Steven quietly bowed his head as the planning meeting began. Their leader, messiah, and prophet was Jack, and today’s sermon was was the promise of Heaven- Heaven being the codename of their ground-up rewrite of their e-commerce solution.
Jack sat at the head of the table, in front of the projection screen. Behind him glowed the Spreadsheet of Pending Tasks, and the cells surrounded his head like rectangular halos. His eyes glowed with the power of his vision. “In Heaven, our customers will be able to customize everything. Everything!”
Jack had lead the development on Heaven’s predecessor. Like Heaven, it was endlessly customizable. It was also slow, buggy, impossible to maintain, utterly incomprehensible, and tied to a deceased proprietary technology stack. Jack had climbed the mountain and brought back word from management: a total rewrite.
Unquestionably, a good method name should be descriptive. With today's code completion and code analysis features, almost all developers expect the names to give them at least an idea of what a method should do. When you write a library, or work on a shared codebase, it's a must- and even if one doesn't expect anybody else to use their code, it's still good not to have to remember what stuff
The average big-box hardware store is like a small city. They have every piece of hardware or tool imaginable (except, of course, the one you’re looking for). You’ll find no less that 15 aisles of power tools stocked with everything from battery operated screwdrivers to arc welders. To store all these tools, you can purchase the 6-foot-tall rolling toolbox, with a 20-watt stereo, built-in beer chiller, wi-fi connectivity, and a Twitter or Facebook app. One aisle over, there’s row after row of pristine white toilets, occupied by a small army of playing children. Near the back of the store, nestled between endless rows of storm doors and windows is a quaint “grocery” section, as if someone uprooted and transplanted a gas station convenience store, and trimmed away all of the bits that weren’t junk food. Finally, outside the building, is the drive-thru lumber yard, where you drive to the end to purchase your 20 cubic feet of mulch and invariably get stuck behind an idling vehicle abandoned by a socially-clueless DIY-er who either disappeared on an epic quest to find help loading 200 short tons of bagged white river rock into his 1993 Ford Ranger, or more likely, thought it was a convenient parking spot while he left for an 8-week sabbatical on a mountain in Tibet.