Working Out the Bugs
SAFARI 2 is fairly stable from your point of view, but the backend is still a bit of a mess due to two transitional factors and one other factor:
- It still is recovering from the switch to MySQL from a plain text “flat file” database.
- It still has the remnants of the old issue-based organizing structure.
- I knew a lot less about Perl when I started writing thing thing in 1999 than I do now, six and a half years later.
I promised Ed a copy of SAFARI for his blog, and I have several other sites that need it as well, so I've been trying to hack away at the final bits of basic administration interface bugs. There are infrastructure problems still, but so long as I get it so that there is a stable database format and a usable article posting interface, I can worry about the rest even after I start doing multiple deployments of the code base.
Just a bit more work, I think. There are some features I'd like to add, but I'm trying to distinguish between “must have” features and “I want” features. I am also trying to distinguish between ones that will require reorganizing the system and ones that I can plan for now and easily “snap in” later.
Hopefully, I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Wombat Pine Pro
An Unfamiliar Name Proves Intriguing
Continuing the fall keyboard review season with the interesting Wombat Pine Pro:
Mechanical keyboard makers generally fall into two broad categories: established gaming peripheral companies and a series of upstarts, like Keychron and Epomaker, focused purely on mechanical boards. Wombat Keyboards is neither and, like the company, its Pine Pro keyboard feels like a unique entry into a market flooded with very similar offerings.
Wittenberg, Part I
The Rev. Doug Matthews sat in his office chair intently studying the computer screen that glowed in front of him. Rose leaned in the door way and sighed. “You're not working on that again, are you, Pastor Doug?”
He nodded slowly and turned in his chair, which produced an uncomfortable squeak. “I'm only going to be here for a few more minutes. Go home — it's past five as it is.”
Rose studied him uncomfortably. “It's just, I don't like you staying here all hours of the night. If I leave before you finish, your liable to stay here late into the night. Come on, Doug,” she said, a little firmer than she had intended.
Doug smiled. “Just a few more minutes, really. You can go, I won't stay past 6:00. I promise.” Rose waved a hand at him and walked off to get her coat. She was a dedicated secretary, perhaps a bit overzealous about his bad habit of staying in the office late, but that was for his own good, he knew. He heard the main office door open and then shut. Good, now he could finish.
He turned back to the text he had brought up onto his screen. Something seemed different about this passage. He leaned closer, taking his glasses off to get a better view. His mind went blank for a moment, and then the realization struck him. This was it. There it was, right in front of him. He spun around in his chair so hard it nearly sent him onto the floor; he dashed up and grabbed his coat in one fluid motion. If he was right, this was it — after nearly fifteen years, he had found it. And not a moment too soon. He had to move quickly.
He raced out of his office into the reception area but stopped when he heard an odd sound. It sounded like someone was sawing something. The power went out, turning the room an eerie amberish color as the emergency lighting sprang into action. Doug's mind whirled as he realized what was going on. It all makes sense — I have to get out of here. Someone else was in the building — that much he was certain of — probably down by the main circuit breaker box in the basement, if the sawing noises had given any indication.
He raced for the door and ran out into the cold, rainy mid-winter night. As he ran to his car, he flipped open his cell phone and called the police. He had no time to waste, but leaving the church to the devices of whoever it was that had broken in was not prudent. He hastily reported the information on the intruder and slammed the phone shut to the protestations that he shouldn't leave. Time was short, and much as he might like to stay, it simply was not an option.
Doug Matthews sped off into the dark wet night with a sinking feeling. He just hoped he'd still be capable of having a sinking feeling in a few hours.
Wittenberg, Part 3
Continuing from here the series started here.
Father Thomas sat at his kitchen table, drinking his coffee as he waited for the police to arrive. He let his head rest in his hands as the aroma of the coffee tried — but failed — to make him feel any better. “Think Scott, think, who would possibly attack your church?” The thought whirled around in his mind, much faster than the lazy ticking of the clock in the background.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Twelve fifteen. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The sound lulled him for a moment, before a firm knock on the parsonage's front door brought him to and he lurched up and towards the door. He reached the door and it opened after a slight complaint. Two stern people stood at the door, a rather short man and a somewhat taller woman. The woman spoke first, “Hi, you must be Father Thomas. Agent Cassandra Myers and this” she motioned toward the man, “is Agent Mark Douglas.”
“Come in, come in.” Thomas motioned in and toward warm light that spilled down the hall from the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I had just poured myself a cup before you knocked.”
