Wed, 28 Apr 2004

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off the matrix

Now I realize that most people find it extremely boring to read blog entries that discuss the blogger's profoundly mundane personal life, but, well, (1) I am clearly not doing this for my vast throngs of readers and (2) I find this situation sufficiently absurd as to warrant comment.

Because my roommate that I hate has skipped town and has shut off the phone and the DSL, I am informationally marooned. I don't even have dial-up, unless I'm willing to resort to using my cel-phone as a modem and spending a small fortune. I don't know what's more pathetic—the fact that I don't have regular Internet access, or the fact that I am so desperate for it.

So now I am sitting in a smoked-filled cafe (yep, that's right, because I'm not in California, it is, in fact, smoke-filled) surfing the net. I'm an addict. I clearly need professional help, but anyone who knows me knows that this is true on many levels.

But what is absurd is the fact that, while I do in fact have a laptop, it has no keyboard. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to spill some water on my laptop and I managed to render the keyboard effectively useless. While about 75% of the keys still worked post-spillage, this 75% did not include vastly useful keys such as "Escape," the letter "E," or the "Delete" key. For a while, I was trying to subsist using the Character Palette and some aggressive mousing manuevers, but this only aggravated my indolently-progressing case of RSI.

So I bought a full-sized keyboard. I admit it. I feel extraordinarily ridiculous pulling up a full-sized keyboard in a crowded cafe. It looks like I've fucking set up shop here. A guy has just looked at me incredulously, asking in amused bewilderment just what the hell happened to my keyboard.

Even more absurd is, because I didn't want to pay $120 to get a new keyboard, I decided to try my luck on E-Bay. Hilariously, the only thing I found was an iBook keyboard from Japan, complete with Kana.

I feel I am approaching the height of my geekdom.

So that's that. At least it forces me to leave the apartment in order to check my e-mail.

18:47:52 28 Apr 2004 > /meta > permalink > 1 comments

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when you see a fork in the road

When I was in 8th grade, our English teacher would give us a prompt every day, and at least 15 minutes to write about it. This is probably the first time I thought about becoming a writer. Sadly, despite the various signs that the universe has given me, and because of my faith in the inevitable heat death of the universe and the odds that favored the outcome that I would become a mediocre writer at best, my path has turned quite bizarrely astray. But sometimes I still dream.

(edited for typos—my brain is seriously turning to mush)

17:46:07 28 Apr 2004 > /soul > permalink > 2 comments

Tue, 27 Apr 2004

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transience

Of course I'll start with a random tangent: I initially mispelled "transience" as "transcience," which is kind of interesting to those sufferring from logophilia. Transcience—that which is beyond knowledge, officially in the zone defined by Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem as that which is true but cannot be expressed as a mathematical truth using the rules of the particular system we are working in.

But, as usual, this is not where I want to go.


What is within me that so demands that the time I spend has a purpose? There is no reason why this should be so. I don't know why I can't just wander pointlessly around this world, trying to live only in the moment. Why can't I just exist like a mayfly: the simple cycle of birth, reproduction, and death. We live, we fuck, we die. The circle of life.

So to be here, in this purgatorial state, how do I know what I should do next? My superego demands that I do something here that I cannot do anywhere else. What that might be, who knows?

I feel like I'm waiting for inspiration while I stand here on the railroad tracks. I know that the train is going to come, but inspiration is another matter.

I wish I could find my equilibrium.

I am, once again, in a state of profound and very basic indecision. The existential crisis upon my back.

A part of me understands that all burdens are, to some extent, voluntary.

There is no reason to stay, but there is no reason to go. Inertia. Stasis. Entropy.

It does not matter.

Seriously though. I'm in a fog. I can't seem to focus. In a metaphysical sense, everything seems to be fluctuating in and out of my existential focal plane.

I'm pissed off at nothing in particular. This is a sign of brain damage for sure.

Ah, what a fucking waste.

16:44:22 27 Apr 2004 > /soul > permalink > 0 comments

Sun, 25 Apr 2004

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denial is a river in egypt

I sit here, not wanting to sleep, not wanting to pack. My clothes are strewn completely all over my bed, so I can't sleep without packing. How clever my subconscious is. An attempt at negative reinforcement, perhaps. Self-sabotage, more likely. Despite all my soul-searching and impatience, I think there is a large portion of me that actually likes being in limbo.

Have I been really thinking all that deeply, these past few days I've been traveling down the Mother Road? Or have I been just chewing on ragged ends, obsessing over decisions long ago decided, digging up the corpses of my fantasies long ago interred? In other words, a lot of mental masturbation without the money shot. (How lovely, huh?)

