What job title would you like engraved on your gravestone? “Beloved father, slayer of dragons, register of estates” • The register

Something for the weekend, sir? How many websites do I have? Come on, guess. Well done! You might be right… or maybe not. Honestly, I have no idea.

As the weeks slide into summer, a bi-annual recurring task pops up on my calendar to remind me it’s time to get out the digital pruners and reduce my online proliferation.

My calendar does that sort of thing. Other people’s calendar apps are full of meetings and birthdays, or weekly prompts to upload another blatant message of virtue on LinkedIn. If you use Calendly, you may notice that it now also works as a subliminal cheat sheet to take regular bathroom breaks.

The ease with which I can disparage point sites for one-time purposes tends to leave a trail of dead subdomains in my wake. They are always created in a rush for something that probably seemed very important at the time, then forgotten a week later. Every six months, I force myself to sweep up the debris. And once a year, I plan to condense the various email addresses I’ve accumulated over the past 12 months into aliases or delete them altogether: most were created for one-time login credentials anyway. , designed to be abandoned immediately after… something I always forget to do.

Considering the amount of valid inbound and outbound email that goes astray or speaks directly to recipients these days, I can even search for a more reliable host with a better WHOIS reputation. I find the simple process of changing domains quite stressful – did I save everything? Will messages be rejected? Are the servers really located in Europe or does the host just clone big boys in the US? – to continue to put it back. My calendar reminds me that it has been over a decade since I last did this. Wish me good luck.

Putting away my toys after play is boring, so I put some soothing music in the background. I read somewhere – maybe in one of those aforementioned LinkedIn arseguffs – that the right kind of background sounds will lengthen my powers of focus. Or extend my life. Or penis. I don’t remember exactly; hope this lengthens my memory retention.

Speaking of empty posts of tiny inspiration by cunning auto-sellers with hidden agendas, I read one this week on LinkedIn that proclaimed: “No one puts their job title, degrees or work history on their stone. tomb. ” That was followed by the usual harassment of being nice to yourself, of living your life, that sort of thing. “Walk through any cemetery and you will see ‘Beloved Mother’, ‘Loving Father’, ‘Wonderful Friend’ carved into the stones. You are more than your job! “

Is it correct? I occasionally enjoy a non-macabre cemetery getaway and can assure you that the cemeteries are full of tombstones that particularly refer to the deceased’s ex-profession. Author, painter, master baker, doctor, engineer, longtime reverend of this parish, etc. Fair enough, I have yet to see a grave marked “James Clitheroe, VP Paperclips and Self-Adhesive Stationery Items (Northern Europe)”, but referring to the work of the dear deceased is a pretty standard thing.

What would you prefer on your gravestone instead – a list of your life experiences outside of work? “RIP James Clitheroe, Collected The attack of the Titans figurines, Had trouble starting her car on cold mornings “or maybe” Here lies Susan Donim, Tough Aunt, Disturbing Cat Lady, Watched a lot of Netflix “?

This is Spike Milligan’s gravestone. Who you ask ? Well, read it and you will find out: “Writer, artist, musician, humanitarian, comedian.” Five job titles! This LinkedIn poster would be appalled.

Spike Milligan’s gravestone in St Thomas’ Cemetery at Winchelsea. He told us he was sick

Notice that Spike’s grave also has his famous motto: “I Told You I Was Sick.” Unfortunately, local authorities have deemed it unworthy to put jokes on gravestones for fear of accidentally making cemetery visitors smile. Spike’s family were forced to disguise the motto by having it engraved in smaller letters using an almost illegible typeface and, to be on the safe side, translating it into Gaelic: “Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite. “

His gravestone faces the local pub just across the road.

Hmm, my audio that elongates schlong doesn’t seem to be playing. Or to work, by the look of it. Music was supposed to be streamed over the internet through an app but – nothing. No surprises there, to be honest: there has been a surge of interest in new audio technologies over the past 18 months and although there may be a lot of startups in this field dreaming of becoming unicorns. , most will be donkeys.

I don’t mean that badly. There will also be plenty of thoroughbred and stallion racehorses in the mix, and at this point it’s probably best that I, uh, throw off the fantastic equine analogies. Let’s untie the stirrups and walk.

One particular area of ​​audio hardware technology that is seeing a recovery right now is in vibrating and vibrating devices that transmit detectable sound into your body through parts of your body that are not necessarily your ears. I haven’t seen much of it in several years, not since I visited an IoT exhibit where a rep forced me to listen to terrible music with headphones crashing into my joints. jaw under my temples. In principle, the concept has some value because it leaves your ears open. In practice, well… nothing prepares you for the experience of hearing Justin Bieber through your teeth.

A company called Flexound, for example, launched something he calls Augmented Audio which he says plays sound through your skin. I even read the story of former Rolls Royce engineers who developed a “smart” baby sleeping mat which plays white noise or heart vibrations to help little Lilibet make the most of her afternoon nap.

This shows how far we have come. It wasn’t that long ago that you could only achieve this with a dummy and an overdose of Calpol. I wonder if they are doing it for the grown-ups.

So where are my soothing sounds? I quit and relaunched the app, checked for updates, and restarted my handset. The app still plays stupid – barely music to my ears. Or the jaw. Or private.

I visit the app’s website for clues, only to find that the website is down for maintenance. To be precise, a wait page tells me that they are moving to new servers and the process will take two weeks. Eek, if it’s gonna take that long for a real business, maybe I’ll put off moving my own things and leave them where they are a little longer.

“Here lies Alistair Dabbs. Father, writer, trainer, incredible stunts with grapefruit, fear of domain transfers.”

I like this idea. ®

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Alistair Dabbs

Alistair Dabbs is a freelance tech enthusiast, juggling tech journalism, training and digital publishing. Its first port of call for music these days is Bandcamp. Besides its generally ethical stance towards royalty payments to artists, it is an exceptionally good source of Canadian atmosphere, Scandinavian metal and others that no one else likes. More than Auto-save is for wimps and @alidabbs.

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