After too many years, I’m finally building myself a NAS: network-attached storage, a device for backing up files, photos, and all the data that is otherwise in the cloud. Say goodbye, FANGs, I’m going self-hosted.
Tired of waiting for an apparent “priority” copy of my grandmother’s birth certificate, today I wrote a letter to the ONS in Britain … only to return home to find the copy waiting on the coffee table. What’s more, the postmark clearly shows that it was sent only two days after I made my application, so the week in between is due to the post, not the ONS. Sorry! If I get a reply, I will apologise profusely.
I guess we get used to things happening quite quickly, be it email or text messages or such. But when things have to move through Real Space it takes time. Actually I don’t remember the last time I actually sent something through Real Space – I do my taxes online, I buy webspace and subscriptions to webapps, and I pay bills or transfer money (which is intangible in the first place). Which leaves the other Real Space atom-shifting to be either: short range (such as when we get our groceries delivered), or; “me”, via taxis or trains. And I’m acutely aware of how long it takes to shift “me” through space – how long it takes me to get to work each morning in probably my biggest gripe at the moment – so it should be rather obvious that atom-shifting anything, even some papers, around our globe is inherently a time-consuming operation.
Nevertheless I now have the certificate. The next piece of the puzzle is Dad’s certificate, so I can prove a lineage from Nana to me, like a chain of evidence in the American crime shows that saturate our public television channels here in Australia. Dad’s may prove more difficult, as it turns out, bt Dee is going to scope it ot tomorrow.
Best post before my battery goes flat, and get some sleep.