He thought he saw a Megaflop, that cluttered up his Screen.
He looked again and saw it was a yellow limosine.
The one thing I regret, he said, is that it isn't geen.
He thought he saw a Floppy Disc, flying like a kite.
He looked again and saw it was a Compressed Kilobyte.
If this turns up again, he said, I will have seen the light.
He thought he saw a Textofile that hunted for its Bits.
He looked again and saw it was glass of slivovitz.
Should I drink this, he said, I'l land up having fits.
He thought he saw some Bits-per-Sec converted into Bauds.
He looked again and saw it was a can of nemetodes.
We can't have this, he gruffly said, it all depends on Codes.
He thought he saw a Wysiwyg that questioned him in 'C'.
He looked again and saw it was total lobotomy.
It gives one fright, he said aright, but the Software does come free.
He thought he saw a Vector Font that nestled in his Disc.
He looked again and saw it was hyped-up basilisk.
I'd like to play the Game, he said, but cannot take the risc.
He thought he saw a Data Bus waiting for its Master.
He looked again and saw it was a faulty TV Raster.
Had I more speed, said he indeed, then it would go much faster.
He thought he saw an "Analog", a thing he'd never mention.
He looked again and saw it was within the Fourth dimension.
Such a state, he did relate, only causes tension.
He thought he saw a Printer Head that Dithered in its Kerning.
He looked again and saw it was a lady not for turning.
If this be true, he said anew, it isn't worth the learning.
In days of yore, when folks were poor
And Computers weren't invented
They lived and died and MULTIPLIED.
It could not be prevented.
They battled on in Avalon.
They did not sleep or slumber.
They did not rest but did their best,
And ADDED to their number.
In bedroom dark or public park
To which their nature guided.
Bereft of cares, in matching pairs
That could not be DIVIDED.
But all the same, computers came
One sees how folks reacted.
They sit and type, accept the hype
Former pleasures now SUBTRACTED.
When Paper Tape was King
It often was the thing
Before you went to Lunch
To weald a 'Unipunch'.
But in the afternoon
Or any time so soon
It didn't seem so bad
To make a pile of 'Chad'.
Punches chatter,
Teletypes clatter,
A distraction when punching your code.
You've booked the machine
(Thirty minutes, I mean).
Your head is about to explode.
Put the tape in the reader,
A really good speeder
(Five hundred characters a sec).
Set the starting address
(On switches, I'd guess).
And hope that it all goes like heck.
It starts to translate
With the punch in full spate,
But you realise it's only a check.
This tape you must read
At Teletype speed
(A least ten characters a sec).
When this has been done
Twenty minutes have gone
And it's shown up some bugs in your text.
For an error in syntax
Will give you some setbacks.
-Try again the day after next.
Where Cathode Ray on Phosphor fell,
That's where the Sprites and Pixels dwell.
Where Photons make all iridescent,
Red, Green and Blue shades fluorescent.
The brightest colours may be seen
In that fair land men call "The Screen".
Lo, comes the knight, Sir Vector Ffont,
Upon his Mouse, as is his wont.
Why,then, does he not ride a mule?
Sir Vector Ffont is Miniscule.
These cursive Ffonts, the Sprites declare,
Are simply getting everywhere.
But he rides on in armour smug
Hard Discs covering his Phono Plug
Floppy Discs he does distain
They serve not an Electronic Brain
And if , by chance, he did one use
A Five-Quarter Incher he would choose.
Comes then the Damsel, all in tears.
'Tis Demon WYSIWYG she fears.
And just to add to her distress,
She hasn't got a Web Address.
She needs a FREELANCE for her aid,
Who's not of WYSIWYG afraid.
There stands the villain, COMMAND.COM
With his SIDEKICK, "Seedy" ROM.
He started as a Software Dealer
But ended as a Cycle Stealer.
He's wanted as a Data Spooler
And fears he'll end up in the cooler.
Here come the two in holy orders
Complete with DVD Recorders.
Canon Ink Jet, and he's no sprinter
Nor his cell mate, Brother Printer.
They'r certainly no four sec. milers,
More likely Basic (Text) Compilers.
