Barley woke us up early this morning. He had to go poo. He woke me from a really cool dream about programming and architecture and life. This is all pretty dorky stuff, so I’m going to use the extended option to decrease random viewer boredom.
So in this dream, I was in a college type setting, but the architecture was really unique, and had a very natural feel to it that is usually lost in most modern architecture. It was open, wooden, and seemed to compliment group work in lecture settings. I realized as I was talking with the people in my groups, that they had these little css popup boxes that had personal information, like a signiture, and some of them had problems. It almost looked like speech boxes in comics meets dreamweaver. Anyway, I was called to help with some instructors who’s id things weren’t working.
As I walked across campus, I was amazed at how cool the civic art was, and how familiar the instructors looked. I guess I get to take credit for the coolness of the architecture, but most of the instructors were manifestations of previous teachers, mostly from high school… Anyway, one of the instructors quote box had crashed while he was updating it, so he had this window thing following him around with garbled characters. It was quite embarasing, like walking around with your fly down, judging from people’s reaction. He had been updating his profile or whatever using M$’s java virtual machine, which crashed it. I don’t remember what I did to fix it, but I did, and was off to help other people. That’s roughly when Barley woke me up.
I was disappointed, but while I was standing out in the yard in my nighties, I thought about how the profile things that followed people were like a palm/bluetooth system my brother-in-law told me about, where people can point their palm’s at each other, and download little bio/resume’s from other people’s palms. I guess this was in the future when we’ve all used so many wireless devices that we start emitting our own broadband data.
Naturally, this recollection falls way short on the descriptive side to point out the ideas. I’m sorry, but my brain imagines things cooler than I can describe. If I could, I suppose I’d be a writer.