Now, I don't know how to unravel this knot tied tight in my head. So we'll go chronologically. Not always the best, definitely not always the clearest, but you've got to start somewhere.

I'm not entirely sure what to do with the statement: "Wow, everybody is getting married and having kids." Obviously, the amount of discomfort elicited depends on entirely who is stating this. In of itself it is completely innocuous. But, clearly, the atavistic part of my soul recoils in horror at the implied meaning and the insinuated algorithm that I should follow.

I am, perhaps, just batting away at the flies in my eyes again.

Which gets me to start thinking about the nature of my solitude. Like, how much of it is self-imposed, and how much of it is the fact that, while, objectively speaking, I'm not repulsive—by which I mean to say, I don't look like Quasimodo, or Sloth from "The Goonies"—I am also clearly not hot.

Definitely not as hot as the women I tend to lust for.

Attractiveness mismatch. Wonderful.

I gravitate towards situations involving unrequited love lust whatever the way that moths like to fly right into open flames and immolate themselves.

So I could drown myself in self-pity like I've been doing for the past, oh, I don't know, decade of my life, but, frankly, it's starting to get a little boring.

I think one of the things that I have learned in these past few years is the notion of futility, and how you should stop bashing your head against the brick wall after around the third bash, and definitely before you lose consciousness.

But, as usual, I digress.

So, instead, we will continue to slide down the mental staircase:

The egotistical side of me insists that, while I haven't succeeded in getting any of the really attractive girls I've liked to like me back, surely there are some perhaps, ah, less attractive women whose attentions I've managed to snag. (Like I said, this is the egotistical side of me. Not very well acquainted with reality, unfortunately, so forgive my presumptiveness.) This is clearly not a thing that I have managed to prove, so it could all be coming out of my ass academic, but a man has got to have some hope, right?

I suppose even this presupposition could be wrong, and I am simply ugly and unlovable, but, like I said, I just don't want to go down that road again right now, so we'll take another tack…

Anyway, we eventually get to the idea of settling (however completely hypothetical.) Which, at this juncture, is a big "no way," regardless of how superficial this makes me. (I'd like to try to temper this with the rationalization that I don't make these kinds of judgements based purely on appearance. Big cynic that I am, I tend to think that pretty exteriors tend to harbor decidedly ugly interiors, but, like with many things, I am hoping that I am wrong.)

Long story short, these days I find it quite easy to imagine myself on my own for the rest of my life (which may not be that unbearably long in any case, but that is another neurosis to tackle.)

Hmmm. This insomniac ramble through my brain is quite entertaining.

Which brings me back to my tendency to sabotage myself.

Like putting myself in the friend zone immediately when I realize that a woman I like is too attractive for me.

I suppose there is such a thing as being prudent.

But then, this begs the question, why even bother?

In the end, I think it sucks to pretend that you don't want something because you know that you can't have it. And yet, it's just as equally sucky and even more stupid to continue to go after something when it's clear that you can never have it.

I fear that I have taught myself to not know what I like, for fear of never getting it.

What a bizarre little non-dilemma. I reiterate: there must be something gravely wrong with me.

I suppose the real question is: what is the best way to cope with failure? Should I choose complete surrender and abdication, fold my hand, give away the rest of my chips, and call it quits forever? Or should I choose denial? Should I just slam the accelerator all the way to the floor and see how quickly I can crash into that brick wall known as rejection?

Decisions, decisions.

I'm definitely not packing tonight, so I wonder where exactly I'm going to sleep….

01:22:13 25 Apr 2004 > /soul > permalink > 7 comments

Sat, 24 Apr 2004

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purgatory

like an island with the sea roiling all around upon a lonely mountaintop with the smoke and the clouds drifting below

the sign says: you are free to dance within the painted lines romp around naked and drunk and delirious within the pre-apportioned space

and it is not the long arm of the Law or the Commandments of God but the hard iron will of Mother Nature that keeps you bound to this constrained space

looking back upon the time passed the chronology slowing hardening like newly set concrete mulling over the decisions and indecisions of yesterday remembering the nights lying in bed pondering destiny waking from nightmares shrieking in a cold sweat as you dream that Fate pushes you over the precipice

and the answer to every question increasingly becomes it does not matter and nothing would have changed and the frettings and the unease of traipsing that thin line between disaster and stagnation (each in some weird way a synonym for death) becoming nothing more than the regular red line on a map representing your itinerary with well-spaced fuel stops along the way

as you sit in line before the toll booth each car admitted representing something like an eon of waiting you cannot go anywhere not backward certainly, but neither forward not until the appointed hour which comes like a thief stealing in the night