Douglas nodded. “If it wouldn't be too much trouble, sure. We saw the door, or I should say, the remains of the door, on the way in. You say you heard a chain saw?”
“Yes, I had just crossed through the passageway — you see, we have a passageway that connects the chapel to the parsonage — and was preparing to make my evening coffee when I heard this noise. I'm not sure what I was going to do — I'm really not sure at all! — but I heard this saw like noise and took off for the chapel. It didn't take me long to figure out where it was coming from.”
Myers frowned. “Mmhmm. But, you didn't see the perpetrator?”
“No, by the time I reached the narthex —”
“The north what,” Douglas asked.
“The narthex. The lobby, if you will.”
“Ah, ok. So right by the door.”
“That's right. Anyway, by the time I reached the door, it wasn't really there to reach.” Thomas chuckled wearily. “I must say, for all the things I feared might be stolen out of the chapel, the front door was never really one of them.”
“What kind of door was it? Was it of any value?”
Thomas poured two more cups of coffee and set them down by the agents' places at the table. “Uh, well, really nothing special. It was wood. I guess it could have been worth something — it was, as far as I know original to the chapel, which would make it about seventy five years old. But, other than a little carving, it really wasn't anything special.”
The three puzzled over the situation, each staring at the warm coffee as if searching for some answer written in it. Thomas sighed. So much for peacefulness. He looked around the kitchen and as his eyes surveyed the contours of the molding around the cabinets he was further reminded of how dear this little, typically unexciting parish was to him. This little dose of excitement was already more than he was ever really hoping for.
The silence drifted around, all but palpable until the agents' walkie-talkies interrupted. “Agents Myers and Douglas, please respond. We have a third reported church vandalization.” Thomas glanced up at the two agents incredulously. “Third?”
“This is Agent Myers. What is it this time?”
The walkie-talkie phone emitted its signature beep. “Uh, according to the call we received, it's another door.”
Father Thomas let his head again rest in his hands. Someone is going around stealing church doors? This was going to be a long night.
Wittenberg, Part 2
Continuing from Part I.
It was so quiet that even the proverbial church mouse was not stirring around St. Francis of Assisi Chapel. Father Thomas, who had just plodded through the passageway that connected the church with the parsonage mused about the simple blessing of a warm passageway between his office and home. Though he had initially resented when the bishop had placed him in the little country parish, it did have its perks.
He gazed out the window of his home and looked down the hill where the moonlight danced on the water of small pond that the church owned. A smile crossed his face — it would only be a few months before parish children were once again playing in the pond, seeking a short respite from the heat. Life was good here.
His reflection caught his attention in the windowpane. His hair was almost entirely gray now, and the light silver rims of his glasses twinkled back at him. He sighed. He was growing old; he had originally intended much more exciting adventures for his life, but now he was known as the kindly, quiet cleric whose big secret was that he would sometimes sneak down to the pond to fish for a little while when he needed a break from the problems of the parish.
He shuffled over to his small kitchen and pulled an old coffee filter out of his Mr. Coffee. He opened open a small box that held filters and put a new one in, then took a few tablespoons of decaf coffee and placed it in the filter. A little coffee would be nice before heading to bed. Thomas then filled the coffee pot with water and started pouring it into the coffee maker. It was only then that he heard the peculiar sound coming from the chapel. It sounded like a chain saw.
Not usually a particularly brave man, the recollection of the simple enjoyment he received from the parish apparently had instilled a momentary protectiveness of his parish and he dashed over to the door that led to the passageway he had just passed through and unbolted the lock. The sound seemed to be coming from the front of the nave. He passed quickly from the apse and glanced down the aisles of pews. No, the sound was coming from the narthex. He rushed down the center aisle and pushed hard against the old, wooden doors that led to the entryway. The sound had ceased, and that's when he realized what it had been. As he stood in a stupor of a particularly confused form of shock, he heard the squeal of a car not far off. A cold breeze caused him to shiver. By the time he came back to his senses, the vehicle was long gone.
His hands trembled as he turned around and retraced his steps, trying to figure out precisely how he'd explain the situation to the police.
Wittenberg Returns
Agent Mark Douglas watched his partner Cassandra Myers as she continued to hold a lively conversation with the department's chief investigative officer. He smiled a sad, melancholy smile. If he let his eyes close part way, as they were apt to do this time of night, the blurred figure of Myers reminded him of Jess Hudgins. Hudgins had been his best friend through college, often prodding him to finish assignments when he did not feel like it and spending time talking about whatever caught their fancy, as they sat on a bench in the quad. She was, in his estimation, absolutely perfect and he had fallen deeply for her, but though he was apt to offer a compliment, he never volunteered that much too her. She was his dear friend and, well, that he was just fearful to say anything that might wreck that.
