usa job typing

I know I promised I'd blog once a week, but they killed Simone and now I'm just incredibly distraught. How could they? So I guess I'll recycle some stuff from my internal Google blog, from my first few weeks there, about 20 months ago. Blatant self-plagiarism. What's the blogosphere coming to? I figured I'd publish it so you know what it was like for me as a newcomer at Google. In case you were planning on sending me a resume. You know. Just in case. If you want some real content, check out this funny rant about programming language names . It's a good read. Free karma to the first taker! Anyway, here are my first few entries in my Google internal blog. Ah, to be a Noogler again... Important Disclaimer (like, duh) - I don't speak for Google. These opinions are my own. Remember, this was written for a Google audience, so I left a bunch of obvious stuff out. You'll just have to come see for yourself, I guess. Hope you like it. Noogler 101 Tue...

There seems to be a long period of initial obscurity for any new language. Then after that comes a long period of semi-obscurity, followed by total obscurity. �Paul Bissex Note: after I wrote this entry, one or two commenters speculated that I might be talking about something Google is doing. They're barking up the wrong tree: I may not be the smartest feller ever to fall off the cabbage truck, but I'm not -that- stupid. The speculation in this blog is all based on stuff I've read on the net. It's purely my own ideas and opinions, and I don't speak for Google (nor in today's entry, even -about- Google). You'll have to look beyond Google for clues about NBL. Enjoy! People are always asking me to comment on their new programming language they're designing. I don't know about you, but I find that pretty funny, given the general trend of my comments on existing languages. I mean, if you saw someone walking around kicking people directly in the ...

A friend of mine on a neighboring team at Google presented me with an interesting math problem the other day. It went like this: Friend: Hey Stevey! Me: Uh, you know people don't actually call me that to my face, right? Only behind my back. Friend: (cheerily) But you're Stevey! Look at your badge! Me: Sigh. OK, fine already. What's this math problem? Friend: Let's say there's this hypothetical blogger who writes for 4 hours a month, and he desperately needs an editor who will never materialize, and in those 4 hours he produces very... large... ummm... Me: And what exactly are you trying to say there, ex- friend? Ex-friend: Oh, nothing! It's purely hypothetical! I'm just saying that I, er, well, I've been reading for hours and I'm only half done with your last blog entry, and I accidentally fell asleep and had a wonderful dream that I was finished reading it, and then I woke up and my keyboard was gone. Plus I'm still not done ye...

I only permit myself about 4 hours a month for blogging. That's been my rough budget for the past year or so. Normally I have all sorts of topics I'd like to write about, things I'm kicking around, and it's not too hard to pick one. But for the past month, I've only had one thing on my mind, and I've been going nuts trying to find a way to voice it — you know, to present it in a nice, concise way so you can gulp it down. And so far I'm failing. I think that means I don't understand it very well. Maybe trying to write it down will help. It's about designing software. See, it seems like there's a good way to design software. A best way, even. And nobody does it. Well, a few people do, but even in those rare instances, I think it's accidental half the time. I've been thinking about this problem on and off for quite a while, and wouldn't you know it, suddenly 18 years have gone by and I still can't quite articulate this... ...

The airport security line wound its way like an amusement-park ride through Terminal C. The line was moving caterpillar-like, unhurried. Some of the people in the line fidgeted and stared every direction, measuring the caterpillar's progress by the big clock on the wall. These were the passengers whose flights were leaving soon. You could read each passenger's face and in an instant know how desperate he or she was. The desperate ones plainly wished the big caterpillar would hurry up. But most passengers, like the caterpillar they formed, shuffled along with that particular type of stoic boredom you only find in airport security lines and waiting rooms at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Most of them simply switched off, and did their best to leave their bodies behind while the minutes ticked by. A little sign by the velvet-roped entrance told arriving passengers the wait was 45 minutes. At this moment the line was in perfect working order, and nobody was more contented b...