-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Really tired of this bug in OS X where if I sleep my laptop, wake it up, sleep it again without authenticating, the next time I wake it and do auth, it will go back to sleep. Usually it resets the brightness to the lowest level as well.
If someone could fix it, that'd be super kthx.
A couple years ago Dan Engler discovered a small piece of madness in the "Young Steve Jobs" beanie. This amounted to a topless Steve Jobs button on a beanie. Propeller optional. He threatened to send me one for a while, but I beat him to the punch.
He vowed eventual horrific revenge which never actually came to pass.
(Check out Steve's tats! Damn, yo! All Henry Rollins and shit.)
Just finished House of Leaves. It took me long enough to really Get It. It wasn't until Navy is in the house, burning the book for light as he reads it, page by page... 736 pages minus the 26 he read presumably before going back into the house.
That was when it all finally clicked.
Often I get annoyed by the epiphany, figuring out the "trick" of a story.
But even figuring it out (and having it all confirmed reading the mother's letters in the appendix), there was still a number of levels left, a lot of complexity still there.
The annoying text layout being explained as it was was also very satisfying.
I am surprised by how much I enjoyed this.
And Poe's Haunted seems so much... more now.
Something I caught... on p. 320, first paragraph:
"Regrettably, Tom fails to stop at a sip. A few hours later he has finished off the whole fifth as well as half a bottle of wine. He might have spent all night drinking had exhaustion not caught up with me."
Typo? An ommission by Zampano? Johnny unable to not transpose "me" for "him" out of guilt for what happened to Lude?
Questions! Go MZD.
My sleep pattern seems to have been designed by a narcoleptic.
Started reading Homicide: A Year on the Killing Streets. I haven't read true crime in something like a decade, since before that silly phase where I wanted to be a Fed shrink, but I'm enjoying this a lot. Simon knows how to write, and he definitely knows how to write cops.
I've spent the last week coding... writing the front-end for our net management system in Catalyst, which is, how do you say, super awesome. My only problem so far was seriously lackwit on my part... getting JOINs going in Class::DBI. The author of CDBI::Plugin::DeepAbstractSearch sorted me out. While I'm not using his module, he did point in the right direction. And by "point in the right direction" I mean he spelled it out with example code.
chansen on #catalyst is talking about how arbitrary SQL and paging/search/count is going to be in the next revision of CDBI::Sweet, which will make my life much easier once I hand this code off to someone who isn't me.
Hopefully this week will see a complete featureset port from the currently used code, along with authentication and roles so the help desk people can use the same db we do. That bit doesn't look all that hard.
Next bit will be moving everything out of the front-end code into a set of libraries so I can write different interfaces, etc, for it. Though I suppose in theory I could write a Curses/CLI View for Catalyst... eh. :-)
After that will be porting all the SNMP management code. That will be entertaining.
Didn't mean to geek all over the place. Oh well.
So about sleeping... fell asleep around 1900, I guess. Woke up at 2330. Watched some Adult Swim, went to Wawa (Bashir put out another box of sunflower seeds, so I can stop chewing on my fucking fingers while reading), sat on irk.
Need to work on the crowley.mnet transfer tomorrow... the box I got (via ejp via craigslist) has been not very happy. I think I burnt out one of the procs when I didn't check to make sure everything was seated properly after unpacking it... just turned it on. Genius. Left it that way for a day, it dropped itself... Genius, indeed.
Just a P3, though. Cheap. Still pretty annoying. I had to hack out the SCSI backplane, too, which also grates. I like SCSI root disks, but there was just no way to fit IDE in the second drive bay. Ah well... hopefully that will be resolved tomorrow.
Sorry, Dan, Rosetta don't do Classic. But since it's just an emulator anyway, who cares?
Debian Sarge was also released today.
My dad called to ask me a question about Fight Club, and then my mom asked me about Perl.
Either Hell froze over or someone has left a cheese sandwich to melt on the Reality Machine.
Blame solios for the freakin' /. link.
< mdxi> Dear OpenOffice:
< mdxi> Fuck You.
< mdxi> everyone knows why OOo isn't on OS X yet.
< mdxi> because no one has bothered to make it be
< mdxi> everyone is busy charging $35 for their dashboard widgets
Got bored, uploaded the archiving script for resync.sh, the silly little backup script I wrote for DCI. It's not much of anything, but it Works.
It should be smarter on a number of levels, but... eh.
I vaguely recall a couple #dotnet'ers using it, I think, or else I probably wouldn't care.
Well, it was news to me, anyway.
<@andyg> anybody around? what's the best way to detect what engine you're running under?
< bda> [Wed Jun 8 20:16:33 2005] [catalyst] [debug] Loaded engine "Catalyst::Engine::Apache::MP13::Apreq"
< bda> ?
