Boxfish captures all closed-captioning information, indexes it, then makes that data searchable in a Twitter-style interface. All in real-time.

If this technique sounds familiar, perhaps it’s because Google did something very similar way back in 2005:

The service, Google Video beta, searches closed caption information that comes with programmes. It only searches US channel content currently.

Results list programmes with still images and text from the point where the search phrase was spoken.

From Bruce Dowbiggin’s take on the recent cuts:

CBC’s core business, its relevance to the public, would probably be in the following order: 1. News and current affairs; 2. Radio; 3. Sports; 4. Light entertainment. The problem with the current CBC is that its executive structure has the order reversed.

Though I’d quibble with Bruce’s list — there are news and current affairs programs on radio, for instance — this rings true to me.

This time, it’s a story about Timbuk2. They make bags.

About five years ago, I bought a black/black/black Timbuk2 laptop messenger bag from Europe Bound in Toronto. I love it. It’s perfect. It holds all my stuff, and is great for daily commuting or a weekend trip. It’s travelled with me almost everywhere I’ve been for the past half decade.

But last summer, I noticed that my bag’s original velcro flap fasteners just weren’t as, well, velcro-y as they used to be:

Not surprising for something that gets ripped apart several times daily. Still, a bit of a nuisance. So I emailed customerservice@timbuk2.com, and asked: “Can you suggest the best way to repair this?” The reply arrived later the same day:

If you don’t mind us sewing through the flap, we should be able to replace it for you.  You can fill out a warranty claim here:  http://www.timbuk2.com/tb2/retail/warrantyreturn.htm

A kind offer, but I wasn’t keen on them sewing right through the bag to fix it. So I asked, “Is there any way to replace the velcro w/o sewing through the flap?” Again, a very speedy reply:

Looks like we can try to repair it, or worst case scenario, just replace the bag. Go ahead and follow the instructions here, and we’ll get you all squared away! http://www.timbuk2.com/wordpress_cms/customer-service/the-timbuk2-quality-guarantee/

So I filled out their warranty form, got an RMA number, and then, promptly did nothing for a year. Yes, that’s right. I got busy, or lazy, or perhaps just plain forgot, but I never sent my bag for them to diagnose and/or try to fix. I just kept on using the bag with the non-velcro-y velcro. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it got my stuff from point A to point B.

12 months passed, and then, a few weeks ago, for whatever reason, I decided to email Timbuk2 again. “I know it’s been a year,” I wrote, “But does your offer still stand?” Their reply:

You can go ahead and still send the bag in. Just make sure to write that RMA number on the outside of the package and we will either issue you a store credit or fix the bag.

Keep in mind this is more than a year after I filled out the original warranty claim, and five years since I bought the bag. And I didn’t even buy it from them! I bought it from a third-party retailer. So I headed to Canada Post to mail my messenger bag off to San Francisco.

Well, as it turns out, shipping a messenger bag (even an empty one) can be pretty darned expensive. So, I emailed Timbuk2 one more time to let them know that I appreciated their offer, but that the cost to ship my bag to them was prohibitive.

A few days later, their reply (from Heather):

We apologize for the long wait.   I sent over another email with a credit code in it to use on our website. You can use this to purchase a new bag. We just ask that you donate your current bag to someone in need.

Boy oh boy, that’s above and beyond. And that last line — that’s classy.

Want to guess who I’ll buy my next bag from?

Earlier this week, I found myself in Lyon’s 7th arrondissement, at a bar called l’Antisèche. I was there for L’UkeDunum, a new-ish monthly gathering of Lyonnais ukulele players (or, as they call themselves, ukulélistes).

I’d been in touch with the organizers, Cécile and Guillaume, earlier in the week via email. In broken French, I told them I wanted to attend their jam, but that sadly, my ukulele was still en route from Toronto, stuck in Brittany.

Cécile et Guillaume both assured me I’d be able to borrow a uke.

—

Days later, when I arrived at l’Antiseche, I asked the bartender if I was in the right place for “les ukulélés.”

“Ils n’ont pas encore arrivé,” she replied. Turns out, I was early.

So I ordered a beer (une pression), sat down, and waited for the other ukulélistes to arrive. Over the next half hour, eleven more people trickled in, all carrying ukuleles.

When organizer Cécile arrived, she handed me a ukulele, and told me I could use it for the night, and if I wanted to, I could take it home with me.

“Merci, mais ce n’est pas nécessaire,” I said. “Je vais récupérer mon ukulélé cette semaine.” My ukulele was supposed to arrive later in the week, hand-delivered by the sister of a former co-worker of Jenna’s, who weeks ago, offered to be a kind of ukulele mule.

But Cécile insisted that I keep the uke for a little while. She went on to explain that this particular ukulele came with a story. Cécile told me that this ukulele was a voyageur. She pointed inside the sound hole of the uke, which was full of names, dates, and stickers. It had been travelling across France, passed from person to person to person. The tradition started several years ago on an online Francophone ukulele forum. The forum is long gone, but the uke is still travelling.

Oh yes, and the ukulele has a name: Vendredi XIII (Friday the 13th).

There’s also a website where you can track the uke, and perhaps quaintly, V13 has a MySpace with a great little bio (translated):

It all started Friday, April 13, 2007. A benefactor named Moonuke proposed in a forum to give one of his ukuleles, a Tennessee, who would like to. Then was born the idea that the ukulele could belong to anyone and travel as from hand to hand. The adventure has begun in the Languedoc-Roussillon and then continuedalmost everywhere in Fance and in some neighboring countries such as Switzerland.

