Of code. corks and corpses

Unless it's a trivial project, software is the work of many minds. The quality of even a single programmer's work can vary, depending on their familiarity with the technology before and after adding a feature/enhancement/fix/workaround/etc. or the tightness of the deadline or what-have-you. Now multiply that variability out by many programmers over many years: Some adding features, some fixing things, some even hardy enough to attempt rewriting or refactoring for longer-range objectives (such as improving performance, or making the code less spaghetti-like).

So, although it's a rather grim metaphor, you can understand the value of "knowing where the bodies are buried." Because when you have to spelunk in stuff that hasn't been touched in years, trying to add your bit of duct tape to other people's duct tape, it's all too reminiscent of the scene in Army of Darkness where Ash has to figure out which is the "real" Necronomicon, correctly speak the proper incantation, and schlep the book back to the wise man who can use it to rout the evil dead and send Ash back to the 20th Century. Well, "reminiscent" except for the fact that it's possible to screw up your quest even worse than Ash does his.

But for all the value of knowing where the bodies are buried sometimes it's more effective to have someone who just knows which cemetery to start looking in. This isn't merely the case in software, however: I ran up against it tonight when my husband and I stopped in to see The Wine Guys.

These folks have been rather good to me, so I don't like knocking their service, at least not without that disclaimer. I'd decided to splurge and roll the bones on a white wine called a Vouvray, which can be a real hit-or-miss proposition, because the vintners in that part of France typically harvest in November, which basically means they're playing Russian roulette with frost and the other hazards of a cold, dark, damp month. All the varieties on sale were from 2007, and I don't think I ever looked up which years were better than others. But I figured that the guy at the counter would know, so I asked. "Oh, I don't have time to keep up with all the vintages," he said.

[Blink]

[Blink]

Huh-whaaahh?

Now, I totally understand not being able to keep that kind of minutiae at your proverbial fingertips, not unless you're blessed with an eidetic memory. I don't pretend to know everything about anything: That's what reference books and websites like w3schools.com are for. So I was pretty flabbergasted, actually, that this kind of cheat-sheet wasn't lurking under the counter in a 3-ring binder or something. Heck, there are probably multiple iPhone apps for that. This page was the first result in a Google search on the words "vouvray best vintages." Granted, it was my third click (because other links looked more promising), but the bottom line is that I had the answer in fewer than five minutes. And I'm just a hobbiest who enjoys collecting this nerdy kind of trivia. My reputation as an "expert"--and by extension, my livelihood--is certainly not at stake here. But in real life, I can't begin to imagine telling my boss(es) or clients that I don't keep track of details. At worst, I will say something like, "Off the top of my head, I don't know. Let me do a little digging. You'll know as soon as I do."

Like I said, the folks have been really helpful in several other respects, so that just kind of blew me away. And, yes, I understand that a retailer has to keep wine on the shelves (regardless of the year), but if you call yourselves "The Wine Guyz" and talk about your "expertise" on your home page, I'd have to think that you'd at least have that information handy if it's not already in your brain. Again, you don't have to know where every body is buried; you just have to know in which graveyard to look; the rest is just reading headstones.