21:20:49 24 Apr 2004 > /poetry > permalink > 2 comments

Fri, 23 Apr 2004

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allow initial numbers in category

I just realized that Blosxom won't let me use category names that start with a number (like, for example 3p-omni) and this is for good reason: so that dates don't get confused with category names and vice-versa. Of course, I was dissatisfied with renaming the category to something like thirdpersonomniscient, so I decided to hack on the source (which is probably a bad idea, but I can't do this as a plug-in)

The result is this patch that allows you to have category names that start with numbers. WARNING: this has not been well-tested!!! I have no idea what I may have broken by doing this. YOU MAY NUKE YOUR BLOG!!! You have been informed. Usage implies consent.

19:47:09 23 Apr 2004 > /computers/www/blosxom > permalink > 0 comments

Wed, 21 Apr 2004

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one moment in time

Great. Now that Whitney Houston song is in my head.

In the final stretch driving last night, alone under the comforting blanket of night, my mind started wandering.

The iPod is a wonderful toy. It turns what would otherwise be an unbearable long-distance drive into your own personal Odyssey complete with soundtrack. I will try to trace which songs exactly infiltrated my mind, but I came up with these vague ideas as I drove and rocked-out:

  1. Was ten years of emotional torture—of failing to live up to expectations, of taking wrong turns and riding up the curb, of not knowing where I was going— worth this single moment driving at 80 mph down a lonely Interstate highway, happy not necessarily of where I've been, or where I'm going, but simply because of where I am (er, or was? This is where the past pluperfect tense comes in handy, doesn't it? I wish I paid attention when they were teaching English grammar…)
    As the music blasted, and the highway thrummed underneath me, the green milemarkers flicking past with reflected light, I answered yes to the universe
    That was it. That was my peak. In that single moment of time, everything was perfect.
    And now I understand. These moments of sheer joy are not meant to be bottled up, like rain water to be carried for the journey through the vast desert of pain and disaster. There is no surety in happiness, no such thing as insurance for contentment. These moments exist only in that brief time and space, though perhaps lingering vaguely as a memory. Like a happy dream, maybe. When you wake, you know it's gone, but at least you know that, in some way, it really was real.
  2. Was three months of playing games—tricks of the heart and other deceits of the flesh—followed by three more months of heartache, depression, bouts of pounding my head against the wall, and otherwise total and complete failure to function as a human being—was this price worth one good song?
    What can I say? Women will break your heart and leave you weeping, cold and alone, but a song can warm the heart even in the deepest, darkest pit.

Feh. This time of transition. The future is never guaranteed, but it's always nice to at least be holding a boarding pass.

P.S. Sorry R, don't know why my comments are broken. Oh, wait. Actually, maybe I do. Not the why, but the how. I'll have to dig into the code when I'm no longer on the road.

22:16:18 21 Apr 2004 > > permalink > 0 comments

Mon, 19 Apr 2004

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radiohead "scatterbrain" and elton john "someone saved my life tonight"

Over the roar of the A/C and the distorting influence of being in another room, not to mention the screwy acoustics of the apartment's living room, I swear "Scatterbrain" by Radiohead [lyrics][iTMS] sounds a little like "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" by Elton John [lyrics][iTMS]

Or I could've just forgotten to take my medication.

00:01:37 19 Apr 2004 > /playlist > permalink > 1 comments

Sat, 17 Apr 2004

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fast and furious

I can never think of anything on my own…

This is what happens when I'm all alone at 1:30am on a Saturday night (er, Sunday morning) and I fuse the idea of writing pseudoautobiographical vignettes (an idea which I am shamelessly stealing from f(r)ictions") with a random Xanga entry:

He stepped out of the cab with his freshly shaved head and newly grown goatee. The eyes of a drunk across the street lit up, and she dragged her equally drunk date along with her. She gaped and pointed: "Fast and Furious! Fast and Furious!" It took a while for it to register that she was alluding to a Vin Diesel movie. Great….
"Hey, have you ever killed anyone?" she asked, and, after hesitating a beat, and thinking about his last 36 hours all but locked up in the ICU, like a sadomasochistic farmer tending to the glistening tubes, the massive, hulking ventilators, and the glimmering, beeping monitors, he answered rather seriously, "Not on purpose."