Vendredi XIII doesn’t travel alone. Inside its case, there’s a small green notebook that chronicles the uke’s travels. Before the uke is passed along to a new host, each person writes a little something in the book.

—

So, for a few weeks anyway, I’m hosting Vendredi XIII.

It’s been fun (and a good language lesson) to look through the green notebook and read about this little uke’s adventures.

But more than anything, I’m struck by that realization that so early on in my own adventure travelling in France, I’ve already become a small part of something bigger. When my time with V13 is over, I’ll write a few lines in the book, pass it along, and a small slice of my life will become part of a much bigger story. I like that.

Happy Friday the 13th, everyone.

—

Update (14 January 2012): Audio files from the night have been posted to the L’UkeDunum website, including this one, in which my voice is reasonably audible:

This month’s theme was “Days of the Week” and this recording is en ensemble cover of Ruby Tuesday by the Rolling Stones.

It’s almost sold out. Avoid heartache and get your tickets now.

Sorry. I warned you.

It went really well. Not to toot my own horn or anything (toot toot!), but here’s what some people said about the workshop:

Dan did a great job and gave us enough to enable us to try it on our own. What more could one ask for from a 101?

Well organized material; clearly presented, interesting, knowledgeable instructor with great basics logically through to more complex tasks made the information non-threatening.

The course provided exactly what you claimed it would, but I was surprised that I got even more out of it than I expected. I thought I’d get enough info to “know about” the subject, but I went home feeling confident that I could actually DO it – and keen to get started experimenting.

An enormous thumbs up to Dan for presenting a meaningful and enormously worthwhile course on digital recording.

It was so much fun, we thought we’d do it again. So we’re putting on the exact same workshop for people who missed the first time around.

It takes place on Saturday, September 17, and you can reserve your spot today.

What: MythTV (building your own Personal Video Recorder) Course
When: Thursday July 14th
Time: 6:30 to 9:30 pm
Location : Free Geek Toronto, Unit B, 51 Vine Avenue
Vine runs one West of Keele, one block North of Bloor
Closest subway station: Keele

Cost: Free
Linux Ubuntu computers available for purchase, starting at $50

Prerequisites: Some experience with Linux is recommended.
Not required if you are just attending the seminar, but recommended:

Talk on building a PVR (personal video recorder) using Mythbuntu (a version of Ubuntu Linux tailored to installing the MythTV program). The talk is free to attend, but you must book a space in advance. You are responsible for any hardware costs if you want your own PVR box.

The main MythTV website can be seen here: www.mythtv.org
A locally focused look at MythTV can be seen here: gtalug.org/wiki/MythTV
Download a free copy of Mythbuntu from their website : mythbuntu.org

To register for the Myth TV course, send an email to learn@freegeektoronto.org
Subject Line: MythTV
Email Body: Your Name and telephone number

I can’t make it to this workshop, but I’ve heard all kinds of great things about MythTV. Worth checking out.

But, as I was researching the anniversary, I came across an interesting tidbit from a 2010 LA times article:

Hart began transcribing and scanning books on July 4, 1971 — “technically July 5,” Hart corrected himself in an e-mail; “it was all night.”

So, which is it? July 4? Or July 5? To clear up the confusion, I emailed Michael Hart directly. His response:

Here’s how it happened:

I was at the Fourth of July fireworks at 9PM.

I probably left there close to 10PM.

Let’s say it took over half an hour of walking, stopping for a few minutes at a grocery store a few block short of getting to the computer.

Say I got to the computer building around 11PM. It took me a while to get in, not sure how long, it was late and I didn’t have a key. As soon as I got in I learned that my personal, as opposed to an operator’s account I was using, was not only ready, but that they had already put a HUGE amount of “computer play money” in it, for me to use on anything I wanted, and that they were ready to put more in when I used it all up. I ran all my life without using that much on my own.

So, I sat down to think about what I could do to be worthy of what they had given me. . . .

I realized I was low on energy so I poured out the contents of my book bag on the floor to get brownie mix for some instant energy so I could think enough to come up with a good project.

Along with the brownie mix, etc., came one of those faux parchment Declaration of Independence copies they were handing out all over and putting on walls of every school and mall in the U.S. in preparation for the 1976 Bicentennial celebrations.

At that moment the light went on over my head, just like in the comics, and Project Gutenberg was born.

I read the document to make sure I COULD actually read the handwritten transcript, which I could, and was ready to enter it into the computer.

The operator on duty decided I should enter it on “paper tape” from a TeleType machine, and then it could be read into magnetic tape and be available in a minute whenever anyone asked for it.

Somewhere in those last couple paragraphis I felt that this was a momentous occasion and that I had to note the time when I actually realized a power of what I was doing would change the world.

At that moment it was 1:41AM.

It took all night to type the all in and correct typos, work out punctuation, etc, and I just got done in time to be LATE to my 8AM class and then handed the roll of paper tape to a day operator, who was just coming on duty.

The first count I heard, in that first day maybe overnight, was that six people downloaded it.

That is pretty much the Project Gutenberg start, from beginning to end.

A fews months ago, in the midst of a digital backup frenzy, it struck me that if our apartment burned down, there’d be no need to try and save these framed pictures. We could just print out identical copies from the digital files (stored safely off-site). In an odd way, we have a digital backup of some very physical items.

I plan to keep the automatic job postings going @workatCBC. More details in the update here.