<@andyg> from within the code I mean
<@andyg> I'm writing a plugin that I want to have disable itself if it's under HTTP::Daemon
< bda> Check to see where that debug msg is generated?
* bda has no idea, obviously.
< HCoyote> checking $c->engine looks like it returns the current engine
< bda> haha.
<@andyg> oh nice
< bda> Shit, things aren't allowed to be that easy.
< HCoyote> well ... I had to read the perldoc for Catalyst.
< bda> HCoyote: Go back and find the obfuscated method name hidden under six layers of crap.
< HCoyote> (for that ... no idea if it works)
< bda> haha.
< bda> Goddamnit!
< purl> somebody said goddamnit was where the fuck is dorian's martini?
< bda> Sane AND documented!
< HCoyote> now, if it tells you whether you're running on a shitty v6 or a hemi v8 ... I"ll be impressed.
< HCoyote> I've been told I have a knack for finding weird, not-very-obvious shit like that.
< bda> haha.
Goddamn mdxi was talking about freshmeat.net last night so of course I spent 30 minutes going through the last few days entries. Here's the wheat. The chaff is still covered in shit somewhere.
Another night with three hours of sleep, woken by confused birdsong at 0430.
Been following this same routine for what seems like a year now, running myself ragged for why I don't know, and seeming to accomplish only a fraction of what I should be.
Just finished The Professor and the Madman, which on the heels of Homicide might suggest some sort of new trend in my reading habits... I tend to stray from anything resembling histories, though I've said on numerous occasions that I wouldn't mind reading up on a few of those war things.
The book tells dual stories: On one hand you have the tragic tale (though certainly less tragic than some so afflicted) of the schizophrenic Dr Minor, a retired Army surgeon who served during the Civil War, and on the other, you have the building of the Oxford English Dictionary. The editor during this period, Dr. James Murray, plays a significant role in the book as well -- one I wouldn't have minded reading more about. Especially his earlier years, teaching himself whatever caught his fancy.
A relatively short read, clocking in under three hundred pages, I was somewhat surprised by how much I enjoyed both the story of the mad Dr. Minor and the OED. I'm certainly not someone who has ever just opened up a dictionary and started reading words, and while I often find myself wondering how in the world a certain word or phrase ever came to be, I haven't ever made a jump into actually looking it up.
Overall, The Professor and the Madman is simply a facet into the 70+ years the OED took to get published, but one that can be used, no doubt, to generate further interest in its history, and into the period of history which caused it to come to be.
Worthwhile, pleasant, quick read.
(Total books read this year: 25. bah!)
I don't know why this never occurred to me before, but henceforth when I venture into the steamy, smelly pit of the restroom, my iPod will accompany me.
It shall be my rod and my staff against the ass-cheek-rippling flatulence and the awful gurgling intestinal noises of my thankfully anonymous cow-orkers. Who, ready to send the pre-processed fast-food cardboard meat they devoured not ten minutes earlier into the Stygian abyss, stumble like a herd of drunken elephants into the next stall over.
It shall be to the glorious sounds of Flogging Molly, Johnny Cash or Dido that I do my, as they say in "tha hood", bidness, not to the grunting and wheezing of some desk drone just begging for a coronary on this, their only Throne.
Never again shall I be assaulted by the aural destruction of someone else's Big Bomb Burrito, their super-deluxe-with-double-onions Burger of Doom.
Never again shall the sounds of someone's extra-pepperoni power-lunch infect my ears, for the rasterbated croonery of Trent Reznor shall hold me and protect me.
I bow before you, iPod, who holds my hand in the darkness when the flourescents flicker, and breathes cool air to cool my brain in the humidity between the gunmetal grey stall walls.
I've got no home in this world
Luck and time
I've got no hope in this world
And you are not mine
There are no colors in your eyes
There's no sunshine in your skies
There's no race, only the prize
There is no tomorrow, only tonight
It's the difference
You can cover the world with your thumb
Still so big, so bright, so beautiful
Push...down on me
Push...down on me
Push...your weight down
Your weight...down on me
Your weight (down on me)
When your weight falls...down on me
Be the heavy hand
The mortal sand
Be the weight, heart, down on me
Pretty nuts. Nothing like that ever happened in the decade plus I was living there. The article doesn't state why the jet went down, either, though one of the witnesses states it appeared the pilot did everything he could to get the fighter into an open area.
Breaking weblogging rule #1. Posting while drunk drunk drunk.
If you are an ex-girlfriend who has left me alone for months and months, now would have been the time to send me an email out of fucking nowhere full of fucked up shit that would have made me drunkenly go "Wuh tuh fuh?" Alternatively you could have called me at the bar "just to say hi".
