Our unverified account has never processed a single payment, and yet with the amount of ID they require for something as simple as a contact name change you could get a passport in some countries.

Business Contact Name Change
To process your name change request, you need to fax in additional information. Please provide a current photo identification and one of the other following documents:

• A copy of a valid photo identification showing your new name.
• Acceptable forms of photo identification are a driver’s license, passport or any other state or government issued photo identification.
• A copy of a recent utility bill showing your new name and address exactly as they appear on your PayPal account.
• A copy of a recent bank statement for the bank account listed on your PayPal account (if applicable).

Please include a letter on company stationery indicating the primary email address, current name, address and telephone number on the PayPal account, the reason for the name change, and the new business contact name.

So that we can process your request efficiently, please ensure that your documents are valid and legible. As always, any personal identification information that you submit to PayPal will remain secure and will never be transmitted to any third party.

PayPal have never had a rep as a particularly customer friendly organisation, but this isn’t even beneficial to them! With no transactions in the past and less documentation than this required for establishing a NEW account it doesn’t pose any credible threat so far as hijacked accounts/money laundering/whatever goes, and they need to spend time reviewing documents sent in a thoroughly nonstandard way. The bank account verification process is pretty good in terms of automation (albeit risky — you’re essentially giving PayPal license to do whatever with all funds in that account) — this is most certainly not.

Anyone have any good, low % fee or cost/transaction way of hooking into CBA’s Evolve system? The application doesn’t warrant us spending heaps setting it up just yet, and PayPal are good at making things way too risky and difficult. Grumble.

These things can be had from PayPal for about five bucks. Or $7.50 if you’re an Aussie. Verisign will flog them off to you for $30, if you’d like, but basically PayPal rocks for this kinda stuff. It’s a one-time password token that effectively enhances your authentication by a massive degree. It’s cool because it works with PayPal and eBay. It’s cooler (and worthwhile) because you can potentially use it with OpenID.

Essentially, it’s a random number seeded with a unique key that gets appended to your regular password. This defeats keyloggers and pretty much all kinds of phishing currently out there. These kinds of devices have been used in corporate VPN/dial-in scenarios for years now (predominantly, in the situations I’m aware of, with technology by RSA SecureID), but this is the first I’ve seen of it from Verisign.

And, sure, it’s only as secure as physical security or the endpoints themselves are, but it’s a massive step up from “what’s your cat’s name?” two-factor auth (though, unfortunately, I think PayPal/eBay offer that as a backup).

I’ve ordered mine and will probably be having a play with OpenID implementations of it (backed by Verisign’s PIP service, but not overly tied to it because of OpenID’s identity-delegation ability) once it arrives (10 business days).

Can’t help but wonder what Verisign’s rates for these things are in a standalone sense. Normally on 5 year contracts, but in terms of cost-per-token. Seems like a great way to defeat the idiot users who insist on having passwords that are blatantly obvious (argue all you like about strength policies: it’s often not feasible when balanced against support load for resultant forgotten passwords).

Also, to those who argue PayPal = evil, if you’re in Australia then please… don’t. Unlike in the US, here they’ve basically got the same financial reporting obligations as any bank does, and customer service necessarily to match it. All the horror stories from the ‘States (not that I think them universally untrue!) pretty much couldn’t happen here or they’d be chucked out of the country. And, whilst they’re so heavily subsidising (or at least obtaining bulk discounts for) this kinda tech, that’s cool with me.

St.George reports record interim profit of $502 million, up 11.8%

Meanwhile, I get charged $4.50 for using a non-St. George ATM.

I had to call up to find out what browsers they officially supported, only to be told that support was limited to Internet Explorer on Windows, Mac (!!) and Netscape 7+ on both platforms. Firefox “hasn’t been tested”, Safari hasn’t been looked at. I’m not particularly keen on this, but hey, they’re a bank… we all expect them to be a bit backwards.

The application sniffs for a Java Virtual Machine and refuses to load without even providing an error message if one isn’t detected. This wouldn’t be so bad but for the fact that it checks explicitly and exclusively for the Sun virtual machine… so anyone who doesn’t use that platform for whatever reason (licensing, ethical, platform) — even if they have another fully compatible virtual machine — can’t get access.

My solution? Disable Java (not JavaScript) altogether using the Web Developer’s toolbar, then sign in (it doesn’t choke!), wait til you get to the main applet pane, re-enable Java, and press F5. Magic, it works.

There is absolutely no reason or excuse for this behaviour. If this fits into some perverted notion of security, I’m not comfortable having my money there. If it’s the product of an incompetent web team… well… they’re an incompetent web team. Grr.

I called up and asked why it wasn’t working, then explicitly asked for a report to be forwarded to the web team. Please lots of people do this (heh, you don’t even need to be with St George… they didn’t ask me for a name or account number during the phone call!)… this service is unneccessarily stupid at present!

On a plus side, their phone service is good fun. I couldn’t find a support number quickly, so I called the dragondirect number provided on a letter (1300 30 10 20) and when none of the options matched “support”, I just hammered “9” repeatedly. Works on a lot of PBX systems, and it worked there… I got through to a human within 30 seconds, who then put me straight into the queue for web support. Good stuff.

