What they don’t realise is that they are paying for quality and if I give them a discount, the quality suffers.”

“I know what you mean. People think we are wholesale, but we’re not. We’re retail and because of that we can’t give discounts.”

“That’s bloody right!”

Then a guy from the stand that was playing the Fleetwood Mac album continuously came in. Someone asked him about it and he explained that they had brought a large selection of CDs to the show, but whenever they played the Fleetwood Mac CD, it attracted lots of people.

I stickered more. I bagged more.

The husband and wife owners of the tyre shop were taking a break and talking with the models. “We were originally going to have you girls in mini-skirts, but we thought, if you’re going to actually be doing things with tyres, you’d be better off in hot pants.” The models agreed.

Finally, finally, it all came to an end, and I got to go home.

I had learned a number of valuable lessons:

1. Do not participate in anything that requires you to dress like a pregnant metaller.

2. If you are unable to muster up enthusiasm towards complete strangers about things you feel ambivalent about, go upstairs.

3. Avoid companies that employ people dressed in hot pants.

4. Playing Fleetwood Mac continuously is not a sign of a healthy mind.

5. If you’re feeling really dorky dressed like a metaller, and people are ignoring you in favour of girls in hot pants, being yelled at by the man in charge is does not do wonders for self-confidence.

6. But going around getting free stuff is cool.

I shall chalk it up to experience.

Insane Neighbours

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I had this tendency to live in buildings with people who do unusual things.

The Lady With The Cat Named Lesbo

She used to take it for walks, like walking a dog. Sometimes Lesbo would go walking on his own and she’d be walking around the building calling “Lesbo, Lesbo! Where are you, you naughty cat?” Lesbo was very big and fat and white and fluffy.

The Person Who Couldn’t Sleep

A person of indeterminate gender started sticking notes under my door saying I was keeping him/her awake at night by doing such ruckus-inducing activities as opening my bathroom door, walking, closing the front door. After threatening me with eviction, he/she went to a doctor and discovered the he/she actually had a mental problem that was keeping him/her awake at night so he/she moved out.

The Guy Who Swore At Himself

One day I was sitting on my couch reading. I heard loud stomping down the hall. As it got closer to my place I heard a guy yelling “Fuck you, fuck you, just get the fuck out of my life!!” I went out on my balcony to see who was making the guy so angry, and saw him angrily walking up the driveway saying, “Fuck you, just fuck off”. He was completely alone.

The Naughty School Boy

I came home one day and there was a someone sitting in a car parked in my space. I went over to asked the person to move. There was a man sitting in the car dressed as a school boy. He said he couldn’t park on the street because someone might see him. Well shit, if you’re going to dress up as a naughty school boy, you should be prepared to accepted the consequences.

The Couple Upstairs

There was a couple upstairs who often had noisy sex. I’d be in bed trying to get to sleep and there’d be bang bang bang bang coming from above. That wasn’t so bad, but sometimes I could hear, “Oh yes, yes, oh baby, oh God!” type of sounds. I had once asked them to turn their stereo down and the woman was so friendly and nice that I wasn’t about to ask them to, er, be more quiet when they’re having a shag. I don’t know how you could do that without it being a little embarrassing for everyone.

The Singing Girl Upstairs

The shagadelic couple moved out and the singing girl moved in. She would do things like wake up at 3.00 am and sing really loudly. At first I thought she was singing folk songs in an Eastern European language, but one night I recognised her singing the Celine Dion song from “Titanic” and I lost all respect for her. She also hummed and I think she danced too, because there was lots of banging about. In the end I wrote a letter to her telling her to be quiet at night because I was losing sleep and she left a message on my phone telling me that she worked very hard. Right-o.

When I start getting bad voodoo vibes that’s when I know it’s time to move on. The road becomes my bride.

Hamilton Rock

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Back in the day, when I lived in Hamilton, I used to go out and see bands play and drink beer. There was this exceptionally good month when I saw Captain Higiz play every weekend, four weeks in a row. There were so many excellent bands back then, MSU, The Hollow Grinders, Bwa Da Riddum, Trucker, Dean and a bunch of other ones that I can’t remember.

I then got into the Hamilton BBS scene and started writing reviews of the bands I saw shortly after I staggered home from the pub drunk, or sobering up. Yeah, I was pretty hard core back then, man. Here’s two.

Friday August 2, 1996, 1:32 am

“GUYS I HAVE FUCKED”

or

“RELAX, IT’S JUST A CONCERT REVIEW, DUDE”

Hi. Ok, heat deux of the Battle o’ the Bands was tonight at the Wailing Bongo I was there. I had three handles of Export and it was very nice.

First was Department of Correction. I didn’t see them, but they came second last year, so they might have been quite good, if you’re into industrial stuff.

Handle o’ Export Number 1: Trucker

Jamie, Paul, Stan and Paul II rocked very hard. They had the whole pop/rock thing worked out really well. Jamie’s guitar was chuggin’ along nicely, Stan provided little lead parts that sounded really good, Paul’s basslines were from the Planet of Sound and Paul II’s drumming was good too. They were so good that I symbolically had part of Jo’s beer to show that Trucker were worth more than just a handle.