There's the aged Web-Site Surfer,
Should be a bowling green deturfer.
Thinks himself a great Downloader
But is just a myth exploder.
The Pixels cry "How this ham
Clutters up his Disc with Spam".
WYSIWYG's mate, the Number Cruncher
Was once a Population muncher.
Found herself too old to cater
With lots of Demographic data.
Now she is content to totter
From the YOCTO to the YOTTA.
See Major Upgrade and his man,
Private Key, evolve a plan.
To Download all they can afford
And sell it off as "Bullitin Board".
Why, then, don't they aquire the trash?
They have the Fonts, but not in Cashe.
They all see themselves in clover
Now the Milennium Bug is over.
Three Wired Systems fix their fate
(These now come, in triplicate)
The eldest, men call simply 'C',
Then Aida and Odd Parity.
Notes for the Uninitiated.
1) FREELANCE - An ancient DOS Vector Graphics Prog.
2) SIDEKICK - An ancient DOS File Manager.
3) Cycle Stealing - Part of Direct Memory Access process.
4) DVD Recorders - ie. They record the transactions
of the DVD [ Divinity Validation Directrate ].
5) YOCTO - Prefix like kilo etc. but 10^24
6) YOTTA - Prefix like micro etc. but 10^-24
Now, maybe you've heard of computers,
That lately have spread far and wide,
Have given rise to many frustrations
And cut down many a man's pride.
Now it happened this way that one morning,
On his way to a-post of some mail,
That young Albert passed by a business,
That offered computers for sale.
He had once worked with with computers.
He had started with punched paper tape.
But what he saw there in the window,
Made him just stand there and gape.
For just sitting there in the window,
Completing the end of a line,
Surrounded by diverse computers,
Was a Psion of latest design.
Albert had heard all about Psions,
As to how they were dinky and twee,
How they just slipped into the pocket
And were useful to reckon your fee.
This machine was truly a marval,
Intended to give great delight,
And having many interesting featurs,
That could keep you going all night.
Its screen indeed was a wonder,
Although it was just black and white,
With sly use of liquid crystals,
And some kind of electronic light.
Its keyboard was something to ponder.
Not a bit like the Psions of yore.
But larger in all its dimentions
And it slid in and out like a drawer.
Every day for a week he would go there
And gaze at the wonderous machine.
Which in reply would wink its cursor.
If you kind of know what I mean.
Young Albert considered his income,
His bank balance wasn't too clear.
He even considered the lottery.
It was then that he had 'the idea'.
If he could secure the Psion,
He could work out the lottery's sums.
And compute the right combination
To give him the best winning nums.
With millions of pounds in his pocket,
The cost of the Psion would be;
Mere trivia, dismissed with a docket
In fact he could have two or three.
Young Albert then went to his banker,
Convinced him to lend him some cash.
Enough to buy just one Psion -
He did't want to be rash.
Off then to the com-put-er dealer,
For the thing that would bring him much gain.
Put his hard cash on to the counter,
In exchange for the electronic brain.
He read all the handbooks and "Read Me"s,
He read all the programming drill.
But he got nowhere with his project;
His mathmatical knowledge was nill.
So albert went along to the night school.
He studied so hard and so long.
He learnt all the master equations;
Could not afford to get his sums wrong.
He applied all his new-fangled knowedge,
To analyse the lottery's luck.
Even wrote a number of programs,
But every one came unstuck.
He applied the 'means','medians' and 'sigmas',
Also the 'semi quartile range'.
He squared up to the 'standard deviation',
And other things just as strange.
He tried 'hex', binary and octal,
(Indeed 'Reverse Polish' as well.)
He tried recursive procedures,
Even taught the computer to spell.
But no matter what he did with his Psion,
Or its programs, no matter how long,
No matter how he worked the equations,
His lottery numbers were wrong.
Young Albert then consulted the experts,
Diverse statistitions and all.
Their answers did not make him happy,
In fact they just made him pall.
It seems what he had neglected
Was the randomness in the lottery's balls.
They weren't ment to be 'mathamatical';
A ball just falls when it falls.