Went to two bars tonight after dinner, with two different groups of people (well, save for Harry and Nick, the subset of the range which remained true throughout). Not so drunk that when the two girls asked the one guy what his first sexual experience was, the veto card was not cast, and so Nick K and I (that's Philly Nick by way of Wisconsin, not Yuma Nick K, who remains, I have no doubt, hilarious and super cool) jetted. Harry took off perhaps a half hour before that fateful question.
Theatre people. Whaddyagonnado.
At the first bar, since it was suddenly and no doubt miraculously (Hail Jesus) nice out, we sat outside at a plastic table, weighted, as the 'tender informed us, with a six hundred pound of concrete, to the sidewalk. It also sported a large umbrella (or, as Andrew insists on referring to them, "brelly") which Nick was forced to remove less the table be removed from us.
It should be noted that we went to dinner first, and that Sophy had started drinking far before the rest of us, as a "department happy hour" she had organized. She was, of course, the first to ditch. Pft. Tiny little Asian girl can't hold her liquor!
We were also asked by a man, who insisted that we not be afraid that simply because he was black, he was not a criminal, but he did have four daughters and a wife, all of whom were HIV positive (he himself having full-blown AIDS) and that while he was not asking for money, if we could buy him a sandwich...
As with all outings where this occurs, things are quiet until someone regales the rest of the group with the latest scam another homeless (or whatever?) persona ran past them for their perusal.
I related the experience Andrew and I had at 30th St. Station the other day as well, in which a very large man, who I didn't get a very good look at, walked behind us for several minutes singing about how he was going to fuck us in the ass like little bitches. Indeed, "fuck you in the stanky". And when I stopped to tap MAC, he sang out, "You gonna need money when you fuck with us." This city.
Cab ride home was uneventful. iPod continues to improve my life in that I no longer feel that it is rude to ignore the cabbie when he is talking on his cell phone, about gods know what. I maintain that cabbies live much more involved lives than pretty much anyone else, or that perhaps they have some sort of cellular IRC analog, like #cabbies4chat.
Time for the sleeping.
Tomorrow hopefully Batman Returns, with many humans who I enjoy, at various and sometimes entirely copious levels, being around.
Drunk drunk drunk.
Drunk. Blogging. Sensing a trend?
Tired of sitting three feet from you, and saying nothing.
So tired of the pathetic silence that I had to drink it down. No doubt Adam will tell this story over and over.
Not that I blame him.
Pathetic. Drunk. Blogging
It's okay,t hough. I'll probably juts delete it tomorrow.e
This is what happens when somoene fucking plays the fuckign Church "Under the Milky Way" and remeber
1) sitting under the stars in 1999, with Her next to you
2) pulling to the side of the road with ryan and dan p. and just staring up at the milky way
You'll never see that here, on the east coast. It's a desert thing. A sand and sky thing. Nothing but dust and stars and light in the middle fo nowhere with nothing but Radiohead whispering to you from the truck speakers.
Translate that to gin and jaeger and tears and ...
PHiladelphia. Drunk. BLogging.
How far can you fall, eh?
Somedays when you can almost feel the small of her back under your fingers, smell of her hair, cynical eyes across from you, and those days you just want to go home. Dust and starlight and the middle of nowhere.
Just gvie up and go home.
...well, today was certainly fun.
As an aside, Batman Begins was really really good.
Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty,
Sound of their breath fades with the light.
I think about the loveless fascination,
Under the Milky Way tonight.
Lower the curtain down in Memphis,
Lower the curtain down all right.
I got no time for private consultation,
Under the Milky Way tonight.
Wish I knew what you were looking for.
Might have known what you would find.
Wish I knew what you were looking for.
Might have known what you would find.
And it's something quite peculiar,
Something that's shimmering and white.
Leads you here despite your destination,
Under the Milky Way tonight
Pretty sure that was the oddest dream I've ever had... just playing some non-sensical version of word association for what felt like the majority of the night. Obviously when I woke up I couldn't remember any of the words, or any possible themes there might have been in the unlikely even they existed at all.
Had to go to Jersey yesterday morning as, get this, svscan died on a client box. No idea how as djbware logs leave a fair amount to be desired, and I couldn't even get at console to check readproctitle ps output (damn thing wouldn't eat a keyboard). Anyway, it was a trivial fix, but it was definitely just another example of how sad ssh gets when DNS goes away. That was actually supposed to have been rectified months and months ago, but the registrar entries apparently never got changed. Sucks.
Bernie dropped me off at Drexel once we got out of Jersey. Started working on more cognition authentication stuff, and getting a glimmer of how the priv system is actually going to have to be more of a framework than anything else. Andrew and I went to Mad4Mex, where service was shockingly fast for once, and we talked mostly about media, as is typical. The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. Docs, notepad, some coding.
