Tuesday, 26 July 2005
Six Plus One
Sunday was a big day, in more ways than one. Heather and I were on the Champs Elysées to see the finish of the Tour de France. It was her fifth time, and my sixth, to see Lance Armstrong win.
Last year marked his record-breaking six wins (the other top winners were tied at five), so this year was the one that makes his record all the harder to beat. Seven wins, all in a row.
I've seen all but his first one in person, and it's become a sort of anniversary marker for me. July 2000 was my first month living in Paris, and I went to the Champs more out of curiosity than anything. After that, it's become almost a ritual.
What wasn't a part of my original ritual was our schedule: Heather is a serious fan - and not the tallest, either. Those two factors meant that we had to get there early. 7:35 AM early, in fact.
Trick is, the riders didn't start passing by until almost 4:30 PM - half an hour later than the slowest estimated time. Nine hours after we got there. Most of that time was standing.
It's a relatively friendly sport among spectators. Some jostling and plenty of jockeying for good spots (like ours) by latecomers and a bratty 10-year old German boy. Plenty of rain (though never a downpour) in the morning.
Aside from that, it was fun. We met a nice couple who live in Las Vegas, chatted with Aussies and other nearby fans, and got to see world champions in action.
After a day of no eating or drinking, we celebrated Lance's win by going to Breakfast in America, an American-run diner. Nachos, a shake, root beer, and a big burger. Mom was right about rich food giving bad dreams - but it was worth it.
And it was worth waiting all that time to mark another year living in Paris, the last year that Lance will ride - and win - the Tour de France.
(Too tired now, but more soon about our Tour de France 2005 experiences.)
Sunday, 31 July 2005
The "X" Stands for "Ten"
An article in the New York Times about the discovery of a tenth planet in our solar system. Vagaries about what defines a planet aside, it's kind of cool.
The best part of the article, though, was a quote from Michael E. Brown, one of the co-discoverers:
Informally, the astronomers have been calling it Xena after the television series about a Greek warrior princess, which was popular when the astronomers began their systematic sweep of the sky in 2000. "Because we always wanted to name something Xena," Dr. Brown said.
Good to see the geek sense of humor in the news.
Nose to the Grindstone
This weekend saw me at the office, working on a client site. I spent most of yesterday removing large swaths of code to change the way it worked. The client's request for changes makes the site much simpler to code, but not necessarily more elegant. Still, it's a production job (not conceptual work), so they're the ones in the driver's seat.
Pulling out method after object after Flash element made me almost wistful. Maybe that's not so odd, since what I removed represents a lot of time invested in answering their original requests last winter, and further refinements this spring. It was crafted well enough that I could quickly code around the old behavior, confirm it worked, and remove the vestiges.
In other Matchbox news, we're busy in August. Not really a big deal, but it's normally a vacation month in France. The trick is, our client (a different one than above) is in Switzerland and the project's due at the start of September.
So we hired a freelancer, who starts tomorrow. This is pretty cool for me. She's not our first freelance hire, but she's long-term (the whole month) and she'll be more or less dedicated to this one project. And should all work out as I hope, she'll save my sanity.
We need - I need - all the help I can get with the creative side of Flash. The small amount of creativity that climbs out of my brain gets hit several times with the ugly stick on its way to the screen. In almost precisely one month, we'll hopefully have the results of merging my programming mojo with her animation skillz.
Stay on the lookout for green-skinned monsters with bolts on their necks...