With just a pencil and paper,
Or, at most, a second-hand PET.
He could have worked out just how often
He would win. Not often you bet.
One in eighteen thousand on average
For a tenner is not very sound.
To cover the cost of ONE Psion
Four correct balls must be found.
Even that might not guarentee it,
Though one might expect it to do.
Two hundred and twelve thousand
To one is the chance if one knew.
If Albert were truly devoted,
And invested a tenner a week,
On average in the next five millennia,
He would then win enough, so to speak.
But Albert, like others, is mortal,
And can't wait that long for his win.
As much as he loved his Psion,
In the end he had to give in.
He put the thing up for auction,
Hoping that it would bring in
Enough to pay off the banker,
Though he thought it rather a sin.
Now Albert was rather lucky,
And the auction brought in such a sum
That paid off the money outstanding,
But left Albert unpleasently numb.
On checking his financial position,
And finding his fears all were true,
That he was somewhat out of pocket.
No wonder he felt rather blue.
Let this be a cautionary tale,
For those inclined to the view,
That computers can solve all your problems,
Yes, and that also means YOU.
Just the place for a SNAG the Rel-Man cried,
Filling his team with shame.
Telling them no matter how hard they tried,
They still would get all the blame.
Just the place for a SNAG -- I've said it twice;
That alone should make you terrified.
Just the place for a SNAG -- I've said it thrice;
What I tell you three times is verified.
His team was complete and included a "Maths",
A tester of counters and RAMs,
A PM to give them critical paths,
An Engineer to get them out of their jams.
There was also a Programmer, who would pound his keyboard
Or sit gazing into his screen,
And had often, the Rel-Man said, saved them from fraud.
To believe that they weren't very keen.
There was one who was famed for the number of things
TBD when he came to the 'mob'.
All his tolerances, limits and digital strings,
and the password to enter the job.
He had fourtytwo Specs, all carefully typed,
With requirements there, so to speak.
But as he omitted to state what they were,
All might well have been written in greek.
He had brought them a circuit representing the Gear,
Without the least vestige of wires.
And the team were much pleased when they found it to be:-
A drawing that really inspires.
What's the use of Transistors, Diodes and Resistors
Generators, sources and Sinks,
So the Rel-Man would would cry, and the team would reply:-
They are merely a waste of good inks.
He would answer to "Mac" or "Waste Paper Sack",
Or any such technical term,
But what he preferred, when it came to a word,
Was "Statistical Isotherm".
He came as a Manager and gravely declared,
When the job had been running a year,
He could only sack Programmers - the Rel-Man looked scared
And almost wept into his beer.
At last he admitted with faltering tone,
That only one programmer was neigh,
And that was a PET one he had of this own,
Who's loss he would sorely decry.
The Programmer, who happened to hear of this brag,
Put it round, with electronic gear,
That not even the pleasure of hunting the SNAG,
Could allay this terrible fear.
But ever after that sorrowful day,
Whenever the Manager appeared,
The Programmer looked the opposite way,
And mumbled into his beard.
There was one was famed for the number of things
She could gossip about on the phone;
Marriages, Pregnancies, Eternity Rings,
How to interpret the Manager's tone.
She came as a Stripper, and quietly said,
When the job had been running a day.
She could only strip wires. The Rel-Man turned red,
And promised to double her pay.
At last he admitted, though not very hard,
There were not many wires to be had,
And they were expensive ones, ten pounds a yard.
To strip them you'd have to be mad.
But ever after that hour of doom,
Whenever the stripper got keen,
The wires would form themselves into a loom
and pretend that they could not be seen.
Notes:-
Fit --- This can mean a group of stanzas or a term used in reliability analysis.
Rel-Man - Reliability analyst
PM - Project Manager
TBD - To Be Determined
specs - Specifications
PET - Early desktop computer
loom - Bundle of wires
O, woe is me, I'm getting old
It's five long years since I was sold
And though upgraded once or twice
And added to with something nice
I fear I've something in my bytes
That maybe can't be put to rights.