Eek. That sucked. Like Celine, I seem to be unable to not write about work. I think I should just go to sleep. Damn it.

23:50:11 17 Apr 2004 > /3p-omni > permalink > 0 comments

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planet krikkit

As the Empire is thwarted at the frontier, losing legions by legions in its attempts to subjugate a recalcitrant province, as the Imperial Capitol is in tumult, the line of succession in dispute, as the People wallow in the Reality of their poverty, or float in the Unreality of their mind-altering drugs, I still manage to blog about completely random things.

I am in the midst of upheaval in too many ways to explicate—I am in a state of physical displacement, mental and emotional disarray, and I'm quite unable to focus on the here-and-now.

So I have been reading f(r)ictions and in the last three posts[n][n-1][n-2], the theme of Paul McCartney runs common throughout. Which reminded me of Douglas Adams's Life, the Universe, and Everything (book 3 in the completely misnamed Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy)

Some select quotes:

They walked quite near the watchers beneath the tree, swinging lanterns that made soft and crazy lights dance among the trees and grass, chattering contentedly, and actually singing a song about how terribly nice everything was, how happy they were, how much they enjoyed working on the farm, and how pleasant it was to be going home to see their wives and children, with a lilting chorus to the effect that the flowers were smelling particularly nice at this time of year and that it was a pity the dog had died seeing as it liked them so much. Arthur could almost imagine Paul McCartney sitting with his feet up by the fire one evening, humming it to Linda and wondering what to buy with the proceeds, and thinking, probably, Essex.…
Arthur saw that a couple of members of the party were now singing a different song. It came lilting back to them through the soft night air, and was a sweet romantic ballad that would have netted McCartney Kent and Sussex and enabled him to put in a fair offer for Hampshire.…
At this point Arthur noticed a curious feature to the song that the party was singing. The middle eight bridge, which would have had McCartney firmly consolidated in Winchester and gazing intently over the Test Valley to the rich picking of the New Forest beyond, had some curious lyrics. The songwriter was referring to meeting with a girl not "under the moon" or "beneath the stars" but "above the grass," which struck Arthur as being a little prosaic. Then he looked up again at the bewilderingly blank sky, and had the distinct feeling that there was an important point here, if only he could grasp what it was. It gave him a feeling of being alone in the Universe, and he said so.…
…they arrived at the inner perimeter of the hollow, spherical Dust Cloud that surrounded their sun and home planet, occupying, as it were, the next orbit out.
It was more as if there were a gradual change in the texture and consistency of space. The darkness seemed now to thrum and ripple past them. It was very cold darkness, a very blank and heavy darkness, it was the darkness of the night sky of Krikkit.
The coldness and heaviness and blankness of it took a slow grip on Arthur's heart, and he felt acutely aware of the feelings of the Krikkit pilots that hung in the air like a thick static charge. They were now on the very boundary of the historical consciousness of their race. This was the very limit beyond which none of them had ever speculated, or even known that there was any speculation to be done.…
They flew out of the cloud.
They saw the staggering jewels of the night in their infinite dust and their minds sang with fear.
For a while they flew on, motionless against the starry sweep of the Galaxy, itself motionless against the infinite sweep of the Universe. And then they turned round.
"It'll have to go," the men of Krikkit said as they headed back for home.
On the way back they sang a number of tuneful and reflective songs on the subjects of peace, justice, morality, culture, sport, family life and the obliteration of all other life-forms.…
"It's all right," she said quietly, but clearly enough for all the shadowy crowd to hear, "you don't have to do it."…
"I want you to do something for me," she said, and unexpectedly laughed.
"I want," she said, and laughed again. She put her hand over her mouth and then said, with a straight face, "I want you to take me to your leader," and she pointed into the War Zones in the sky. She seemed somehow to know that their leader would be there.
Her laughter seemed to discharge something in the atmosphere. From somewhere at the back of the crowd a single voice started to sing a tune that would have enabled Paul McCartney, had he written it, to buy the world.

It is a little sad to mention Linda McCartney, since she's dead, but then again, so is Douglas Adams. (The world is now a lot less funny.)

The entry entitled "pleased to meet you" also reminds me a little of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", but that is really neither here nor there, and I don't know which deranged neural pathway in my mind lit up to make me think that. I suppose I identify a lot with the protagonists of both pieces.

