Oliver At Three-And-A-Half

A New Room

He gets out of bed tonight and walks over to the top of the stairs. “Dah-ee!” (He generally skips the second d in daddy, which I’m fond of.) Although I’m not thrilled he’s out of bed, he’s been good lately, and the fact he calls for me by name is great, because what he used to do drove us nuts.

What he used to do was arrive at the top of the stairs and make a sort of grunting noise similar to the noise that jerks make when they are mocking the mentally disabled. He would start quietly and then escalate if we ignored it.

“Uhhh. Uhhhhhhhh. UhhhhHHHHHHH. UhhhhhHHHHHH. UHHHHHHNNNNNNHHHHHH!”

“YES, Oliver?”

“I have to go pee.”

He’s past this phase, which helps with parental response time. I ask him what the issue is, and as usual, it’s urination. But in the bathroom, I notice that he’s damp all over. His hair is plastered to his head. His face is flushed. I ask him why he’s all wet.

“Because my room is jiggling [his window rattles when the wind blows hard]. It was bothering me. So I got all of the way underneath my blankets. But my room was still jiggling. My room is too old. I need a new room.”

Very Upset

I’ve been off work due to the Christmas holidays for over a week. Oliver and I were hanging out after I was off for a few days, and he said, out of the blue: “I’m very upset with you, daddy, because you go to work every day to make lots of bacon and you are there for a very long time.”

Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes

You’ll really only understand this anecdote if you’ve read the Robert Munsch story Angela’s Airplane, about a child who absconds with an airplane because she cannot resist pressing buttons.

Oliver’s favourite stuffed animal is this truly massive (it’s bigger than him) blue teddy bear that my buddy Wayne bought for him when he was first born. Oliver got me out of bed one night to examine an urgent issue with the bear, namely that he had extracted a large amount of stuffing from the bear by pulling it out of a hole in that had formed in its arm.

“Oliver, why are you picking out the stuffing?” I asked.

“Well,” he replied, “I was laying in bed and I asked myself, should I pick the stuffing out of the bear? Is that a good idea? And I said, ‘yes, yes, yes, yes, yes’. So I picked it.”

Sloane At Ten Months

She’s recently learned how to “crawl”, except that she can only go backwards, by pushing the floor in front of her with her hands. Because of this she often seems confused about where she ends up, since she can’t see where she is going.

She never fails to return a smile, and when she does, it’s amazing.

I feel guilty that this portion of my post is so much shorter than the portion devoted to Oliver, but she’s still a baby, doing baby things, and I don’t want to bore you. Besides, a picture is worth a thousand words:

As a result I’ve had no choice but to write a bookmarklet that automatically hides all of his comments when you click it.

To use it in Firefox or Chrome (probably Safari as well), just drag and drop the URL below (the one that says Throttle) to your bookmark’s toolbar. In Internet Explorer, right click on the link and choose “Add to favourites” (not sure how you get it into your browser toolbar from there, but if you know, go ahead and add a comment below.

Throttle

Once you’ve done that, all you have to do to use it is click it while reading any RTH article or post. All of Turbo’s comments will instantly disappear and you can go on reading without with his absurd trolling.

P.S. This also just happens to automatically downvote his comments too…

UPDATE: Here’s a version that takes care of Hammy:

Whammy

You’re using Hpricot to parse web content, but it’s throwing an error like this that completely kills the process (probably crashing your app, or your background task, as the case may be):

/usr/local/lib/ruby/gems/1.8/gems/hpricot-0.8.2/lib/hpricot/parse.rb:33: [BUG] Bus Error
ruby 1.8.7 (2009-04-08 patchlevel 160) [i686-darwin8.11.1]
Abort trap


This resource suggests that the problem is that the content retrieved is precisely 16384 bytes long, however, that was not the problem in my case.

My problem is replicated in this gist. Examination of the URL it was trying to retrieve using curl with -i indicated that this was returning a 302 redirect:

HTTP/1.1 302 Found
Date: Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:50:53 GMT
Server: Microsoft-IIS/6.0
X-Powered-By: ASP.NET
X-AspNet-Version: 2.0.50727
X-UA-Compatible: IE=EmulateIE7
Location: /
Set-Cookie: ASP.NET_SessionId=p2s0dljru11tiwer3e01jfq2; path=/; HttpOnly
Set-Cookie: Forum2backURL=/tm.aspx?m=1859288#1859354; path=/
Set-Cookie: Forum2preURL=; path=/
Cache-Control: private
Expires: Wed, 11 Nov 2009 13:50:53 GMT
Content-Type: text/html; charset=utf-8
Content-Length: 120


I am not sure why Ruby’s OpenURI open method was not capable of parsing / following this redirect. However, I determined that the file returned by open() had a size of zero bytes, and this was causing Hpricot to blow up.

