Tag Archives: google

The 4450 effect

I was about to write something about the new batch of clementines that have arrived in Waitrose in the last week, possibly a Definitive Review (7/10). But I wanted to see if I could find out where said fruity deliciousnesses were from, so I typed in what was on the label.

I love the internet.

I feel like I’m learning things.

Also it’s just reminded me we’re into excellent Clementine season.

I am now going to go on a campaign of Googling every fruit label I see to try and get something a bit more fun out of the whole experience by cross-referencing… umm… I mean… no. That’s just silly. I am not going to get excited about the prospect of Googling fruit.

I’m not.

I might.

No. I mustn’t. My life has become one of lessening thrills, true, but I’m not yet at the point where I’m going to start a website like this one.

Though mainly because I don’t have the webspace right now.

Damn it I want a Clementine tree. And another Clementine.

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Being somewhere doesn’t make you FROM somewhere. Learn from this, internet things

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it already, but I’m in another country. While this country doesn’t belong to the EU, it does sit in the middle of the continent known as Europe (as well as being involved in the European trade something, or something. I forget). Basically, it’s Foreignia. Not England. Full of people who use languages I don’t understand.

But being here for a couple of weeks doesn’t mean I’m going to be here forever. It doesn’t mean I speak these stupid languages (STUPID), it doesn’t mean I live here, it doesn’t mean I’m never going home. In fact, I know exactly when I’m going home, I’m slightly better at speaking English after being here for just a few days and I absolutely am not giving up my British passport – it has a unicorn on the front, for fuck’s sake.

The reason I mention this isn’t because my friends or family are worried I’m abandoning The Queen’s own land. No, the reason I feel the need to mention it is because – apparently – all companies in the world seem to think I’m in Switzerland forever and I am never coming back. According to Google, I automatically want all of my results in German, even after I change the language settings for the thirtieth time (I’m too lazy to actually type .co.uk in the address bar). That’s quite annoying, but I can live with it, mainly by engaging in the solution buffered by parenthesis in the last sentence.

But the other things are genuinely annoying. Steam, the wallet-rapist, is midway through its Christmas sale, offering games I want (but will never play) at stupidly low prices. Now let’s ignore the fact that it tries to charge me in euros, which actually make the prices a quid or two more than God’s British Pounds. No, what annoys me here is I’m apparently just not allowed to buy things thanks to being in another country. Makes… sense?

The one that really annoyed and confused me, though, was O2. I have been looking a fair bit recently at upgrading my phone, as my contract is up soon – I’ve mentioned it about 89 times before. As such, I went to the site this evening and tried to look through the shop to see what’s on offer. “You’re not in the UK, so piss off” was the basic response. Unperturbed, I entered my login details and went through the upgrade button to get my upgrade code so I could browse the mega-super-personalised options (that definitely aren’t the same as everyone else’s). Seems even being logged in with the system knowing you are a UK resident holding an existing contract (with the company you’re currently using the site of) means a complete bag of shit-faced nothings in the eyes of O2.

In the grand scheme, it means very little. But right now, it’s bloody annoying.

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A (non) Daily Mail-esque rant about youngsters

I am of a pre-internet generation. This may seem like an odd comment, as I have actually had the internet for ages, but when I think about it I’ve had it for around 11 years – less than half my lifespan. Compare this to the wee ‘uns who’ve had it for the always and you see where I’m coming from.

Now I’m not about to argue this means the death of society as we know it, or the internet is evil and how will we protect our kids from all the porn etc. (put some fucking net nanny software on it and pay attention to what your kids are doing, morons), or that we were underprivileged because of our lack of nets at a young age. They would all be stupid points to go with.

But I have thought of one thing I find quite interesting – the manner in which I, and people of my generation/older gather information, or find things out. When discussing topics with friends or at work it’s unlikely there will be a computer very far away – or at least some method of connecting to the internet.

So why is it when we’re chatting about things and when it gets to the point in every conversation when you’ve forgotten the actor/don’t know where it was set/can’t remember how many limbs she gets chopped off, I always try and think it out? It usually takes at least 30 seconds before the gears in my brain kick in and it’s remembered that the internet has all information ever. Yet constantly I follow the same pattern of discuss>forget>think for a while>remember internet exists.

Does this pattern of behaviour exist for those whose lives have been spent with the net all along? Do they still try and think it through with the fallible bag of urgency that is the human thought process? Or do they just – as they are used to doing – go on Google and find out straight away?

Unfortunately this isn’t the kind of answer I can Google for.

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The name (and image) game

I, like many of you out there, sometimes search for my name on Google. Over the years I’ve seen the Ian Dransfield who writes this very blog rise from second page obscurity into being the very first entry on search results, trouncing that Doctor Ian Dransfield who does so much work in the field of biological study. It’s obviously far less important than what I do. But that’s not what I want to look at today – no, I want to look at Google Image Search, where it’s much harder for results to simply come back from aggregator sites and other such bullshit (and rather frightening sites that rank what ‘sentiments’ my words express. Clue: mostly negative). I typed in “Ian Dransfield” to the search engine – with quote marks, to make it all exacting and stuff – and pulled out some of the more interesting results. I’m not putting them in any real order here, but let’s go:

This is the first result. This man isn’t even called Ian Dransfield. I have no idea why his face pops up. In a strange way, he does look like my dad though. He’s certainly not me though. I wonder if he wishes he was me. He probably does.

There are numerous images like these, all taken from the reviews I did for Kikizo (now Video Games Daily). Unfortunately none of them are me. I do not look like a shark.

I would be so bold as to assume this isn’t related to video games in any way, nor is it anything to do with this Ian Dransfield. I think it’s the molecular structure of cookies, or something.

Dr. Dransfield! I think I got an email intended for him once. That’s about as close as we’ve ever been. I know it’s hard to believe we’re not best buds, but it is unfortunately true. I like his face. I think all Ian Dransfields have great eye-creases when they smile.

This is the image of me used in Play and on the Imagine Publishing website (this version advertising my Twitter, natch). If you look closely, you’ll see that I’m not actually doing a mesma-stare and am, in fact, the victim of some rather unhelpful lens-glare on my specs. Just sayin’. I also cannot smile in photos.

This is an advert on a page where something I wrote has been copied to. I do find it rather amusing that searching for my name comes up with a PETA advert. It’s not that I’m pro-fur, I’m just pro-eating-as-much-meat-as-possible. My body does look a lot like this woman’s, though.

Ah. Hmm. I’m not sure what this says about me.

This would easily be the best image that pops up when searching for my name, were it not for the next result. Still: Meatloaf!

One day this image will represent everything about me, and everything that is fair, right and true in society. I mean just look at that mug grip technique.

What about yours? Anything fun?


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