Andrew and I had our semi-traditional braindump once 1700 hit, and then I hopped a cab from 30th St. up to Mugshots to meet Michelle. Mugshots is across the street from Eastern State Penitentiary, which is this gothic castle given over to tourists and art installations.
Place is falling apart, but from the outside it's still an imposing edifice. It's rare that she and I get any face time where I can actually seem to manage to open my mouth, so we shot the shit for three hours or so, then walked back to her apartment. Explained my un-reasoning for my behavior Friday night. Said all I needed to say, I think, and it certainly wasn't much, but I can already tell it was enough. It's odd how you can go into a conversation knowing exactly how it's going to go, and still feel relief when you come out the other side.
Sometimes my brain gets stuck on something, and just won't let go. Emotions just go all Oroborus on me, and instead of dealing with them I mix alcohols and make myself blind, stupid and sick.
Insert just about any Everclear lyrics here.
Today I need to make some lists defining lists of things I need to do, because kids: don't work hard, work recursively, and keep it all as meta as possible.
Adam O'Donnell: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuneiform_script
Adam O'Donnell: The Cuneiform script has been accepted for inclusion in a future version of Unicode:
(883 characters) "Sumero-Akkadian Cuneiform"
(103 characters) "Cuneiform Numbers"
Bryan Allen: ....That's fuckin' great.
Bryan Allen: I can't wait until Unicode supports hieroglyphics. That'll be really useful for all the ancient Egyptians I need to write localizations for.
Explains why the crazy ones always got off the best, I suppose.
<kitten-> I imagine it's typical Hollywood schlock that could have been spewed from the Powerbook of the laziest hack in a matter of hours.
<bda> So I wrote it.
<kitten-> You're not a hack.
<kitten-> You *aspire* to be a hack.
<bda> That sucks.
ugh. Ate too much for lunch, was up too early writing too much code, so! Just woke up from a short nap. Dreamed I was stuck in my old pick-up with some Indian guy who was renting the guest room of my parents house, with my little sister and two of her friends in the back seat (king cab). This is out west somewhere, near some business park, and we're waiting in this two mile long queue to get on the exit ramp. The Indian guy, he gets tired of waiting so cuts up onto the park and of course everyone starts honking at him.
"Dude, you can't do that. Another thing in America is: You wait your goddamn turn or people fuckin' sue your ass."
(This is a reference to something too vague to properly recall which happened earlier in the dream... at my parent's house, dealing with some serial killer who looked like Nerdy Tobey McGuire. He should have been in the truck as we all left together, but eh, dreams.)
Anyway, so we're back to waiting in the line for the exit, and we pull up next to a bus stop. Where Britney Fucking Spears is waiting in sweat pants and a sweater-thing, not looking too skanked out. So I strike up a conversation with Britney Fucking Spears and eventually ask her if she wants to come out with my friend Harry (I can only laugh at imagining Harry and Britney Fucking Spears hanging out). She hesitates for a moment, then gives me her digits, which I proceed to write on my arm in giant bubble numbers. A few seconds later, the area code has already vanished, Back to the Future-vanishing-limb-style. Britney Fucking Spears says that for some reason she thought I looked familiar. When pressed as to why I would look in any way familiar to Britney Fucking Spears, I am interrupted by:
Cut to just before I wake up and I'm explaining to Harry what "je ne c'est quoi" means, how "ne" is just an operator much like "!" in most scripting languages.
I stumble up the stairs to Pete's room, and explain this (or most of it) to my roommate with the extra-special outlook on life, and he says "Man, you need some ass."
Me, I just figured "no more pizza before nap."
(There was another, earlier part of the dream, before the serial killer bit. I was stuck in some bubble universe, much like that opening sequence in Abre Los Ojos or Vanilla Sky, no one else around in my old hometown.
Whatever was running the universe would randomly suck people in from the real world and dump them here. My interactions with these people would solve, or fail to solve, some equation the universe controller was attempting to figure out. This bit didn't really go anywhere, so I didn't mention it initially.
The most amusing bit, I thought, was how when I went to take the trash out, it went not in the giant green stereotypical suburanite trashcan but in the cab of my goddamn pick-up truck. There was some lame dream-joke about garbage collection processes I'm just glad I don't remember.
Miss a night of exercises, such as they are, and it's back to four hours of useless sleep.
Figured out the major plot point that's been evading me for system for the last, well, two years. Bit of a cop-out, but it works. Started rewriting it last night, so the Chicago stuff comes first, then L.A., then the first bits with the narrator, who still needs a name.
Got the first draft of this here book review ready for the DOJ last night... need to throw it by a couple people. Meh, etc.