Allison Randal’s blog

Moving between countries with various different exchange rates is a bit like the popular concept of "speed blindness". Here's one definition: "The eyes quickly get used to the speed driven and shortly after it seems like we're not moving quite as fast as we initially did, even though we're travelling at the very same speed." (This is not, by the way, the same as the technical definition of speed blindness, which has more to do with angle of vision than perception of distance traveled over time.)

When I moved to South Africa, I found I was suddenly very, very stingy. 100 Rand felt like a lot of money, even though it was really only USD 13. Gradually my mental scale adjusted until 100 Rand was 'cheap', 300 rand was "moderately expensive", and 700 Rand was "on the spendy side". But then, I had to catch myself when I visited the US, because I started thinking of USD 1000 as "a little spendy" instead of "pretty expensive".

Moving to the UK is a similar adjustment. I keep having this subconscious reaction of "everything is so cheap!", even though I'm conciously aware that between exchange rates and currency exchange fees on my US credit cards (it takes time to set up local accounts) each pound I spend is about 2 dollars.

Currency Blindness: The mind develops a sense of "value" and proportion around the numeric representations of a particular currency, which are off balance when moving to a currency with a higher or lower exchange rate.

What we really need, instead of relative currencies, is some universal unit of "value" as the basic comparison for all currencies. Gold is really too large a scale for average users. Potatos might be a better choice (readily available in large parts of the world). We could start talking about the "potato standard" and "potato-based currencies". It would at least be more entertaining. :)

I just finished reading Karl Schroeder's "Lady of Mazes" (great book, read it if you get the chance). It inspires a very familiar feeling.

In the early '90s I was living in Africa, so I missed the first years of the internet as a popular communication medium (I did use BBS's for elementary school research papers, but that was different). But, I was a computer geek, so I was subscribed to computer magazines and read about it that way, and exchanged letters (yes, written by hand with ink on paper!) with friends back in the US who were exploring the new technology. I had a sense of what it was, almost like a blind person from a blind society hearing about vision for the first time, and it was so real to me I could almost taste it. I didn't feel so much like I wanted something, more like I'd lost something and wanted it back. When I did get my first dial-up account a few years later, it felt as natural as breathing, and instantly became a seamless part of my existance.

That's the feeling I get reading "Lady of Mazes". If I could step into that world, where it's not just technologies or communities that we build together, but our entire perception of reality, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would stay in a Japanese pod-hotel, and tune my perceptions to a luxury suite. I'd paint Mt. Kilimanjaro outside my bedroom window, and a Pacific ocean beach on my back porch. I'd spin off a subprocess of myself for tiresome social exchanges. I'd appreciate the beauty of illusion as a work of art. Not as an escapist substitute for reality, but as a lens on reality bringing certain features into sharper focus, with the freedom to change that focus at will. And, apologies to Second Life enthusiasts, but that just isn't it. That's about as close to what I'm talking about as a BBS was to the internet.

I ordered a small house salad to-go for dinner tonight with dressing on the side. They gave me, seriously, an entire cup (1/2 pint, 200+ ml) of Thousand Island dressing. When I first peeked in the bag I thought they messed up the order and added a soup to my salad. In what universe do people eat equal proportions of salad and dressing?

On the plus side, to-go service was mercifully fast, so I managed to escape the singing while it was still quaint and amusing instead of the "severely annoying" it would have been in another few minutes. No, not karaoke, a 50's themed diner with singing waiters.

Occasionally, a contributor will flame out on my open source project. It's not a good thing, and we try to avoid it, but it does happen. At the end of the day, you accept that maybe a particular person wasn't a good fit for a particular project or team, and you move on. (Brian Fitzpatrick and Ben Collins-Sussman give a great talk about this called Poisonous People.)