How are the concerns and values of Ibsen’s play established in Act 1?

Henrik Ibsen’s play, A Doll’s House, seeks to criticise the values of the society in which it is set. This criticism is established in the opening act of the play, and further developed throughout (culminating in the active rejection of these values by Nora in the closing scene). From the outset, Ibsen’s work identifies several key values which are of concern, in order to address these at a later point.

The viewer is presented first with the character of Nora Helmer entering from “the outside”, dressed in outdoor attire: this is the first and only time the viewer is aware of Nora having been outside the house in the entire play, with all action taking place in the constraints of the set defined by Ibsen as “A room, comfortably and tastefully, but not expensively, furnished.” The set itself is used to establish an environment of comfort, with some degree of irony: what is now a scene of domestic living, becomes synonymous with a prison for Nora, as the story develops.

Upon first entry to the set, Nora is seen standing in the doorway, paying a porter a krone – although he requests only fifty øre (half a krone) – for carrying a Christmas tree and a basket. Whilst “tips” or gratuities of this kind may have been conventional and possibly even required by the expectations of society at the time, a reader in a more contemporary culture (especially in a country such as Australia, or non-European nations where such an expectation does not exist) may perceive this as reflective of Nora’s “spendthrift” nature, which her husband Torvald Helmer is constantly critical of.

Perhaps more significantly, the juxtaposition of Christmas and all that entails for the family of this play (a tree, gifts, etc.) with payment and commerce may be viewed as exemplifying the values held by the society in which Nora and Torvald live their lives: indeed, there is a complete absence of spiritual or religious references regarding Christmas or any other event which occurs in the play (though some may argue Torvald’s condemnation of his wife in the closing scene stems from “Christian” values; indeed, he criticises her for having “no religion, no morality, no sense of duty”). Torvald is still working in his study, so committed to his work that this is being done at home, even on Christmas Eve – “I must make use of the Christmas week for [work], so as to have everything in order for the new year.” The values of society in which they live are such that numerous visitors at this time (with the exception of Doctor Rank, whose visiting is as a friend, as opposed to a business acquaintance) appear with an agenda not purely social, but motivated by something pertaining to work or employment.

Not only the character of Nils Krogstad, but also, to an extent, that of widowed Mrs. Kristine Linde – the motive for her appearance is not entirely apparent to the audience, although the outcome of her visit is key to creating conflict leading to the revelation of Krogstad’s agreement with Nora; her appointment to the position in which Krogstad was previously employed is the catalyst for further plot development in this play. The conversation between Mrs. Linde and Nora is focussed on financial affairs, with all personal references bound to a need for security in a financial manner, or in accordance with other values of the period. Whilst at the beginning of this dialogue Nora asserts that “today I won’t be selfish”, she comes to speak of her “self”, and all that entails: financial security, her husband, and her children.

In this, Ibsen’s play criticises society as focussed upon financial security and the acquisition of wealth first and foremost, with family and friends taking second place, and religion somewhere in the distance – something to provide a loose set of (patriarchal) values, and an impression of self-righteous morality.

It is with no degree of subtlety that Henrik Ibsen contrasts the characters of Nora and Mrs. Linde at the beginning of their dialogue: It is established that Mrs. Linde has been widowed, with a man she did not love dying and leaving her precious little behind, as his business collapsed with his own death – in this, there is a parallel established between the sustenance of life and work, a value echoed in other aspects of the text, too. Deprived of security (which may be achieved, so it is implied, only through marriage to a male preserver – Torvald describes himself in the closing act as having “broad wings to shelter [her] under”), Mrs. Linde is forced to work for a living of her own, and is at this time unemployed.

Ibsen changes the focus of dialogue so quickly that his audience is left in a state of shock: one moment, Nora is declaring “That must be awful”, and sympathising with Mrs. Linde’s plight, yet in the next breath speaks of her own three children, immediately following Mrs. Linde’s declaration that she has none, and no-one to live for.

At this stage, Nora claims she does not wish to be selfish, and requests Mrs. Linde speak of herself first: until she begins on a tangent of her own, saying “just one thing” first. “Just one thing” is to detail the success of Torvald, and the new position of financial security in which they find themselves. Indeed, the impression created is near-comic in nature: one moment, the audience is faced with a dour-faced Mrs. Linde, and sympathising Nora at her side – the next, Nora is declaring how fortunate she is, in a circumstance with which Mrs. Linde is only able to look upon with a degree of remote longing – “Yes; at any rate it must be delightful to have what you need.” – to which Nora replies “No, not only what you need, but heaps of money– heaps!”.

Nora says “Oh, Christina, I feel so lighthearted and happy!” in regard to her situation at the beginning of the play. There exists something of an argument over the semantics of the term “happy” as applied in this play: it is felt by some that nuances of language representing different degrees and types of “happiness” have been lost in some translations of Ibsen’s original play, such that the meaning of terms in the original Riksmål (Traditional Standard Norwegian), Lykkelig and Lystig, are used inappropriately in some translations: the former term means “happy”, whilst the latter is better translated as “gay” (or, given the contemporary connotations that word now carries, “cheerful”) – associated with a more fleeting and temporary emotion.

