Trying to work out why replacing the rubber feet on my laptop requires a “Genius”.
Trying to work out why replacing the rubber feet on my laptop requires a “Genius”.
Over on the IndieWebCamp wiki, we’ve been documenting some of the ghastly things about Facebook and I needed to post this one on my own site for the permanent public record.
Facebook lets advertisers target ads pretty narrowly. That’s one of the key things that draw people to Facebook as an advertising platform. You can target based on all sorts of things: age, gender, location, relationship status, sexual orientation, educational background, employment history, work sector, political affiliations, interests, their parent’s demographics, whether they play video games, whether they have travelled recently and the type of mobile phone they use. And plenty of other things.
I did not manage to screenshot this particular ad that I saw a while back, but here is a rough approximation of the copy:
Meet hot finance studs
Study full-time or part-time for an MBA at name of business school.
The ad was accompanied by a picture of a couple of young men without shirts on.
This ad was served up to me on the basis of gender (man), sexual orientation (gay), educational background (have a degree), location (London), age (20 something) and work background (just finished university, just starting out in the world of work).
And as an advert for the business school in question, it is a pretty terrible advert, for fairly obvious reasons. Can you imagine applying for a postgraduate professional degree programme and actually being honest about why you are applying? “Well, I have a passion for international business management and I also saw some hot shirtless blokes in an ad on Facebook.”
It was probably some “forward-thinking” and “disruptive” digital media agency who thought “oh, yeah, let’s split up our target audience into 500 little chunks, then microtarget them”. And the management of the business school were so baffled by the spiffy social media marketing geniuses that they just ran with it even though “hot finance studs” probably isn’t exactly the copy I ought to be associating with a serious business school.
Of course, I may just be old fashioned and prudish in thinking that the way one advertises an institution of higher education ought to be slightly more refined than the way one advertises a Soho bathhouse.
The future is here and I can’t decide whether it is actually a full-on Orwellian dystopia or a strange hallucinogenic dream we shall all wake up from shortly and say “that was odd”. Or perhaps some mixture of the two.
Damn I love this city. Sam Johnson was right about our great metropolis.
Just saw an old lady taking a selfie with a ripped Soho go-go boy.
CoffeeScript: the strange belief that applying enough layers of lipstick to a pig will suddenly turn it into Haskell.
Agenzia delle Entrate, Italy’s tax authority, has apparently violated the OpenStreetMap license on a massive scale. It’s astoundingly similar.
Last November, I bought a pair of Aiaiai TMA-1 DJ headphones on the advice of a colleague. I borrowed his for a day and loved the sound, and he told me he’d had a reasonably good experience with them.
I bought some the next day from the Apple Store in Regent Street.
Let me outline the good points of these headphones: they look nice, they are reasonably comfortable and they sound nice. The visual design of the headphones is a soft matte and modern black, kept completely unbranded. Given how every other pair of headphones I see is garishly designed—either in obnoxious colours, or in an obnoxiously hipsterish retro style, I was quite pleased with the design. More importantly, the sound is excellent. It matched up with the quality I got from a fairly good hi-fi system. I have found no cause for complaint in the quality of the sound.
I work in an open plan office—like every other unfortunate office worker in the Western world, it seems—and I need headphones that block out the colossal quantities of noise that bounce around the stark, white echo chamber. My headphones are on at least 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. The TMA-1 comes with both leather and vinyl ear cushions—I ended up going with the leather ones and they were reasonably comfortable. Not the most comfortable headphones I’ve ever worn, but far from the worst.
That, alas, is it. Everything else about these headphones has been a catastrophic disaster. I bought them at the end of November. Within a month, the headband had snapped. I am not a sadistic headphone torturer. A product built for a “DJ” market should hopefully be able to stand up to far greater punishment than that given out by an office drone sitting in the same place writing code.
I nipped back to the Apple Store and had them replaced. Another month or so ensues, and they break again. This time I make the mistake of attempting to contact the manufacturer for support. I send in a cameraphone snap of the broken headband, and after some dallying around in email back-and-forth, they send a replacement set. In the email I sent them, I requested they send them to my office address. They send them to my home address.
In the meantime, I ended up buying a spare pair of fairly cheap Skullcandy headphones. They are plastic, flimsy and the sound reproduction is not nearly as good as the TMA-1s. Since buying them, I seem to have spent more time with the spare headphones on than I have with the TMA-1s.
A couple of weeks after the replacement headphones arrive, the cable stops working. The manufacturer do not have the ability to replace the cable which has the inline iPhone control. At this point, I’m feeling lazy. I go to Aiaiai’s web shop and order a new cable and pay the princely sum of €20 + tax + shipping on them. And then I wait. Ten business days later, I realise the cable still hasn’t turned up. I contact them, and they tell me that DHL had not managed to deliver them because they couldn’t find my house. (I live in off the beaten track out in that secluded backwoods known as Westminster.) I tell them to try delivering them to my work. And then I wait some more. Eventually the cable turns up.
That was about two weeks ago. Today, I leave the house to do some errands. I am putting the headphones back on my head as I’m leaving a shop and the headband breaks again.
My patience snaps. I get on the Tube and go immediately to the Apple Store, explain all this, tell them that the headphones are not of merchantable quality as they are not fit for basic operation, and that I would like a full refund under the Sale of Goods Act 1979.
