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Tsutomu Yamaguchi was a Japanese businessman, more or less unremarkable in almost every way. He worked for a shipbuilding company during the Second World War. There is really only one thing that makes him special. He was on a business trip to Hiroshima in August 1945, when the United States dropped a nuclear weapon there. He survived the attack with severe burns, then decided to go home to recover.
To Nagasaki, just in time to be bombed again.
He was the only recognised survivor of both bombings, and he died on Monday from stomach cancer at age 93. He has, apparently, written several books and songs about his experiences. Another piece of history crystallises, hopefully not to be forgotten.
In other news, it's snowing out again. I think we've got about an inch settled now, and it's starting to compact into ice on the footpaths. The roads are mostly clear, thanks to gritters and snowploughs, but I've already seen one Council truck jack-knifed in its parking area, so that may not continue. Conditions treacherous. I decided the footpath outside ours needed some attention this time (it's on a ~20 degree slope, so ice is a bad thing), so went to B&Q to buy a shovel. They very tolerantly didn't laugh at me, and ended up selling me a dutch hoe (with a sharp stainless steel blade) and a stiff broom instead, which are making a decent account of themselves, much though the job is taking ages. I'll just burn off a lot of energy doing it, I guess, which is probably good for me.
...I'm not really sure what to say. News just broke online that someone I knew on IRC took his own life in the last week. I knew him as "Pudi", which seems to have been his chosen alias most places: friends have met him in real life, and it seems he was in real life as he was online, pleasant, introverted... I hadn't spoken to him in the better part of a year, and never knew him terribly well, but it hits harder than you might think, even so. He was a nice bloke, and he didn't talk about his problems, and then he wasn't there any more.
Rest in peace, Pudi.
...and I think someone just scored a point from me.
If you remember, I was having some interesting trouble with the Ethernet chip on my development board earlier this week. It turns out that the chip is, in fact, exactly where I think it is in the memory map. When the support email came back, the response was basically "Heh, so it does. I wonder why that is?" So, no simple solutions for me, then... I'm really starting to hate this part of the project, as there seems to be so much fumbling around in the dark, and so little progress, at the moment.
Also, Michael Jackson is dead (to add to the hysteria, except not). I remember his was the first album I ever owned, on cassette, back in the days before CDs. From what we've seen of him in the last few years, though, I think he died a while before he was dead: there didn't seem to be much left of the MJ of the eighties and nineties. More of the names and faces of my childhood going away. I guess this is what growing old feels like.
Majel Barrett, wife of Gene Roddenberry and the voice of the Federation computers in Star Trek since ... well, literally ever, has died at the age of 76. She was pretty cool - a fan's actress, never taking her fame for granted. It is claimed that she finished the voiceover work for the new Star Trek movie just two weeks ago.
In other news, Katsu and Mike landed today, and are now safely ensconced at a mutual friend's house in Fishersgate. Hopefully, there will be a joint excursion into Town on the weekend for shopping, coffee, and later, gaming. Since it's the weekend before Christmas, we may be need some form of armour or APC...
Also, I'm in the process of getting the last of the old blog entries (dating back to 2004!) in my records into Glasshalfempty's database, so that the migration to the new codebase (scheduled for Sunday night / Monday, probably) will include the entire timeline, in order. I just ran across a cluster of entries from December 2004, when I was just starting work on the FlexRay project as my MSc. I was either very optimistic, or pretty naive, in those days. Four years doesn't sound like a lot, but I hardly recognise myself. I'm either jaded or realistic nowadays, and I wish like hell I knew which...
Just as I was getting ready to go out this evening, I received a phone call. On the other end was an old friend I haven't seen in far too long: Catherine, a housemate of mine during my undergraduate degree. She rang to tell me that a mutual friend from the Christian Union, way back in my first year, had taken her own life at some point in the last week.
The grapevine from me to the source of the news is long, so I don't know a lot about the circumstances of her death, and that's maybe for the best. All I know is that for years she suffered episodes of mania, and ended her self while on retreat somewhere in the UK.
She was, I think, looking back, my first crush at the University (unrequited), separated from my old life and its inadequacies, when everything was shiny and new and full of potential. She was a musical dreamer, with a guitar by her side wherever she went. Very quiet, except when she laughed. I never even knew her last name: never needed to.
Her first name, at least, I know, and it's a safe assumption that no-one from that group of friends still reads this site, not least since I've not seen any of them in years (bar one, who I've already emailed). Her name was Melanie, Mel to all who knew her.
The others who knew her, I suspect, will take comfort in their faith, knowing that she went to a better place, free of troubles. I, however, haven't been a Christian for some years, if I ever truly was. As a Humanist, I believe that life is sacred, that all people have worth, and that people must help their friends and those who cross their paths if they can, but that there is no afterlife. The others are saddened, but also happy for her, I think, because of that faith. I just feel like I failed her.
Rest in peace, Mel. The world seems a little colder, knowing that you're no longer in it.