Myers had slapped her phone closed at some point, but Douglas was off into the past. Cassandra sighed, why was Douglas always sitting there with a stupid look on his face while she dealt with the idiots back at the office? He was going to have to talk to them next time. She called out his name, but he was oblivious. A little sharper — “Mark!”
He finally came to. “Oh, yes, sorry Cassie, I was just thinking.”
“Yes, I know, thinking, thinking. There's too much of that going on around here! You know who thinks this case isn't really worth having an investigative team on — he wants to chalk it up to small time vandalism! Is he insane?”
“Small time vandalism does seem a bit of a lightweight accusation against someone going from church to church and hacking off their doors. I'm not sure how bad this is, but it is at least odd enough to warrant a little investigation.”
“That's what I told him. He said we'd discuss it in the morning, but we could stay on it for at least a few hours.”
Thomas looked outside from his laptop and noticed that the agents were no longer on the phone. He closed the lid of his laptop and walked out side.
“Wouldn't you too liked to come back in? It is such a nasty night out there,” he said, gesturing towards the glowing light of his kitchen. The agents shrugged and started to walk toward him when a small clicking sound just loud enough to be noticeable came from somewhere near where the front of the church had been vandalized. All three turned and looked toward the gaping hole where the door had been just in time to see a bright flash of light and here a sickening boom. The three were knocked to the ground.
“Skotia Thelossa,” Thomas muttered to himself. “It is going to kill me.”
Withdrawn
I need to get away from distractions for awhile. I have written previously about my desire to write some larger works. Specifically, in October 2004, I wrote that I wanted to write a play and a non-fiction book, among other things. Since then, I have written one very brief and one somewhat longer play (the latter successfully adhering to the Unities, too.). That was a good start, but I have learned a lot since then (and through the experience of writing those works) and I think I know how to write a drama that is quite a bit better than my first attempts. I just need some free time.
Similarly, I have a much better perspective on book writing now. Although I've not even come close to writing a book, I do know clearly what I want to write about and my specific points. I have a lot of the chapters drawn out, so all that I need is time to do research and figure out the best way to explain the points. I'll tip my hat just a bit: the book will be on theology, but aimed at those who don't spend all their time studying theology. Again, I just need some free time.
What I really need is a free multi-day stay down at Big Cedar, on Table Rock Lake, so that I could just spend some time writing my thoughts and doing other writerly things. I need to ditch cell phones and e-mail for a few days too (well, as a sysadmin, I can't really do that, but I can at least limit my contact with such infernal devices).
One of these days.
With Hope
That is not at all how / we thought it was supposed to be We had so many plans for you / we had so many dreams
And now you've gone away / and left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say / and nothing we can do
Can take away the pain / the pain of losing you We can cry with hope / we can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end
We can grieve with hope / because we believe with hope
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We'll see your face again
— Steven Curtis Chapman, With Hope, Speechless
My cousin passed away yesterday, and it is just hard to actually believe. She had been basically fine until about two weeks ago, and had even been improving a bit last week. Unfortunately she went in to a coma last Monday, and tests showed she was basically brain dead, so she was removed from life support. I do not know if she had accepted Jesus prior to her death.
My family has lost a number of people this past year, and it really makes one focus on the brevity of life. It certainly is something that can be snatched away so quickly - it definately should not be taken for granted.
Which brings me to an important point - if you are reading this, and have not come to faith in Christ - I urge you to consider the evidence for Christianity now, and not put it off. If you are already convinced of Jesus' claims but have not accepted him, I urge you to read The Steps to Faith and learn how to be reborn in Him - don't wait until it is too late.
With a Bang
The first day of the semester went wonderfully. I really find “syllabus day” rather enjoyable, because it is an opportunity to start weaving in the basic framework of the course and start the process of getting to know the students. I'm looking forward to day two, come Wednesday.
Windows Gets a New Logo
Sam Moreau posted a piece on Microsoft's “Blogging Windows” blog to show a history of Windows logos and present a new one for Windows 8. The retrospective is enjoyable; the new logo, on the other hand… Well, at least for me, I'll say the jury is still out.
I think I'll actually miss the “Windows Flag.”
