Obligatory "ignore this space" : https://sacoronavirus.co.za

An office full of secretaries might find server upgrades interesting events. I came to treasure my reluctance to keep myself up to date, at a young age, but I literally sold the idea of keeping servers up to date (in the days before automatic updates).

In those days we didn't want to see computers as a necessary part of life. That we spent much time talking about how things might be done without computers has been forgotten by just about everybody.

Children raised to believe that the question of their own existence is something they should avoid by playing a computer game are unlikely to know a Paranormal number from Sorcery. But I'm harping on the past, I run out of luck whenever I try my hand at the game, and if I have to ask for a fork, I've likely as good as forgotten what a root is.

It is regrettable that those who have risen from a condition of servitude often find a garden an unnecessary feature of a home, for the wild animals that come to our gardens have striking lessons to teach us.

Once upon a time, a man with a tropical paradise of a garden--though small--looked at the weavers and thought, 'in the future, through evolution, weaver hens will learn to weave.'

This man wasn't happy with the animals of his own kind, and so he took it upon himself to teach the weaver cocks to restrain themselves from the making of nests. This took many years, because he was sensitive to the needs of animals: little by little, the hens saw that they would have to make shift, or they would risk losing their first clutch of eggs; little by little, the man introduced the cocks in an advisory role.

But alas! The man hadn't accounted for the intelligence of brutes.

The efforts of the hens had stalled after a number of years, and now, himself looking at his own age and wondering of his own fate, he began to suspect he was being duped. Every year it was the same: the hens would appear, and chirp patiently, as if half-expecting the nest building to commence, as they knew had been the case in former times. Then fetching a few stalks of grass they would tie a knot that deserved an award. But with the appearance of the cocks the quality of work would deteriorate in marked steps; until the cocks, responding to animal instinct, pushed the little girl out the way and finished the job.

But without fail, the hens rejected the nests they had started, and were more unaccountable than ever on the matter of subsequent nests that were built for them. So the man brought in a decoy to keep an eye on things, whose voice was sufficiently alike to his to convince the birds to keep on as usual; and he went wondering the neighbourhood. After some days he came across a Sanctuary he hadn't noticed before. There, in half a dozen trees, were the weavers he had so patiently encouraged, for the love of Progress.

Quietly watching, he noticed that hardly one was not busily employed in the feeding of a chick; and then he saw a few fly in the direction of his garden.

Weavers do have a communal spirit, they say. So intent were they on their game that the man had leisure to give the Sanctuary a careful inspection. A little distance away, near an abundant supply of food, fattened weaver cocks were lounging about, barely able to keep to their perches.

Depression, to some, is a condition that must be treated in isolation of that which might make our heart truly fail us. But the man was a truly curious scientist. Killing the weaver cocks back home would be the surest way of allowing nature to restore things to her normal, but his intentions had been pure, and was not he also part of nature?

So he took to teaching his cocks martial arts.

I missed out on childhood fist-fights, which is much of a kind with missing out on having a childhood girlfriend--but the latter was my own doing. I provide this information as it might as well be tattooed on me, and is a building block for those who choose to argue with us about gender-normative behaviour.

Like keeping things up to date.

Blame the older generation: that's what they're there for. But some don't believe in version control and are thus unsure how to distinguish the latest from that which came before.

Backwards-compatibility means that what did come before was forward-compatible. Forward thinking people know that, no matter how clever we think we are, compatibility is something that must be put to the test. That is, we can't say that anything isn't forward-compatible, until we've tried every which way to make something backward-compatible.

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