RIP Farmville

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After waaaay too much time probably better spent doing other things, I am finally giving up on Farmville. I’ve gotten bored with it. I’m tired of clicking. So, this is the final state of my “farm”.

FV became a chore more than a pastime a while ago and I was recently reminded of something amusing I read a while ago:

As you advance through Farmville, you begin earning rewards that allow you to play Farmville less. Harvesting machines let you click four squares at once, and barns and coops let you manage groups of animals simultaneously, saving you hundreds of tedious mouse-clicks. In other words, the more you play Farmville the less you have to play Farmville.

I’ve blocked the FV feed from my Facebook wall. That should reduce traffic by more than half :)

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Becoming more British every day

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I talk about the weather a lot. I grumble a lot. I have now achieved the next level of Britishness – the sternly worded complaint letter.

In a nutshell, it seems that Barclaycard have been incapable of correctly setting up a direct debit for a balance transfer I’ve done 3 months ago. Because of this, I now have two missed payments on my credit report. The first time, after multiple painful phone calls to an Indian call centre, it came about that some unknown error on Barclaycard’s side had prevented the direct debit to be setup properly. It took another call to refund my late fees and yet another call to have my promotional balance transfer rate re-established. At every step, I was assured that my direct debit had now been properly setup.

This time, a payment was attempted, but rejected by Natwest. Turns out that the payment was made on the 11th, but the direct debit instructions were only received on the 14th. 3 days after the payment was attempted. 3 months (!!!) after it was supposed to have been created in the first place! It took two phone calls to refund my late fees, and I need to call back in 3 days to confirm that the promotional rate is again re-established. Good money says that it’s not, and will require yet more phone calls.

Of course, every time you call any number to try and reach a flesh-and-bone human, you get somebody called ‘Frank’ or ‘Jim’ with the heaviest Indian accent this side of the golden mile in Leicester. They try and be helpful, but they mostly follow a script and can’t really do anything concrete.

So, a stern letter. I faxed it this morning, and a copy of it went out by post. Since the fax number and the postal address are in Leicester, hopefully I’ll get in touch with somebody who can ‘get-things-done’.

We’ll see.

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Science coming out of left field

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I just had a very interesting phone call. It went something like this:

Phone: Ring!Ring!
Me: Hello, Proteomic Services.
Phone: Hi, I’m new to the field of proteomics and would like to know what the difference is between a full-length protein and a mature protein.
Me: Buh! Sorry, you just caught me debugging some code, so give me a minute to go into science mode.

In a nutshell, the person on the phone wanted to known which protein sequence to use to generate antibodies against. I explained the differences in protein sequences and steered him towards PDBe so he could use structure information to make sure the peptide he’s trying to raise antibodies against isn’t buried deep within the 3D structure.

The amusing bit came when I asked him how he got my contact information. Turns out my name is the first in the list when you search all staff in the proteomics team.

Hee hee, turns out 6 years of biochemistry hasn’t been wasted after all :D

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Boobquake determined to prove cleric wrong

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A one-woman mission to prove breasts don’t cause earthquakes has swollen into a shirt-straining global movement preparing for the inaugural “Boobquake”.

Iranian cleric Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi angered womens’ groups around the world on Monday when he claimed that promiscuous women were responsible for literally making the earth move.

“Many women who do not dress modestly … lead young men astray, corrupt their chastity and spread adultery in society, which (consequently) increases earthquakes,” Sedighi said.

“What can we do to avoid being buried under the rubble?” he asked during a prayer sermon on Friday. “There is no other solution but to take refuge in religion and to adapt our lives to Islam’s moral codes.”

Women in the Islamic Republic are required by law to cover from head to toe, but Sedighi says an increase in young women flaunting the law – and not the fact that Tehran straddles scores of fault lines – is risking the lives of the city’s 12 million inhabitants. Jennifer McCreight is determined to prove him wrong.

Since launching the “Boobquake” Facebook page two days ago, she has enlisted more than 20,000 women promising to show as much cleavage as possible on Monday, April 26.

If the world doesn’t then disappear into an apocalyptic fiery chasm, then Sedighi will have no option but to admit he was wrong. “On Monday, April 26th, I will wear the most cleavage-showing shirt I own,” Ms McCreight wrote. “Yes, the one usually reserved for a night on the town. I encourage other female skeptics to join me and embrace the supposed supernatural power of their breasts. Or short shorts, if that’s your preferred form of immodesty. With the power of our scandalous bodies combined, we should surely produce an earthquake. If not, I’m sure Sedighi can come up with a rational explanation for why the ground didn’t rumble.”

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Success! well, kind of.

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I have found a cheese producer that would sell me cheese curd. Yay. Unfortunately, it’s in Somerset (about 150 miles away) and the cost of having it shipped would be more than the value of the cheese. All is not lost though, as apparently there are some pubs in East Anglia that order cheese from them and I *might* be able to piggy back on their order.

I’m not giving up that easily :)

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That’s how I like my weekends

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We had our first big bbq of the season last Saturday. It was a glorious day and – having done most of my prep the previous afternoon following great advice from Katy – I was able to get everything setup at an orderly pace. We had just under a dozen people over – mostly my work colleagues but also Sara and Nick, from down the road. People seemed to have a good time and there was enough food to choke a small horse, so it was all good.

The beastie gave me conniptions when he was running around the BBQ, but there were enough pairs of hands to keep him at bay.

On Sunday, we went to ikea to buy a child-size poang and to costco to stock up on bulk items. We were quite proud of the beastie because he fed himself most of a sandwich (roast beef and horseradish, if you would believe!).

 

He got a bit tired of Ikea but had a blast at costco. Sadly the Ikea trip was a bust. The baby poangs are out of stock for the next 4-5 months or so. Apparently, Ikea are having supply issues with them. Bummer.

We went home, chilled a bit, had more stuff on the BBQ and called it a day. I could live with weekends like this. The only downside is that neither Katy nor I really slept very well. Don’t know why, but I’m knackered today.

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Poutine, how I miss thee.

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Poutine. Just the word conjures up bafflement on this side of the pond. But oh, how I miss you, salty cheesy goodness.

I can get very good chips, and decent enough gravy. It’s the cheese curd that is missing.

From wikipedia:

Cheese curds are little-known in locations without cheese factories, because they should ideally be eaten within hours of manufacture. Their flavor is mild with about the same firmness as cheese, but has a springy or rubbery texture. Fresh curds squeak against the teeth when bitten into, a defining characteristic, due to air trapped inside of its porous body. Cheese curds are sometimes referred to as “Squeaky cheese”.

Yes, squeaky cheese is near on impossible to find here, and I have started a crusade to find me some! I’ve contacted and emailed local and traditional cheese producers to see if I can get some fresh curds shipped from their factory. So far, no luck. But I’m still chasing some leads.

Watch this space!

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