My workaround is just to check the size of the file returned by open() and only try to parse it if it is greater than 0:

f = open(file_or_uri)
if f.size > 0
doc = Hpricot(f)
else
raise "Could not retrieve content due to zero-sized file, possibly due to site redirect."
end


He’s curious. When he hears something, he asks, “What was that? What was that noise?” He loves to pick things up from the ground – sticks, rocks, whatever. To his mother’s horror, the other day he scavenged a french fry from the floor of the mall and happily ate it. In other words, he is resourceful.

He is observant. He can spot a sliver of the moon in broad daylight, when it scarcely looks different than a scrap of cloud. He learns quickly and is unafraid of embarrassing himself. I’m in a constant pattern of language instruction with him, introducing new words and asking him to repeat them. He does very well at it. I like to throw some curveballs in there too. “That’s called ‘manipulation’, Oliver. Can you say ‘manipulation’?” “Manish-ship-ship-shun.” “Can you say controversial?” “Con-oh-SERial!”

Although his vocabulary may not have caught up to mine yet, he has already superseded my musical ability. His rendition of Gincle Gincle Little Star is far sweeter to the ear than my best attempts. He is also adept at filling in the parts of songs he doesn’t know with semi-melodic mumbling, which will put him in good stead when he needs to sing the national anthem later on in life.

He loves to be tickled. When he’s had enough, he lets me know: “Daddy, dop!” In general he is not afraid to let me know when I’m being a pain in the ass. “No, Daddy. Go way, Daddy!”

On the other hand, he doesn’t like it when I leave. We have interesting conversations in the front hallway on weekday mornings when he tries to prevent me from going to work.

“No Daddy go!”

“Daddy has to go to work.”

“Why Daddy work?”

“Daddy has to work so that he can make money.”

“Why money?”

“Because we need money so that we can buy food.”

“Why?”

“Because we need to eat.”

“Why?”

Why indeed? I used to believe that when I had a child, I would always try to explain things to that child and never resort to the pat answers I’d hear from other parents (“just because”). My child is only two and he is already defeating this goal. Why DO we need to eat?

You can answer that question, sure, but ask enough “whys”, and you’ll find yourself trying to explain the nature and reasons for existence of the universe – to a two-year-old.

Then again, he’s probably got as good a chance of understanding it as most. In fact, I think he’s taught me far more about the ultimate nature of life and existence than I could ever teach him.

He keeps drifting to the left to see if he can pass. He can’t, which makes him frustrated. He probably has a crap job and a worse family, which are stressing him out. Or whoever he’s talking to on his cellphone isn’t telling him what he wants to hear.

He finally gets a chance to pass. Steps on it to make a point and roars past. “Man,” you think, “I really, really hope that jerkoff gets pulled over a few blocks ahead. I’ll smirk as I drive past. Maybe give him a friendly wave. That prick.”

That never, ever happens. But the other night, I got a tiny glimpse of what it would feel like.

I’m coasting in to an intersection. It’s a four-way stop. Some dude is rolling in to the intersection at the same time, opposite to me but turning left (down the street on my right). That means only one of us can go. We’re going to have to stop together, and then one of us is going to have to yield to the other. Either he’ll make his left turn, or I’ll head straight through.

I don’t mind yielding – I’m not in any rush. But he doesn’t give me the chance. He decides to preempt our little negotiation by not stopping at all. He just keeps going, makes his turn, and heads down the street on my right.

Unfortunately for him, we weren’t the only people waiting at the intersection. A third vehicle had arrived at the same time on the same street this guy just headed down. This vehicle, it just so happens, is a police vehicle, driven by a rather large police officer. At the moment I see him his hand is raised, palm upward, in a gesture that clearly communicates exactly the same thing I’m thinking: WTF?

I pause. The cop doesn’t. He u-turns and heads after the dude.

The moment is over, but the feeling remains: a rare, sweet satisfaction.