The significance of this, of course, is that Nora’s “happiness” (translated as such in both McLeish’s translation, Archer’s translation, and the translation used by the Project Gutenberg public domain text), as an profound state of mind, and not a fleeting emotion, is felt as a direct result of the financial situation in which she is in by virtue of her husbands position at the bank. This is perhaps the clearest way in which the importance and value of materialism to the society in which the play is set is conveyed in the opening act of this text.

There is some degree of irony, then, in the cause of conflict within this text being directly associated with that which is so valued: whilst materialism is the prevailingly good and a cause of “happiness”, embracing this same materialism (with charitable objectives, no less) is the ultimate cause of complication and demise – if demise is an appropriate term for the resolution of this text.

In the opening act, Ibsen establishes Nora’s motive in forging her deceased father’s signature: this is done in order to sustain her husband’s life, and spare her dying father from “anxiety and care” which would have stemmed had he been aware of her husband’s illness. It is said by Krogstad that “the law cares nothing about motives”, and claims that the cause of his own social demise was “no more or nothing worse” than the actions taken by Nora. In this, her actions are condemned along with his, and the stage is set for her inevitable “fall” into the same social disrepute which Krogstad now inhabits: her husband confirms as much later in the same act, claiming what was done was done out of necessity, yet later denied – and this, creating a “poisonous” climate for his children.

He goes on, attributing this poison to a “mother’s influence” – something upon which Nora reflects, and apparently accepts: immediately after this conversation ceases, she refuses to see her “little ones” which are begging to be let into the room.

A concern of this play established here is the notion of guidance by parental figures: this is also echoed in the closing act of the play, however the framework and grounds for later comment are established here, as the audience is presented with the three Helmer children being cared for by their nurse – the relationship between the children and Nora parallels that of Torvald and his wife. This serves as a dual criticism, both of the apparent lack of involvement between children and their traditional mentors, and also in likening the relationship between husband and wife (in this circumstance) to that between a parent and a child: Torvald’s continually refers to his wife as being “little”, as to a child.

The belittling attitude adopted by Torvald towards Nora persists throughout the play, with his likening her to an object which is his possession – “You can’t deny it, my dear little Nora.… It’s a sweet little spendthrift, but she uses up a deal of money.” (emphasis added) – later, towards the close of the act, Torvald apparently takes some pleasure in saying to Nora “Aha! so my obstinate little woman is obliged to get someone to come to her rescue?” when she requests his advice: her motive in this is apparent to the audience (she wishes to placate her husband), and the advice required is trivial – this hints that perhaps Nora is capable of greater control and depth than previously thought: in the words of American feminist Emma Goldman, “Down deep in the consciousness of Nora there evidently slumbers personality and character, which could come into full bloom only through a great miracle—not the kind Nora hopes for, but a miracle just the same.”

To the audience, Nora’s concern at this point is primarily for her husband and children: there is no notable sense of self in her consternation with regard to Krogstad’s threats. This is reflected not only in her past actions (specifically, the manner in which she concealed the source of funds for their holiday to Italy from her husband and father), but also in her immediate concerns – she recognises a threat from Krogstad, and responds by speaking of her husband: “If my husband does get to know of it, of course he will at once pay you what is still owing, and we shall have nothing more to do with you.” Her concerns are not for the implications for herself at any point in this first act. Later, when Torvald asserts that the cause of moral corruption is from the mother, Nora responds by shunning her children, in her fear of what she may do to them.

She believes her husband implicitly, not thinking to question him: she is, as the title of the play implies, a doll, stuck in a doll’s house, manipulated by others. The opening act establishes this environment, her domestic prison, and sets the stage for her inner turmoil and subsequent escape from the strictures and expectations of society in the closing lines of this play. Through the development of Nora’s character, and gradual revelation of “truth” opposing society, Ibsen annunciates his concerns and oppositions to accepted values, both in the opening act, and further throughout the play.

Despite what too many geeks would tell you, there is life beyond the Internet. My physical address is just as important to me as other addresses, although certainly less often visited. Having said that, the circumstances which brought me to worry about such things can be attributed to geek effects, specifically, my ownership of domain names. Bugger.

Does that make me as sad as I thought it did but moments after? Screw the bank, my school, friends and whoever else has my address! What about my Whois records!?

This’d be easier to resolve if I knew where I’m moving to in however many weeks time it is now — my present nightmare isn’t living in a Self-Storage facility (heh, taking the “Self” part of “Self-Storage” a little too literally, perhaps), but rather having to temporarily receive mail at such a location! What do I do? Is it easier just to hope that I don’t get any correspondence of substance for a few weeks in limbo, and leave a forwarding address, hoping nothing too urgent arrives? Or should I send people “DON’T SEND ME MAIL!!!” messages for the week preceding the great traversal to the as-yet-undefined new place of residence?

Perhaps I should leave a scanner behind, and request the new owners email letters to me. Hmm. The geek options are always the most appealing…