15:58:04 17 Apr 2004 > /books > permalink > 4 comments

Fri, 16 Apr 2004

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ghosts

no one here but me and my ghosts recurring nightmares from which there is no waking and the neverending sadness of things that were never meant to be

the ghosts of what-if, dreams cut down before their time wishes stillborn hopes that sickened then died

strange how the memory of things that never became could haunt even my waking hours

sifting through the paper trail receipts and movie tickets bank statements and insurance policies the last traces of my ill-spent moments lying alone in the cold dark hoping for stillness the only record that these five years had some kind of impact upon the world-at-large however mundane and trivial, pointless and without meaning dismembered by the shredder gone

no use hanging on to lottery tickets when you already know they didn't win

15:30:58 16 Apr 2004 > /poetry > permalink > 8 comments

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snip, snip

I could hear the clicking of the shears miles away:

You Are Edward From "Edward Scissorhands."

You are very shy and often misunderstood. Innocent, sweet, and artistic, you like to pass your days by daydreaming and expressing yourself through the arts. You are a truly unique individual. Unfortunately, you are quite lonely, and few people truly understand you.

Take The Johnny Depp Quiz!

So I guess it's time to find some haunted-looking house standing all alone on a dark hill. Get used to some good ol' Don-Quixoteish loving, pure and chaste, from afar. Yeah. And maybe I need to kill myself some Anthony Michael Hall… Just kidding. I'm not as crazy as you think I am. Yet.

11:20:36 16 Apr 2004 > /blog-bites/quizilla > permalink > 8 comments

Tue, 13 Apr 2004

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sick

(WARNING: this entry promises to be very disjointed and long and possibly boring. Despite the line breaks, this is not a poem

(Oh yeah, and this is probably going to be pretty depressing, so you might want to look elsewhere and wait for the weather to change here.)

I

This week I've learned the difference between "do you feel sick?" and "where does it hurt?" Ultimately, all pain is in the head You give enough drugs, or you cut up all the nerves And I start wondering: Is it true that pain is what makes us feel alive?

psychosomatic, repressed rage stress headaches, stress ulcers the line about pain and gain is all bullshit it means that something is wrong the red alert the warning light check engine, service required

And I've been running on fumes for years now maybe only deluding myself that I'm actually going anywhere you realize when you get in the car, it's the same trip day-in, day-out 30,000 miles a year to exactly nowhere and the word "progress" just makes me laugh with derision straight lines always run crooked, turn into circles

No matter how far I sail I won't come to the edge of the world There is no end to any of this Even crazy people know that the world is round And that you're doomed to spin and spin and spin

And this space that I'm in is so past hopeless That I've forgotten what that means Nerves burnt out and yet there is this phantom feeling these weird sensation even though I know that what used to be there is gone

And this space tham I'm in is so past lonely That I'm afraid to be around other people I haven't answered the phone in weeks I haven't opened my mail in months And still, and still, no matter how hard I try I still can't wish the world away.

And maybe I'll never beat this As far as I run, or if I sit still

In the end entropy always wins

II

I held the child that would never have been mine in my arms watched her smile and gaze at the world in wonder and remember why it was that I thought I had fallen in love

To fall in love: I don't really know the difference between this, and the panic of being alone forever

My soul was anesthesized and then they forgot to wake me up

it takes about 8 minutes to permanently damage the soul

and Death all around me and despite this drear nothingness of days passing by with no change of scenery I am afraid to die would rather wallow in grief than lie still and sleep, free of this pain (for lack of a better word) (this dull, aching roar, this bleak vacuum imploding my heart) I am not ready to face Her and her merciless scythe to gaze at all those whom I loved watch them still and forever silent I am not ready but She will not ask anyway

III

If I could only map out all this darkness and understand the tortured inner workings of my soul

But entire cities disappear as I draw the lines and write the names oceans dry up into deserts and north becomes south

If I can't even understand myself How do I dare to understand another?

How do I mend the break within myself, Much less bridge the gap with the rest of the world?

Epilogue

I do not ask for pity, mostly because I would not know what to do with it, and it would hurt me worse to know that a gift is being offered that I must refuse. I have no idea what I'm looking for. I only know that I've lost something, which I cannot name nor describe.

And maybe I'll never find it, but I wish I didn't have to keep groping pointlessly in the dark.

But like they say, "Humihinga pa, Dum spira, spero" and there's always tomorrow

02:37:30 13 Apr 2004 > /soul > permalink > 0 comments

Fri, 09 Apr 2004

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virtual hosts and cgi

I had this working before, mostly with the help of this script [citation on macosxhints.com][post on patrickgibson.com] Because of my iBook mishaps, all my tweaks were wiped, and I haven't had the time to reinstate the changes.