A bit of bureaucracy and these blasted headphones are finally out of my life. I strongly recommend not buying anything Aiaiai produces. If I were an estate agent tasked with selling the TMA-1s, I would call them “delicate”. What they actually are is flimsy.
Flimsy, £169.95 and require me to spend a lot of time getting them fixed? No way.
An adapted copy of this review has been published on Amazon.co.uk.
The cartridge/ROM for Sonic 3 for the Sega Genesis/Mega Drive is 2.1MB of data.
If you work in the technology industry and you think this is in any way normal or acceptable, please leave by the nearest exit. This is moronic.
Every day, countless petabytes of bandwidth are spent downloading completely unnecessary libraries and frameworks and front-end doodads. It slows the page loading, it uses up memory on people’s computers. It is a waste of electricity and bandwidth, and it is a tax on the sanity of developers to maintain these gigantic piles of unnecessary complexity.
What colossal, horrible dickishness. Sigh. Religion.
Doing this to show that I’m awesome.
I just experienced a scene of casual homophobia… in a lift in a hotel in Brighton. It’s too profoundly odd to even begin to describe. I’m not hurt or offended, just very, very confused.
Just a small hint: if you are going to tell homophobic jokes, you are unlikely to find an appreciative audience in Brighton—Britain’s “gay capital”, just as you are unlikely to find an appreciative audience for your sexist jokes at a dinner party with Germaine Greer.
Pernille Tranberg: “I’m ten years younger on Facebook. And I’m a lesbian on Facebook. And I live in Asia.”
This morning, I’m travelling from London to Brighton. That shouldn’t be too hard. Go to Victoria, buy a ticket, get on train.
I get to Victoria station and try to use a ticket machine to buy a ticket. I just want a standard open return to Brighton. The ticket machine doesn’t list Brighton as a destination, so I have to type the destination in using the ‘Stations A-Z’ panel. One letter at a time.
The touchscreen sits and waits about 15 seconds before it registers any touch event. And thus someone who writes both code and natural language for a living is now rendered unable to type text in. The screen misregisters the tap on the wrong letter, then misregisters the backspace command. Eventually, I get to ‘BR’. It is filtering a list of every train station in the country. I’m standing at a ticket machine at the entrance to a platform where there is a train waiting to go to Brighton and it is prioritising tickets to Bracknell and Bradford and Brampton and Brentford and Bridgend over the train to Brighton that’s right in front of me.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Eventually, I pluck out ‘BRIGH’ on Satan’s very own touchscreen keyboard and finally ‘Brighton’ appears. Success, right?
I tap on Brighton. Now I just need to select the ticket type. Up come about 100 different variants of ‘day single’ and ‘day return’. I don’t want a day single or a day return, I want an open return. Where the fuck is the open return?
I give it up as a bad job and go over to the lady at the ticket counter.
“Open return to Brighton with a railcard—fumble fumble—yep, Network Railcard.”
“We don’t sell returns to Brighton.”
Apparently, you can’t buy a return ticket to Brighton. Because it’s too early in the morning to buy a return ticket to Brighton. Apparently, nobody seems to have ever planned for the eventuality that someone might want to leave London before 7am to go to Brighton and then want to come back the next day.
I asked if there was any particular reason I couldn’t just buy a normal return ticket. The attendant repeated to me the fact that you couldn’t buy a return ticket.
I’m sure there’s a reason one cannot buy a return ticket to Brighton. It’s probably written in some dead language and lost in some remote village in Palestine, a cross between the Dead Sea Scrolls and a Franz Kafka novel. The train was going in four minutes. Enquiry has practical limitations, and the current practical limitation was the desire to plop my posterior down on a train seat and get the fuck out of London ASAP.
“So, Brighton. Now. Coming back tomorrow. How?”
The answer: two single tickets. One to Brighton, one coming back.
Receipt printed 06:44, train departed 06:45. Just made it.
Why the fuck is such a simple thing like buying a railway ticket from one city to another at a mainline railway station so unbelievably complicated and terrible?
I’ve been trying Lightroom as preparation for Aperture’s oncoming demise. It’s truly one of the most horrendously unintuitive pieces of software Adobe has ever created.
In the past week, it has:
And with one less competitor—thanks Apple!1—Adobe have even less motivation to make Lightroom usable. I hate software.
I’m sure the Instagram selfie crowd will buy a lot of Mac Pros and RetinaBooks. ↩
Lenstag is a very useful service: it’s a registry for photographic gear—cameras, lenses, video gear—where you can register what you own. If it gets stolen, you can report it and the serial numbers get published to prevent resale, and to enable it to be delivered back to the rightful owner.
There’s an app for iOS and Android so you can easily photograph your gear with your phone.
Angry people are angry that Burger King doesn’t hate gay people.
Guess they didn’t enjoy the Whopper like others do.
Beppe Grillo: anti-vaccination, AIDS denialist nutter. Wow. It’s almost as if when you just blindly vote for an “anti-establishment” candidate, you get bonkers people.
Exorcism is coming back.
Remember: Pope Francis is a nice, liberal reformist. He’s reforming the Church back to the middle ages.
When the teenager being exorcised of his gay demons looks up at the priests looming over him performing their voodoo psychodrama, he can think “good thing we have a nice liberal reformist pope making everything better!”
Anti-gay archbishop gets caught shagging the seminarians. Quelle surprise.
Video game competitions—sorry, “e-sports”—have decided that gender segregation is what makes a sport respectable. Apparently, men and women differ in how they hold an Xbox controller or use a keyboard and mice.