This choice is often arbitrary, although once someone has chosen a particular faction, their friends will often choose the same one so they can play together. But at the time a player joins, they have no particular love for the side they choose or hatred for their faction’s enemies.

This soon changes, however, especially on game servers that promote warfare between the factions (so called player-vs-player servers, such as the one I played on). A raging hatred exists between players on opposite factions that extends out of the game world and onto forums, blogs and so on, where people insult each other, claim the other side has an unfair advantage, etc.

In other words, people who have a ton of things in common, from their frequently similar personal characteristics (young, male, etc.) to their obvious appreciation for the same type of entertainment, spend hours flaming each other as a result of an arbitrary, meaningless choice when they first started playing the game.

As in the world of video games, so in the world of web development. I’m sometimes dismayed by the attitudes expressed by Python programmers towards Ruby programmers, and vice versa.

Don’t get me wrong: lots of people from these two communities are perfectly civil towards one another, and some of the tension is simply a healthy competitive rivalry. But that is not always the case, which is weird: after all, both languages are dynamic and cutting-edge, both communities are producing fantastic software, and both communities are generally contemptuous towards people who program in PHP. So what’s the problem?

Or check out the massive flamewar on Smashing Magazine because someone had the nerve to suggest that web developers don’t need to use Macs. Five hundred comments (and counting) of Mac users bashing Windows users bashing Mac users, occasionally interspersed by pious Linux users wondering what all the fuss is about.

But all of these people are web developers. Some, of course, are respectful to each other, but others are not: the fact they are speaking to someone who is probably much like them, with the same career and probably many of the same interests, does not matter as much (at least at that moment) as that person’s choice of computer.

When we’re online, we often disagree the most with the people who are just like us. Is this the result of competition, like the conjured up war between the Horde and the Alliance in World of Warcraft or the pressures of the hyperactive pace of web development? Or is it a way of insisting that we are unique individuals, even when presented with evidence to the contrary – our peers?

Offline, the situation changes. Put a Ruby programmer and a Python programmer in a room together at a party and they’re bound to meet at some point and trigger the kind of endless, arcane-to-normal-people conversation that prompts their wives to suggest leaving. Put a couple of WoW players into a room at a party – actually, never mind, WoW players don’t really leave the house.

There’s a simple solution for all of this then: when you deal with people online, treat them the way you treat the people you see every day, in person. Even if they still use PHP. Or they’re Horde. You ganking bastards.

For example, if you were to see Suzanne Somers on Oprah telling women that injecting estrogen directly into their vaginas (don’t worry, that link does not go to a photo) will make them look and feel younger, you may think, “that’s crazy,” and you may even feel compelled to remark to someone near you that you believe “that woman is freaking nuts”.

When you criticize an apparently ridiculous person or idea, however, you open yourself up to a common line of attack, which is to point out that history’s revolutionary thinkers and inventors were usually mocked when they announced their discoveries.

I’m slogging my way through Steven Pinker’s The Stuff of Thought right now and I came across a brilliant counter-argument to that. In this paragraph, Pinker is discussing the radical linguistic theories of philosopher and psychologist Jerry Fodor:

Fodor correctly notes that history has often vindicated unconventional ideas – after all, they all laughed at Christopher Columbus and Thomas Edison. The problem is that they all laughed at Manny Schwartz, too. What, you’ve never heard of Manny Schwartz? He was the originator and chief defender of the theory of Continental Drip: that the southern continents are pointy at the bottom because they dribbled downward as they cooled from a molten state. The point is that they were right to laugh at Manny Schwartz. Extraordinary claims [...] deserve extraordinary evidence.

So the next time someone pulls this one on you when you express skepticism about an extraordinary claim, just ask, “What, you’ve never heard of Manny Schwartz?”

Lately he’s been learning how to jump, which he does by bending all the way forward, in a full crouch with his chest horizontal to the ground, and then extending upwards as vigorously as he can. This earns him about an inch of air.

In the morning, though, when I get him out of his crib, he holds onto the side of it and jumps up and down like a maniac. This technique gives him a lot more height, and it’s very funny to watch. It makes getting him out of bed in the morning doubly enjoyable. It’s hard to stay irritated with a Monday morning when someone else’s reaction to the new day is this much excitement.