So this is what I did (essentially doing everything that the script does manually):

  1. Open /etc/httpd/httpd.conf
  2. Find the line #AddHandler cgi-script .cgi and remove the #
  3. Add the following lines to the end of /etc/httpd/httpd.conf: NameVirtualHost 127.0.0.1 Include /private/etc/httpd/virtualhosts
  4. In /private/etc/httpd/virtualhosts, create a file named _localhost
  5. The contents of this file should be: <VirtualHost 127.0.0.1> DocumentRoot "/Library/WebServer/Documents" ServerName localhost <Directory "/Library/WebServer/Documents"> Options All AllowOverride None <Directory </VirtualHost>
  6. Again, in /private/etc/httpd/virtualhosts, create a file with the same name as the virtual host name. For example, if you want a host that will be accessed with http://blog, create a file named blog
  7. The contents of this file should be as follows (Replace $USERNAME with your username and $VHOSTNAME with your desired hostname <VirtualHost 127.0.0.1> DocumentRoot "/Users/$USERNAME/Sites/$VHOSTNAME" ServerName localhost <Directory "/Users/$USERNAME/Sites/$VHOSTNAME" Options Indexes FollowSymLinks ExecCGI AllowOverride All </Directory> </VirtualHost>
  8. Open a root shell by typing sudo bash and entering your password
  9. Run the following commands (again, replace $VHOSTNAME with your desired hostname): niutil -create . /machines/$VHOSTNAME niutil -createprop . /machines/$VHOSTNAME ip_address 127.0.0.1 niutil -createprop . /machines/$VHOSTNAME name $VHOSTNAME niutil -createprop . /machines/$VHOSTNAME serves './local'
  10. Restart apache with apachectl restart.

15:10:46 9 Apr 2004 > /computers/macosx/unix > permalink > 4 comments

Tue, 06 Apr 2004

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slurping

I notice that Blosxom uses a variation of the code that perl.com deems inefficient. I wonder if slurping would really speed it up all that much?

Currently, Blosxom (2.0) does something like this:

$fh->open("< $path_file"); chomp($title = <$fh>); chomp($body = join '', <$fh>);

Would it really make any difference to do something like this? (I don't know how to profile things, so maybe someone could teach me how to do test it, or better yet, figure it out for me.)

$fh->open("< $path_file"); chomp($title = <$fh>); { local( $/ ); $body = <$fh>

Just a thought. I found myself doing this as I try to construct a command-line trackback pinger.

What I also want to know regarding Blosxom is whether I can change the entry reading code (which is where the above fragment comes from) completely, and have it slurp XML files and interpolate using XSLT. Another project. Hmmm.

02:04:30 6 Apr 2004 > /computers/perl > permalink > 0 comments

Sun, 04 Apr 2004

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emacs carbon

Don't ask me how I got here, but trying to install GNOME 2.6 on my iBook running Panther is taking me to really strange places.

While a pre-built binary for Emacs 21.3.50 on Carbon (built on 2003-10-25) already exists (which I'm currently using), I thought I'd try building it from CVS myself (following these instructions)

(Since Andrew Choi has apparently resigned from maintaining the Carbon port, the continued existence of his webpage is in question, and so the instructions go something like this:)

export CVS_RSH="ssh" cvs -z3 -d:ext:anoncvs@savannah.gnun.org:/cvsroot/emacs co emacs cd emacs ./configure --with-carbon --without-X make bootstrap sudo make install

The main reason is to see whether I can get Károly Lőrentey's multi-tty support to work. (I applied his frequently updated patches.)

15:38:44 4 Apr 2004 > /computers/macosx/unix > permalink > 1 comments

Fri, 02 Apr 2004

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fam 2.7.0 macosx patch

I have begun the long, lonely journey of compiling GNOME 2.6, and the first roadblock I hit was in the prereqs with fam. Now I realize that you only really need this for Nautilus, and since I'm running MacOSX, I don't really need to use it as a file manager (although, surprisingly, there are times when it can be handy.) But I am a resolute pedant.

So I collected the FreeBSD patches for fam 2.6.8, applied them to the fam 2.7.0 source, did a little more tweaking specific for Darwin, and came up with this patch. So fam now compiles, but I don't know if it actually works.

It's pretty amazing the things you can do with code without even understanding a single line of it.

(The cleaner thing to do would be to utilize MacOSX's built-in file-change notification, but I have no idea how to do that.)

21:05:27 2 Apr 2004 > /computers/macosx/unix > permalink > 2 comments