Handle o’ Export Number 2: Disjecta Membra(ne)

Goth dude one, goth dude two and goth dude three and goth drum machine rocked the stage dressed in black. Goth dude three, the keyboardist apparently joined the band on Saturday, but more importantly, he is in my rock music class at uni. Goth dude one sang like the guy from Bauhaus and did some wheedly bits on his guitar, goth dude two played bass and goth drum machine kept a steady beat. A lot of their music was funeral stuff with scary organ music, but they did occasionally rock out, which caused The Goth Dude to get up and dance.

Handle o’ Export Number 3: Psyclops

Metaller 1, metaller 2, metaller 3 and Dylan the drummer had a big bad rock god thing going on. Every single guitar solo was wheedly wheedly weeeeee! At one stage one of the guitarists got so carried away with the sheer emotion of the wheedla that he jumped up on the speaker stack and let it rip. The thought occurred to me “Just because a person can type fast and accurately, doesn’t mean they can write well”. Oh yeah, Dylan the Drummer turned up at my 21st.

So the fascist judges went away and got pissed then came back and said the usual “it was a really hard decision, but in the end the best band won” which meant that they all suck so Department of Erection won. If the best band had actually one then Trucker would have won, so I don’t like the judges.

The whole gang was there. Sciflyer was there and so was David Hasslehoff, but most importantly, Biff Bangle was there and I was at one stage sitting a mere two metres from him.

And as for the title, there is some significance, somewhere out there. Just don’t start psychoanalysing it.

Party at Biff Bangles House, late ’96.

A thousand and one thoughts are buzzing in my head. They need to be written down.

Johnny Fist and the Horny Mormons were between songs. Someone in the audience yelled out “Play some Bryan Adams”. Another person yelled out “play some David Hasselhoff”. I was standing there thinking, “Hey, I can do that!”. May this whole rock thing isn’t as hard as it seems.

After seeing Biff Bangle drumming I am thinking of becoming a Buddhist, so that when I die I stand the chance of being reborn as the raw materials that might one day be made into a drum kit. I can only hope that Biff Bangle would somehow end up playing me.

I got to the party by following the cars and the music. I walked in and realised that I probably didn’t know anyone there. There were all these people with face paint, wigs and stuff walking around. There were sheets of silver stuff on the walls. I started to freak out. Like I was some really straight person stumbling into a dem of debauchery. Then I thought about it. If I’d known there was a wig thing happening I would have worn one. If I had ample supplies of silver stuff I’d stick that on the walls. No worries.

The party was throughout the whole house. The music people were in the front room with the bands, the happy people were in the lounge, the goths were in the kitchen, the stoners were beyond the kitchen. There seemed to be some action in the bathroom. I was considering going to the toilet, but I thought there would probably be a few people in there with drinks.

When Johnny Fist and the Horny Mormons were playing I caught myself air-guitarring. Not full-on wheedly shit, but my hands were just sort of in guitar-playing position.

And those rock songs were so good. Their version of “Smoke on the Water” was really evilly sexy. I’ve never felt compelled to describe a performance that way before.

What does it say about the youth of today that “Camel Walk” and “Miserlou” got everyone really excited?

Pot-Smoking Devil Woman

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I was reading the entertainment supplement in the paper at lunch the other day when I came across the following quote. It was by Tiffani-Amber Thiessen on how she is not at all like Valerie Malone, the character she plays on “Beverly Hills 90210″:

“I’m laidback. I’m not uptight. I’m not evil. And I won’t smoke a lot of pot and sleep with your boyfriend.”

This presents the opportunity to discuss a number of angles, such as:

1. How casual use of marijuana is becoming increasingly popular in recent films and television shows.

2. If Valerie is such a pot-smokin’ gal, why is she so uptight? (Because they can’t glamorise cocaine on TV? Or because some chick who spends all day in her pyjamas watching old Rob Lowe movies on cable isn’t sexy?)

or

3. Uh-oh. Tiffani-Amber’s afraid of being typecast!

Let’s go for number three.

I’m guessing she was getting offers for roles such as “Voluptuous Pot-Smokin’ Vixen”, “Sexy Reefer Girl” and “Mary Jane the Devil Woman”. Eager to cast off this notion of her, she made that statement so people will know that she is not at all like Valerie Malone.

So when Tiffani-Amber played Kelly Kapowski in her pre-90210 show “Saved by the Bell”, did she have to make a similar statement to save her from similar roles? A statement like:

“I’m mature. I’m not a little big-haired high school girl. I can be mean. And I can be a vixen and do other stuff like maybe smoke a cigarette.”

I’m off to smoke some pot and sleep with your boyfriend, but we shall leave the last word to Ms Thiessen, culled from a “Saved By The Bell” fan site:

Would Tiffani, a native of Long Beach, California, ever want to play a mean-spirited person? “That would be hard — really acting,” she reflects.”