Function Point Estimation Methods: a Comparative Overview

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FUNCTION POINT ESTIMATION METHODS: A COMPARATIVE OVERVIEW Roberto Meli, Luca Santillo Data Processing Organization, E-Mail: - ABSTRACT The appearance of the Function Point technique has allowed the ICT community to increase significantly the practice of software measurement, with respect to the use of the traditional “Lines of Code approach”. A FP count, however, requires a complete and detailed level of descriptive documentation, like the Functional Specifications of the software system under measurement, to be performed.

• software system under measurement
• sum of the quantities of ei
• software application
• standard count
• fp
• parameters
• estimation
• size
• methods
• method

Sujets

• Exposé
• Delphi
• Method
• Software
• Estimation
• System
• Standard
• Parameter

Informations

• Publié par: orzi
• Nombre de lectures: 25
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Road To Life
Anton Makerenko
A CONVERSATION WITH THE CHIEF OF THE GUBERNIA DEPARTMENT OF PUBLIC EDUCATION
1
September of the year 1920 I was summoned by the Chief of the Gubernia Department of Public Education.
"Look here, my friend," he said. "I'm told you're raising hell about this here...er...this...gubsovnarkhoz" [Gubernia Economic
Council.--Tr.] place you've been allotted for your school!"
"It's enough to make anyone raise hell," I replied. "Raise hell? I could sit down and cry! Is that a Craft School? A reeking,
filthy hole like that? Is that your idea of a school?"
"Oh, yes! I know what you'd like! Us to erect a new building, put in new desks, and you just move in and do your stuff! But
it's not the building that matters, my friend--what matters is the creation of the new man, and you educational chaps do nothing
but carp. 'The building won't do, and the tables aren't right!' You haven't got the ... er ...spirit, the revolutionary spirit, you
know. You're one of those White-collar workers, that's what you are!"
"Well, I don't wear a white collar, anyhow!"
"All right--you don't! But you're all a pack of lousy intellectuals. Here am I, looking everywhere for a man--and there's such
a great work to be done! These homeless kids have increased and multiplied till you can hardly move for them in the streets,
and they even break into the houses. And all I get for an answer is: 'It's your job, "it's the responsibility of the Department of
Public Education'... all right, then, what about it?" "What about what?"
"You know very well what! No one wants to take it on! Whoever I ask, they turn me down--'No, thanks--we don't want to
get our throats cut!' All you chaps want is your comfortable study and your darling books ... you and your eyeglasses!"
I laughed.
"Now it's my glasses!"
"That's just what I say--you only want to read your books, and when you're confronted with a real live human being, you
can only squall: 'He'll cut my throat--your real live human being!' Intellectuals!"
The Chief of the Gubernia Department of Public Education kept darting angry glances at me from his small black eyes, and
showering imprecations through his walrus moustache upon the whole of the teaching fraternity.
But he was wrong, the Chief of the Gubernia Department of Public Education.
"Now, listen!" I began.
"What's the good of listening? What can you have to tell me? I know what you're going to say: 'If only we could do like they
do over there... er ...in America! ...' I've just read a book about it--someone shoved it on to me. Reforma--...what d'you call
them? Oh, yes, reformatories! Well, we haven't got any here yet!"
"Do let me say something!"
"Go ahead, then! I'm listening!"
"Before the Revolution there were ways of dealing with waifs, weren't there? They had reform schools for juvenile
delinquents...." "That won't do for us! What they had before the Revolution won't do for us!"
'Quite right! So we have to find new methods for the creation of the new man."
"New methods! You're right there!"
"And no one knows where to begin."
"And you don't either?"
"And I don't!"
"There's some chaps right here in this Gubernia Department of Public Education who know!"
"But they don't mean to do anything about it."
"You're right they don't--damn them! You're right, there!"
"And if I were to take it up, they'd make things impossible for me. Whatever I did, they'd say: 'That's not the way!"
"They would, the swine! You're right, there!"
"And you'd believe them--not me!"
"No, I wouldn't! I'd say: 'You should have done it yourselves!'"
"And supposing I really do make a muddle?"
The Chief of the Gubernia Department of Public Education banged on the table with his fist.
