About

I'm Mike Pope. I live in the Seattle area. I've been a technical writer and editor for over 30 years. I'm interested in software, language, music, movies, books, motorcycles, travel, and ... well, lots of stuff.

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If you think about it, you could actually say that software design boils down to "Where should this code go?" I think there’s a watershed moment in every developer’s career when they start look more at their code as a structure and less as a bag of statements.

Jeremy D. Miller



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Blog Statistics

Dates
First entry - 6/27/2003
Most recent entry - 1/15/2018

Totals
Posts - 2475
Comments - 2570
Hits - 2,015,535

Averages
Entries/day - 0.47
Comments/entry - 1.04
Hits/day - 379

Updated every 30 minutes. Last: 5:23 AM Pacific


  09:45 AM

Mr. Furnace was supposed to come this morning to vacuum out the ductwork around here. The house is well-nigh 50 years old plus I have, lessee, one, two, three ... well, a lot of cats and two hairy dogs. I'm looking forward, in that ghoulish way one does, to how many bags off stuff he'll be able to suck out of the piping.

But not today, apparently. I got a call from the dispatcher telling me he couldn't come today because "he'd been in a traffic accident." Ooh, that's bad. However, I'd be slightly more sympathetic if I hadn't actually heard this exact same story before. (Well, and if it hadn't been my furnace that they weren't coming to clean.) I have a sneaking hunch that "had a traffic accident" is the dog-ate-my-homework of the repair industry. As opposed to "oops, we overbooked," say. But they'll give me discount when they do finally show up sometime later this summer. Assuming they don't have a traffic accident.

Since I'm already home I logged on to work. Ack. Normally I connect to the corpnet late at night, when most of the overachieving early risers have gone to bed, so response time is reasonable. At 9:00, though, things are hoppin', bandwidth-wise, and it felt like I'd connected at 14.4. It's not often that you get to watch Outlook paint the screen in stripes.

Nothing for it but to head into work.

While I'm sitting at my desk waiting and waiting for the slow connection, Sabrina is out in the living room. She's taking drivers ed, so she's waiting for her brother to come pick her up. When Zack got his license a year ago, that seemed normal, but there's something odd to me about Sabrina being old enough to drive soon.

Anyway, while she's waiting, she's sitting at the piano sight-reading whatever happens to be on the stand. A little Handel, then some Scott Joplin. I got up to make coffee, and while it's burbling, I boot her off the piano and pick my way through a Handel piece I laboriously learned years ago. It's slow going, oh boy; the kids had years and years of lessons, but I'm pretty much self-taught. Sabrina looks over my shoulder impatiently as I stuggle to pick my way through the piece. She helpfully hums along, as if I didn't know what the piece sounded like and didn't recognize the mistakes. Oh, the irony. "That's what it was like to listen to you kids practice," I tell her. Heh. Well, it won't be the last time that we'll have traded roles.

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