mr c goes global

Today I almost crashed into a Google streetview car. I was just turning onto my road when it came round a corner in the middle of the road. That road is hardly wide enough for two cars at the best of times but it's especially difficult when one of them is in the (non-existent) middle lane and the driver of the other is staring at the weird black column on its roof. In a short while I fully anticipate providing a link to a street-view image of my car at very close quarters - hopefully with my terrified face blurred out.

Of course as soon as I'd parked for a few seconds to regain my breath, I did what any self-obsessed narcissist would do - I took off after it to make sure I appeared as much as possible.

If any of you have tried this you'll know how difficult it actually is. Those drivers have obviously been trained in the bank-robbery-getaway school of driving. He took turns I didn't know existed (and I've lived in the area for 34 years.) I found myself guessing his route - and failing miserably. By the time I had tracked him down properly he was clearly finished for the day - parked up with his camera laid flat on the roof of the car.

I am now determined to find as many Google cars as I can in the next few weeks. I am going to own Google North Antrim/Derry. I'm going to make sure that whenever you type in Cloyfin, or Blagh, or Craigahulier, or Beardiville - who knows? you might someday - you will see my little silver VW with a slightly scared looking teacher behind the wheel. How proud you'll be to know me.

when am I not the best me I can be?

Sorry I disappeared for a while there. Based on previous experience you'd be forgiven for thinking it was due to incompetence or attention seeking - but not this time, I promise. "He's hit the wrong button again" I imagine you sighed when you arrived only to be confronted with a password protected notice. But no. For once it was deliberate. Let me explain.

One day I was teaching merrily away in class when someone quoted a blog entry I had written a week or so before. It turns out that some of my pupils had stumbled upon my blog. Now to be honest it's not a big deal - these are a nice bunch of kids who, while they may enjoy the odd giggle at my expense, have their heads and hearts in the right place. But at the same time I did stop and think. I'm not actually that keen on the idea of pupils in general reading my daily (or not so daily) frustrations with the education system, perusements on modern life and the persuit of happiness. I don't mind people knwing my personal opinions but I'm not too sure how I'd feel if my photocopier incident or the parent-in-the-supermarket thing became the subject of a piece of GCSE creative writing.

So I thought I'd lose ToaSNT for a while; safe in the knowledge that young people under 23 have a ridiculously short attention span and will have forgotten all about it by now. I guess we'll find out how valid this theory is soon enough

Anyway, I have to admit that I was actually a little put out. Not that they'd stumbled on the blog - but that they'd had to stumble upon it. How hard is it to find? Despite the fact that at 6'5" I am hardly the most elusive figure on the planet it appears that, in some ways, I am virtually invisible. They found me, not through my own blog, but through a link from someone else's. I'm trying not to take offense at the fact that Google clearly feels other people do a better job of me than I do. Apparently I am less relevent to me than I had been led to believe previously.

So I did a spot of research. You'll find me okay if you search for a "foot vasecomy" - despite the fact that I know not what they are. If you're looking to find a picture of Sammy Winward rolling about in a bed of daffodils sans clothing you'll possibly happen upon ToaSNT - despite the fact that the photo is nowhere to be seen in these pages. But if you actually go searching for me - well, you'll find a lot of stuff, but you'll be looking a long time before you actually see anything that pertains to me.

Now, as it turns out, I am enough of a narcissist to be troubled by this, but not enough of a narcissist to pay for google to make it better. I want the world to love me, to bow before my greatness - I'm just not sure whether I can be bothered to put in the effort to become great. Is it wrong to want to be admired for my existence rather than my achievement? It is? Oh.

Well, then, my loyal bunch of procrastinators (and those of you searching in vain for nudity and daffodils) I'll leave you with an expression of my gratitude - by reading my words you make me real - but if you happen to spot any of my pupils hanging around - you haven't seen me, ok?

are you feeling lucky punk?

I am one of nature’s unlucky creatures. Well, I would be if I believed in luck per se. I know I am one of the unlucky ones because I am one of the 62% of the population who don’t get what they want when they hit the ‘I’m feeling lucky’ button in google. In fact often I’m one of the 11% of people who don’t even get what they’re looking for in the second listing. Generally speaking I eventually give up around page three of the listings and make the statistics up instead.

Chances are you, as an internet user, are familiar with the minimalist interface that greets you when you type in google.com or co.uk or .hk or whatever your suffix of choice is. It is the ubiquitous search engine of the masses. Techies and geeks of various hues pass over it on to the lesser-known engines and indexes; but this is more snobbery than anything else – google does what it’s supposed to and, in most cases, it does it well. Back when google was launched the likes of Yahoo and AltaVista ruled the roost. Late generation Xs like myself remember those days well; no myspace or bebo or friends reunited; hotmail was an independent email client offering enough space to save three emails; advertising was limited and most content was truly free. Search engines tended to do more than search – they offered webspace, news portals and mousemats; they were good but often fell prey to spammers and irrelevant selections – they never gave you what you were looking for without putting up a fight first. Google usually took you past all the rubbish and delivered you where you wanted to be with the minium of fuss.

And of course we have that button. ‘I’m feeling lucky.’ Except I never do. In all likelihood, if you were to type in something, say for instance ‘common misquoted lines,’ and hit that sinister little button it would take you straight to a page devoted to Bogie and Eastwoodisms. You could play it again like a lucky punk and time again it would give you something useful. Me? If I hit that button it’ll take me to a page of amateur dramatists angling horror stories. That button is possessed. And, worse still, it doesn’t like me.