My "glitch" for the mission...
Aug. 11th, 2001 01:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alexpgpIn the second half of yesterday's shift, Word put me in a proper mood by faulting out and exiting, causing me to lose about a page worth of work. It could have been worse, of course, but it was annoying.
I was then called upon to revise a translation done earlier in the shift by my partner, Olga D. I was not as careful in reviewing the revised text as I should have been, and thus missed a couple of sentences in the early part of the document. Fortunately, the console interpreters check each others' work, and Olga caught the error. Although it's always difficult to translate revisions (especially when they are not marked), I later figured out a couple of ways I can prevent this happening in the future. It's bad enough my English-to-Russian requires review; worse yet that I goof up like this.
OTOH, there's nothing to be done about it. I will consider it to be - as they say at NASA - my "glitch" for the mission, and go on with life.
On a positive note, I am pleased that I felt no desire to extract junk food from the vending machines outside the FCR. Too, at no time during the night did I have to fight sleep, though I began to yawn often and hard on the way home. Once home, I fell asleep quickly, woke up 4 hours later, but managed to go back to sleep until noon.
In a morose turn of mind, I keep returning to one of Sara's last lines in Sweet November, when she tells Nelson, "You are my immortality!" I find it curious how and via what avenues we pursue ersatz versions of eternal life, knowing full well that the real McCoy will forever elude us.
Shakespeare, for example, is physically dead; his dust was put to rest almost 400 years ago. Yet he is - through his works - immortal. Or so some say. Is he? The acclaim and admiration of people walking around today can't possibly matter to him now, even if he had planned it this way... which I doubt.
I remember my grandmother and all the cool things we used to do when I was a kid. Given the opportunity, someday I'll tell Huntur all about my grandmother and those escapades. And maybe someday, once I am long gone, Huntur will tell her grandchildren about this nutcase granddad of hers and all the grand times she had with him.
But it won't matter to me. And I won't do or not do things now so as to somehow influence whatever possible narrative she may choose to relate; what happens will happen because it will be the appropriate thing to do at the time. And yet...
Hmm. This line of thought is well and truly pointless, kind of like a finger-painting in progress, where one's digits tend to retrace the same lines over and over.
There are small battles to be won today, and I need to go fight them. The next shift is just over 7 hours away.
Cheers...
I was then called upon to revise a translation done earlier in the shift by my partner, Olga D. I was not as careful in reviewing the revised text as I should have been, and thus missed a couple of sentences in the early part of the document. Fortunately, the console interpreters check each others' work, and Olga caught the error. Although it's always difficult to translate revisions (especially when they are not marked), I later figured out a couple of ways I can prevent this happening in the future. It's bad enough my English-to-Russian requires review; worse yet that I goof up like this.
OTOH, there's nothing to be done about it. I will consider it to be - as they say at NASA - my "glitch" for the mission, and go on with life.
On a positive note, I am pleased that I felt no desire to extract junk food from the vending machines outside the FCR. Too, at no time during the night did I have to fight sleep, though I began to yawn often and hard on the way home. Once home, I fell asleep quickly, woke up 4 hours later, but managed to go back to sleep until noon.
In a morose turn of mind, I keep returning to one of Sara's last lines in Sweet November, when she tells Nelson, "You are my immortality!" I find it curious how and via what avenues we pursue ersatz versions of eternal life, knowing full well that the real McCoy will forever elude us.
Shakespeare, for example, is physically dead; his dust was put to rest almost 400 years ago. Yet he is - through his works - immortal. Or so some say. Is he? The acclaim and admiration of people walking around today can't possibly matter to him now, even if he had planned it this way... which I doubt.
I remember my grandmother and all the cool things we used to do when I was a kid. Given the opportunity, someday I'll tell Huntur all about my grandmother and those escapades. And maybe someday, once I am long gone, Huntur will tell her grandchildren about this nutcase granddad of hers and all the grand times she had with him.
But it won't matter to me. And I won't do or not do things now so as to somehow influence whatever possible narrative she may choose to relate; what happens will happen because it will be the appropriate thing to do at the time. And yet...
Hmm. This line of thought is well and truly pointless, kind of like a finger-painting in progress, where one's digits tend to retrace the same lines over and over.
There are small battles to be won today, and I need to go fight them. The next shift is just over 7 hours away.
Cheers...
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no subject
Date: 2001-08-12 11:08 am (UTC)It is my understanding that relatively little is known of Shakespeare; so much so that speculation is still rampant as to whether he actually wrote the plays or fronted them for a patron whose social status could not permit an association with them.
On the other hand, while the name escapes me, I do seem to recall an ancient Greek who set a great fire in order to be remembered by posterity...
Cheers...
no subject
Date: 2001-08-12 01:15 pm (UTC)His sonnets speak for themselves
It is my understanding that relatively little is known of Shakespeare; so much so that
speculation is still rampant as to whether he actually wrote the plays or fronted them for
a patron whose social status could not permit an association with them.
Indeed. Our knowledge about him is very uncertain.
but here it resembles the anekdote which I've seen in LJ:
"-You know, Homer didn't write Iliad and Odyssey.
-Hmmm... If he didn't, then who did?
-There was another old man who did it. By the way, he was also blind..."
It is not important who he was, he is remembered for his works. And he planned it exactly this way :)
On the other hand, while the name escapes me, I do seem to recall an ancient Greek
who set a great fire in order to be remembered by posterity...
Herostratos has burnt the temple of Zeus.