Farewell, Perry Henzell!

(Thanks to Geoffrey Philp for alerting me to Perry’s passing).

Those of you who read the captions on my Flickr photos may be aware of the deal I struck recently with my nephew Alix: he allows a photo of himself to be used in the public service videos I produced recently for UNICEF; I buy him a 1G RAM module for his Mac Mini.

Well, the RAM was delivered yesterday, and I — as tech support scapegoat go-to gal for all my family members and friends living at the Black Hole within a 20km radius — was naturally the one to install it.

Practically all of the instruction guides on the web insist that a putty knife (and in at least one case, two putty knives) is essential to the Mac Mini-dismantling process. This is because practically all of these instruction guides are written by men — who have no clue that a icing spatula (straight version) works just as well!

The trick is to insert the blade of the spatula into the non-existent space between the Mini’s metal outer casing and plastic back cover, then grasp it a few inches from the top (to keep it rigid) before prying the cover up — an exercise, I should warn you, that involves some rather alarming cracking and popping oops-there-goes-my warranty-grade sound effects. (This may explain why Apple does not publish instructions on its own web site and why they’re absent from the Mac Mini manual as well. The warranty remains effective, however, unless the case shows signs of severe mistreatment).

If there’s a down side to using an icing spatula instead of a putty knife, it’s that you might attempt to apply a layer of frosting to your Mac Mini after you complete the upgrade. But then again, which is easier to remove: frosting or putty?

First the Zune, now this waste of bandwidth. Sigh.

Ever heard the term “core competency,” Microsoft?

Click To Play

I stopped by 3canal HQ yesterday to administer a bit of tech support and also to officially congratulate Roger on his achievements in the New York Marathon (I also got a chance to try on his medal, which I forgot I was wearing and would have gone home with had somebody not pointed it out. I’m so forgetful these days).

Roger also passed me the video above, which he edited together from clips shot (mainly by Wendell, I believe) from the sidelines and after the race. I think it came out lovely.

I am beginning to think that the ability to be happy may be a gift or an aptitude. Could it be that some people are simply better at being happy than other people?

I also anticipate that those who belong to the former group will agree with me, and those who belong to the latter will ask me to “define happy”.

UPDATE (13/11/06): The word I should have used instead of “happiness” was in the title all along: JOY.

Further to my earlier post about the Reuters Newsmaker event on November 9 (this Thursday), I’m happy to announce that two Caribbean citizens (two Trinidadians, incidentally) will be among the featured bloggers at the event: Attillah Springer, wearing her Rights Action Group T&T hat, and Karel McIntosh, who maintains the Caribbean Public Relations weblog (see their bios at the Reuters event page) will be seeding the discussion with provocative commentary via their blogs and very likely on the live chat as well.

Rebecca MacKinnon has just posted an announcement for the event over at Global Voices, encouraging bloggers to tag their posts with “CSR” and participate in the live chat, and also emphasising a point I’d touched on in my earlier post:

Your participation will bring some badly-needed perspectives from developing countries and non-Western nations.

Your participation is especially important because if you click on the event web page, you will see that the panel of speakers is, well, not exactly the most geographically, economically, or ethnically diverse panel we’ve ever seen - to put it mildly.

I see my pal Jeremy Taylor, enviably on the ball as usual, has already posted “The Responsible Executive’s Manifesto“, and I’m sure many of you out there have plenty to say on the subject as well.

So if you’re planning on blogging on corporate social responsibility or related subjects over these next few days, please tag your posts with “CSR” (or send me an e-mail and I’ll have your blog added to the reblog feed that appears on the Reuters page). And please join us this Thursday, November 9 at 6:30pm EST (7:30pm Atlantic Time / 23:30 GMT) for the live chat.

Roger just e-mails me a copy of the letter sent to him today by the New York City Marathon people, which includes his official time. It’s 3:43:17, more than two minutes less than the time cited on the web site on Sunday afternoon! This puts him in 6965th place out of 38,368 contestants.

As Roger says in his e-mail, “Its so good!!”

Just checked the NY Marathon site to see how Roger did. Seems he ran a 3:45:58.55! The official version of the results is yet to be posted, but as Roger was aiming for under four hours, I’d say he more than outdid himself.

Big congrats, Roger!

YES, YOU HAVE seen this photo before on CFR. In January 2006, to be exact, when we congratulated our good friend Roger Roberts (of 3Canal) on running 4:25:08 in the Walt Disney Marathon.

In just a few hours’ time, Roger will be at it again, this time in the New York Marathon (the world’s largest, they say), where he hopes to run a sub-4 hour race.

We wish Roger the best of luck in this ambitious undertaking and, as a small tribute to him, I’ve asked my friend Nola Powers permission to reprint this article that I feel sums up the spirit of — well, something to do with marathons.

RUNNING SCARED
By Nola Powers

If you ever see me running, chances are I’m being chased. Or chasing somebody else. In fact, the last time I remember running with any enthusiasm was a few years ago when a pickpocket grabbed my wallet. Motivated by the horror of living — albeit temporarily — without a credit card, I went charging after the perpetrator — until I realised it would be easier just to yell “Stop thief!” and have other people chase him instead. Which they did, causing said perp to get scared and toss the wallet into the yard of some honest citizens. It’s at times like these that I know some kind of Supreme Being really exists.

But getting back to running, and speaking of Supreme Beings: if He, She or It had meant us to run, where are those winged feet we should have been born with? Why do shin splints exists? (And how come I get them even from walking?)

Hanging around the start line at the local International Marathon the other day (don’t ask), Nola got to talking with some folks about the act of running. It’s a Sunday, maybe 5 a.m., still pitch black and with that January nip in the air. I’m wearing a fleece jacket and a cap pulled low over my eyes. Around me, folks in skimpy little shorts and tank tops are doing jumping jacks and folding their bodies over till their noses touch their knees. Why put oneself through this?

A dignified Indian gentleman tells me “it’s a test of the human spirit,” which is, of course, the textbook answer. An individual wearing dark glasses and a teardrop tattooed on each cheek tells me he’s doing it for reasons of national honour and to “stop the Ballantyne brothers,” the St. Vincent and the Grenadianes duo who’s been running a blue streak over local runners for the past few years. (These same individual was reportedly seen sneaking into a maxi-taxi halfway along the course, all thoughts of national honour apparently set aside till next year).

It was a Greek named Pheidippides, I believe, who’s to blame for all this. Back in 490 BC, Phei ran 26 miles to Athens to carry news of the Greeks’ victory over the the Persians in the battle of Marathon. Modern humans, somehow, feel they have to emulate this, which to me makes about as much sense as re-enacting Pearl Harbour. What they forget to tell you is that after delivering the news, Pheidippides keeled over and died.

So I’m more with the two teenaged girls who shrugged and giggled when I asked them why they were running a marathon, and said “You know — for fun!” And who then, when I asked them why they thought running 26.2 miles sounded like fun, looked a little shocked, as though they hadn’t bothered to find out how long a marathon really was. And to tell the truth, I didn’t see them at the finish line.