I've just stopped trying to figure out why my apartment always has a few mosquitoes buzzing around my ears. They seem to originate from the ether. Maybe they're really visitors from one of those alternate universes the mathematicians keep telling us exist in the somewhere that is really some kind of nowhere. Not sure, but they really are annoying little buggers who always elude my best attempts at squashing them with my heavy handed swatting.
The other concern point in my exceedingly boring existence are software programs that are supposed to make a programmers life easier but require more art than science to keep the damn jewels of contrivance functioning. For those not blessed to be in this splendid profession, Application Servers like JBoss, WebLogic, and WebSphere are places where work is done and web applications are run. But in the case of one of these marvels of complication all the cross events or actions that a user may initiate never seems to cleanly make their way from screen to server and back in any kind of coherent way. Yep, more art than science and definitely not Engineering.
But possibly this only highlights a glaring problem. Half measures abound, piecework that's cobbled together in a frantic rush to meet some arbitrary deadlines. We're no longer a thoughtful concerned society proud to create a quality product or meaningful outcome.
When war criminals who have committed crimes against humanity use WMD's our leaders suggest that a "shot across the bow" will be sufficient to bring the errant monster within line. Killing thousands with nerve gas, mowing down children with machine guns, blowing more innocents into mush, and torturing school age youngsters is just another day's work for the murderous tyrant. He'll just pay the 'fine' and slither back to his workshop of horrors. Half measures.
Better stop writing because another mosquito is planning on digging his sucker into my skin. I'm readying my swat but I know I'm fighting a losing battle for they just keep materializing. I guess this is my half-measure, my weak attempt to keep the swarm at bay.