On some of them, I've started to wonder (only half-seriously) if they're subconsciously reliving a breakup with some past girlfriend when they share the news of their departure. These particular messages end up addressed to me, as if I am the project (I guess as leader I do represent the project to a limited extent), and include something like:

• You never respond to my tickets anymore. = You never answer my phone calls anymore.
• You don't care about [subproject]. = You don't care about my needs.
• You wouldn't give me commit/ticket access. = You wouldn't give me house keys.
• What this project really needs is for someone (else) to do.... = This relationship would work if only you would...
• You're no good at this work. = The [um... let's say "kissing"] wasn't any good anyway.

I suppose what it really boils down to is that all breakups (romantic or platonic, with employers, volunteer groups, or religious groups) hit on the same basic human patterns of loss and grief. In order to separate ourselves from someone or something, we focus on or exaggerate its bad side (if we only looked at the good side, would we have a strong enough will to leave?), and then gradually come to terms with what it was and what it wasn't, occasionally touching on what it might have been. My two absolute favorite books on this topic are "Uncoupling" by Diane Vaughn and "Necessary Losses" by Judith Viorst.

Dear Applicant,

We are pleased to hear of your interest in the Snark & Boojum Scholarship. Applications are open to candidates who meet the following criteria:

• Must be the child of a three-toed newt and a marsupial wombat.
• Must have lived for the past 12 years on an income of no more than $5 per year.
• Must be able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.
• Must have naturally purple hair.

We look forward to reviewing your application.

Sincerely,

The Bellman

Technology gives me a million ways to share my thoughts and experiences with a vast crowd of people. Blog, tweet, post a photo, social network status updates, submit posts to an email address, submit from an Android app, submit to a service that echoes to one or more other services. It seems the world is constantly trying to press more ways of communicating on me. So, how come all of them just seem like work? Why do none of them manage to come anywhere close to the simple pleasure of chatting with a friend over a cup of tea?

There seems to be something missing here.

I said I'd be back in Cape Town, and here I am. A little sooner than I originally planned, but hey, sometimes things just fall into place. I'm here for a couple of months, house-sitting for a friend's cousin while she travels. Tomorrow is my third weekiversary. (How time flies! I must spend more time on the beach.)

One of the first things I did on arrival was set up DSL in the flat. (I couldn't possibly go 2 months on nothing but Internet cafes or *gasp* dial-up.) I just got the strangest phone call from the ISP. It started out as a pretty normal survey "Were you satisfied with the installation service?", "How would you rate the courtesy of the technician?", etc. Then it got a little stranger, but still within the realms of customer service or sales "Does technology play an important role in your life?", "In your group of friends, do you tend to be the first to buy new technology?", etc. Then it wandered into the realms of psychology experiments "Are you a quiet person or sociable?", "Would you rather be at home by yourself, or out with friends?", "Are you a patient person?", "Are you warm?", etc. I was laughing towards the end of the survey, the questions were just so strange.

I've never flown United internationally, but if my current trip is anything to judge by, I won't be flying them again. Every leg of the trip has been plagued by delay or rescheduling. I can't blame them for the first: tornado warnings shut down the airport in Chicago for hours. But leaving us sitting on the runway in Portland for 5 hours rather than free to roam the airport is nutty.

I'll arrive home in Portland tonight (well, early am tomorrow) after the MAX light rail has shut down, as a result of 2 major delays and an automated rescheduling. Blech.

I think I have the world's strangest dentist. I swear it hurts him more to work on my teeth than it hurts me. I had a filling replaced today. It wasn't very deep, so the drill didn't even tickle a nerve. I was chilling, tapping my foot to Free Fallin' by Tom Petty playing over the office speakers. The dentist, on the other hand, was practically shaking, and at the end looked like he'd lost his puppy. I wanted to pat his hand or give him a hug and say "I'm fine, really. It's okay." But somehow I didn't think that would be appropriate.

Of course, I've got a splitting headache several hours later, but nothing a little Tylenol and chocolate ice cream won't fix.

Why do we polyglots study so many languages? So we can insult people in languages they don't understand, of course.