"You and your 'make-a-muddle'! What are you driving at? D'you think I don't understand? Muddle or no muddle, the work's got to be done. We'll have to judge by results. The main thing isn't just a colony for juvenile delinquents, but you know--
er...social re-education. We've got to create the new man, you know--our sort of man. That's your job! Anyhow, we've all got
to learn, and you'll learn. I like the way you said to my face, 'I don't know!' Very well, then!"
"And have you got a place? After all, we can't do without buildings, you know!"
"There is a place! A wonderful place, old man! There used to be a reform school for juvenile delinquents in that very place.
It's quite near--about six kilometres. And it's fine there--woods, fields ...you'll be keeping cows!"
"And what about people?"
"I suppose you think I keep them in my pocket! Perhaps you'ld like a car, too!"
"And money?"
Money we've got! Here you are!"
He produced a bundle of notes from the drawer of his desk.
"A hundred and fifty million. This is for all sorts of organizational expenses, and any furniture you need."
"Are the cows included?" "The cows can wait. There aren't any windowpanes. You draw us up an estimate for the coming
year."
"It's a bit awkward, somehow. Oughtn't I to go and have a look at the place first?"
"I've done that! D'you think you'll see thing I missed? All you need to do is to move in!"
"All right!" I said, with a sigh of relief, for I was convinced at the moment that nothing could be worse than those rooms of
the Economic Council. "You're a trump!" Said the Chief of the Gubernia Department of Public Education. "Go ahead! It's a glorious cause!"
2
THE INGLORIOUS BEGINNINGS OF THE GORKY COLONY
Six kilometres from Poltava, springing out of sandy hillocks, there is a pine forest of some 200 hectares, bordered by the smooth, endlessy
gleaming cobblestones of the highroad to Kharkov. In a corner of a 40-hectare clearing in the forest, a perfect square is formed by a group of
uncompromisingly symmetrical brick buildings. This is to he the new colony for juvenile delinquents.
The sandy, sloping courtyard merges in a wide glade extending towards a reed-fringed lake, on the opposite bank of which
may be discerned the dwellings and wattle fences of a kulak farmstead. Beyond these, etched against the sky, is a straight line
of ancient birch trees and a huddle of thatched roofs.
Before the Revolution there had been a colony for juvenile delinquents in this place, but in 1917 its inmates all ran away,
leaving behind them extremely faint vestiges of an educational system. Judging by the contents of the dilapidated registers, the
educational staff had been chiefly recruited from retired non-commissioned officers, whose main duty it was never to take
their eyes off their charges, either during work or recreation, and at night to sleep next to them in an adjoining room.
According to the local peasantry, the educational methods of these tutors were not very subtle, being in practice limited to
that simplest of all pedagogical apparatus--the rod.
Material traces of the former colony were still further to seek, its neighbours having carried and carted away to their own
barns and outhouses everything in the way of furniture, stores, and workshop equipment on which they could lay their hands.
Among other valuables they even removed the orchard. But there was not the slightest indication of a spirit of vandalism in all
this. The fruit trees had not been cut down, but simply uprooted and replanted elsewhere, the windowpanes not broken, but
taken carefully out of their frames, the doors hacked by no ruthless axe, but gently lifted off their hinges, the stoves removed brick by brick. The only article of furniture left was a sideboard in the apartment of the former director.
"How is it that the sideboard was left behind?" I asked Luka Semyonovich Verkhola, a neighbour who had come from the
farmstead to have a look at the new bosses.
"Well, you see, our people had no use for this cupboard. It wouldn't have gone through their doors--too high, and too wide.
And there would be no point in taking it to pieces."
The sheds were crammed with odd articles, but there was nothing of any practical use in them. Following a hot scent I
managed to retrieve a few things which had been stolen quite recently. Thus I recovered an old seed-drill, eight rickety joiners'
benches, a brass bell, and a thirty-year-old cob, an erstwhile fiery Kirghiz steed.
Kalina Ivanovich, manager of supplies, who was already on the spot when I arrived, greeted me with the question:
"Are you the pedagogical director?"
I was soon to learn that Kalina Ivanovich spoke with a Ukrainian accent, although he refused, on principle, to recognize the
Ukrainian language. There were many Ukrainian words in his lexicon, and he pronounced his g's in the southern manner.