Eating is always an adventure. An activity that I view as one of life’s great pleasures is a mixed bag for Oliver. Certain foods are always in favour (any type of pasta is met with the exclamation “noose!”, which means “noodles”), while the mere proximity of others is offensive, even if no attempt is being made to force the issue (broccoli may not be in contact with any part of his high chair).

His refusal to eat certain healthy foods has resulted in us playing the deception card, a parental favourite, by cutting food up and mixing it in with yogurt (another sure winner). Oliver enjoyed every bite of a wretched mixture of yogurt and chopped asparagus and chicken.

Last night, while at the in-laws, Oliver and I were indoors while the rest of the family was outside, and he shut a heavy door on his finger. He immediately started screaming in pain, stamping his feet in anguish and holding out his hand for me to look at. I could see that he did not understand why it hurt so much. This confusion is tragic to me. Growing up, he will often hurt, and many times will not know why, just like the rest of us.

This morning, although his fingernail was purple, it wasn’t bothering him any more. I’d say that now he’s less likely to play with doors, but I don’t think that’s true. Instead, he’ll probably just be a little better at it. The resilience of children and their determination to get good at stuff is amazing.

As Oliver gets older, our relationship is changing. I used to take care of him as a baby, now, I’m getting to know him as a person. Few experiences in my life have felt this meaningful.

Chances are, if you use jEdit and HAML, you’re using or you’ve tried out Jim Morris‘ jEdit HAML edit mode.

If you’ve done so, and you’re using an up-to-date version of jEdit (e.g. 4.3 pre14) you’ll have noticed that the way it deals with indentation is really buggy. Here’s a description of the problem I posted to the jEdit mailing list, without much luck:

This is the code I want:

%table.form
  = form_row("First name")


In the code above, as soon as I type the “a” in name (actually the point varies a bit, could be anywhere inside the double quotes), the line unindents, giving me this:

%table.form
= form_row("First na


This means that I have to go and reindent the line, so that it’s back the way I want it to be.

This also happens in cases where I am using braces { }. Here is the code I may want:

%a{:href => "/some/link"}
  = "#{@user.login}"


As soon as I type the opening brace { in that string, the line unindents:

%a{:href => "/some/link"}
= "#{


And again, I have to reindent it.

What’s even more annoying (incredibly annoying!) is that after I reindent it, as I continue to type, it will continually unindent. So I end up fighting with my editor.

You can fix this problem by hacking up a new Ruby mode for jEdit that removes all of the indentation rules. Then, change the HAML edit mode to delegate to your new hacked Ruby mode, instead of the proper one.

Step 1:

Open the jEdit catalog file, probably in the modes folder (precise location depends on your system). Find the entry for Ruby and create a new one called ruby_stripped_down that references a new file called ruby_stripped_down.xml:

<mode NAME="ruby_stripped_down" FILE="ruby_stripped_down.xml" />


You don’t need all the info about file extensions, since this mode will only get called from the HAML mode.

Step 2:

Open up the ruby.xml file from the same folder as the catalog. Save a copy of it as ruby_stripped_down.xml. Now delete all of the lines inside the <props> tags near the beginning.

Step 3:

Open up the haml.xml file from the same folder. Wherever you see:

DELEGATE="ruby::MAIN"


Change it to:

DELEGATE="ruby_stripped_down::MAIN"


This occurs in four places.

Save it. Restart jEdit. Your problem should be solved.

If you’re lazy, you can also download my edited haml, ruby_stripped_down, and catalog files. However, be warned that overwriting your versions is at your risk (especially the catalog file – the others aren’t nearly as risky).

haml.xml
ruby_stripped_down.xml
catalog

Global food prices continue to rise. United Nations secretary-general Ban Ki-moon has warned that “We risk the spectre of wider-spread hunger, malnutrition and social unrest on an unprecedented scale”.

Food riots in Haiti, rice rationing in India and even the United States, panic buying in Britain: so far, Canadians have been insulated from these phenomena, but not for long. Our rendezvous with rising prices for life’s essentials is on the way.

To markets, food is just another commodity, subject to the same profiteering and speculation as tech stocks, minerals and oil futures.

The difference is that food, like air and water, is the most basic of necessities. Not being able to afford food is a death sentence.

Markets for food used to represent a means to fairly compensate farmers and a motivation for them to keep growing food. Now, global markets have set up a powerful and dangerous competition for a vital resource.

Go read the rest if you’re interested.