I've often had a system crash
That's come upon me in a flash
I've often had my screen downsized
I often have been paralysed
But nothing have I had as yet
That can't be cured by hard reset.
But now I have a bout of woe
Not uncommon as things go
As happens often to my kind
And makes us feel we're left behind
When others come and claim affection
(Though lacking parallel connection).
My master, being rather mean,
Was loath to buy a new machine
To alleviate financial strain
Would then upgrade me once again
And purchased one day at a show
Risc OS4 to make me "glow".
Deferring to the handbook's whiles
Decided to back-up all my files
And though it brought in many risks
Moved stuff about between my discs
He thought all this would do the trick
But all it did was make me sick.
Every time that I was booted
I got an error quite unsuited
One that, by the devil devised,
Spoke of characters unrecognised.
To this it added, rather candid,
When parameters were expanded.
Upon further investigations
With AoL and Arm Club recommendations
My master thought that it was clear
The trouble lay with Socketeer
However, replacing said application
Only caused the fault's mutation.
Instead of coming during boot
It came when Socketeer was moot
And though it didn't stop it working
And Socketeer was never shirking
It was worrying a shade
And made it unwise to upgrade.
At last was found the offending file
And had been there for quite a while
Not a thing you'd look for much
And not in Socketeer as such
But buried deep in bootish choices
Where profile scripts have their voices.
Removal of an old profile
Was just the thing to make me smile
My master, of course, had no idea
Why such a thing should make me clear
But was happy that this had made
The way forward to upgrade.
When Tom told me he was about to upgrade to a new "YottaByte" hard disc I thought I had better investigate. I had not been able to find "Yotta" anywhere in the textbooks - the ones I had seen finishd at Peta (10E15). However, later I found a better list in a computer-related journal. Acording to this, YOTTA is 10E-24 ie. one million, million, million, millionth, - a bit small for Tom's hard drive,
However, later I found the complete, hopefully up-to-date list, which I give below. If it was really a 'yocto'Byte drive that Tom wanted then, of course, we will have to make a few amendments to the requirements.
Calculations* show that this would be some 1.0 FemtoParsecs by 0.7 FemtoParsecs by 0.14 FemtoParsecs high**. Bad news for the neighbouring astronomers.
* A typical "Hard Disc" of "Modern" design having a capacity of, say, 150 G Bytes and dimensions such that it will fit into a normal computer "box', it will be about 140mm x 100mm x 20mm. On the basis that the capacity is proportional to the Volume, a "Scaling-up" from 150 GBytes to 1.5 Y bytes is a Volume increase of 1E18 / 1E11 or 1E7. The linear scaling will, therefore be the cube root of 1E7 ie. 2.1544E2 (215.4).
The predicted dimensions of such a drive are then:- 30.15m x 21.5m x 4.3m.** If you must have it in "British" units, about one and a half Criket Pitches long by about one Criket Pitch wide by about a fifth of a Cricket Pitch high.
Power Name Abbrev Power Name Abbrev Power Name Abbrev
10E24 yocto Y 10E0 --- --- 10E-3 milli m
10E21 zetta Z (ie. 1) 10E-6 micro µ
10E18 exa E 10E-9 nano n
10E15 peta P 10E-12 pico p
10E12 tera T 10E-15 femto f
10E9 giga G 10E-18 atto a
10E6 mega M 10E-21 zepto z
10E3 kilo k 10E-24 yotta y
Note:- If you use M instead of m, you will be 'Inaccurate' by a factor of a million and if you use y instead of Y the value wil be 'out' by a factor of 1E48 [one milliom million million million million million ].
Distance to Sun = 93E6 Miles = 93E6 x 1760 Yards
Dia of Ecliptic is twice this ie. 1.6368E11 Yards
1 Second of arc = Pi/(180 x 60 x 60) Radians = 4.848E-6 Radians
For very small angles Sin x = x so 1 Parsec = 1.6368E11/4.848E-6 Yards
= 3.3761E16 Yards.
Therefore 1 FemtoParsec 3.3761E16/1E15 = 3.3761E1 or 33.76 yards ( 30.87m) or
1.53 Cricket Pitches.
