In the future there will be an episode of Elementary with Frankie Faison playing Judge O'Hare.
As you know, I am not big on reviews, so you should disregard the remainder of this entry.
I recently found myself in what is called a “theatre complex”, watching an adaptation of Molière's Les Femmes savantes by Freyda Thomas, who is apparently famous for playing Alenis Grem on Deep Space Nine.
Called The Learned Ladies, this translation to English manages to approximate some of the rhyme of the original, thereby making it unquestionably better than DS9.
Also noteworthy is the all-female cast, cobbled together from two all-female theater groups. Elizabeth Neptune plays Chrysale, occasionally channeling the spirit of Jackie Gleason or bringing adorable ardor to such epic lines as “Tea!” I won't say anything about her eyes, but I will say something about her slippers.
Sara Montgomery, as Bélise, is delightfully crazy in her singing, dancing, costume changes, and other antics, which serve to transform this otherwise-completely-serious play into a comedy. I definitely won't say anything about her shoes.
Madeleine Maby begins playing Philaminte well before the show starts. Spoiler alert: she sits on the stage, pretending to look through a telescope and make notes from before the house opens until right before the start of the first scene. I still feel exhausted by the thought of having to do that myself.
L'Épine is portrayed by Alyssa Lott, who also plays three minor roles. Her mastery of physical comedy is not wasted on this production.
Marta Kuersten plays Clitandre opposite Sarah Brill's Henriette. While Marta's performance was quite good, she looks much better as a woman. I will not be saying this about everyone.
Katie Honaker delivers visceral smarm and sleaze as Trissotin. Even her hairstyle is somehow evocative of contempt.
Susan Finch plays Vadius and Le notaire. Susan was definitely most convincing as a man. Despite mutterings to the contrary, some suspension of disbelief was necessary for the other male roles, but not for Vadius, oh no.
Finishing out the list we have Janna Emig as Martine, Francesca Day as Armande, and Kathryn Alexander as Ariste, with good performances, particularly in the second half.
Even though it didn't have Coppertop from Strangers With Candy and a boy-band song-and-dance cover of To Be with You by Mr. Big, I recommend this play.
Jessa is moving to Boston. Why is Jessa moving to Boston? To work for Microsoft. What will she be doing for Microsoft? Studying how drag queens use Facebook.
I want a CLI WebDAV client that's better than cadaver or hdav.
I want a program that can sync an .ics file with a CalDAV server, by dividing it up into events and individually synchronizing each of those. I don't have a clue how deletions would be handled, but that would be nice too. Then I want a program that can synchronize the .ics file with org-mode files.
I want a SIP client that works as well as Twinkle but has the architecture of SFLphone or is a library upon which an arbitrary UI can be constructed.
I want an HTML-rendering library that has callbacks or hooks for security- and privacy-relevant things like cookies and SSL certificates. I want at least one browser built on this library. I want it to support vi-like keybindings.
I want an HTTP(S) proxy that can be dynamically-configured per-client or per-connection through a standardized protocol that web browsers or their plugins can speak. I want it to be able to handle all the relevant things covered by AdBlock Plus, RequestPolicy, and NoScript.
I want HTTPS authentication through Monkeysphere and mod_gnutls.
I want a git-annex backend for Ogg Vorbis files that treat the audio streams independently of the metadata yet stores them together in the same file so that everything behaves as usual but the annex doesn't bloat by 400Go after I run beets.
I want a file transfer queuing system that can work over any sort of transport mechanism, direct or asynchronous, that handles partial transfers and throttling, and is generally magical.
I want all kinds of accounting software improvements.
I want sane PBX software.
I want an OpenStack that doesn't use libvirt for KVM.
I want backup software that behaves some weird hybrid of BoxBackup and Dirvish.
I want a peer-to-peer card- and board-game platform that uses cryptographic assurance.
I want everyone to use YAML instead of XML.
I want a phone that's not running a doomed operating system.
I want lots of other stuff.
There were two competing free software projects, doing more or less the same thing. Project B was in active development 3 years before Project R showed up, and then the two competed for quite some time.
While Project B seemed to operate as part of the gift economy, Project R was developed by folks who had received some monetary funding, and once their funding began to wane, they began to complain. Eventually fundraising campaigns were held.
The community was happy to participate in polite fictions: Project B didn't really exist; the only people who could possibly fix the bugs in Project R were the people demanding money; there would be no conflict of interest between the gatekeepers of Project R.
Gradually, all development ceased on Project B and never resumed. The leader of Project R kept jumping up and down and demanding more money, until finally he declared it insufficient.
Then there were two dead codebases.
Antonia came into the room. “Where's Alieta?” she asked.
“We don't know,” replied Luda. It was true; we hadn't seen Alieta in quite some time, and we had no idea where she was.
Antonia left. Varvara eyed me mischievously and said, “You could call her.”
“How?” I asked.
“Touch the grandmother clock and you will figure it out.”
I touched the clock trepidly. Nothing happened. I opened my mouth to speak, but the word I had been about to say resonated in my mind as if spoken through a comb filter. I concentrated. “Alieta,” dozens of human-like voices sang over and over in different harmonies. I let go.
“What was that?” I demanded.
“Clock,” Varvara said dismissively.
“Come on, let's do laundry,” Luda grunted.
We carried our laundry out to the garage, which is where the washer and dryer lived. Alieta slipped in through one of the open garage doors, and surreptitiously pulled Varvara over for a whispered conversation.
Antonia wandered in and squinted in Alieta's general direction. Luda quickly pulled Varvara in front of her. “It's just Varvara,” she announced.
Antonia's eyes glazed over and she went back into the house. Alieta pursed her lips and studied the wall as if there might be some reflective object that had alerted her mother to her presence. Then she grabbed Varvara by the hand, pulled her over to push the buttons that closed the garage doors, and dragged her into the house.
I watched the garage doors close. Then I watched the one on the left reverse direction. I opened my mouth to notify someone of this, but the doors reversed direction again, and proceeded to partially open and close as if possessed. I tried to hide behind Luda, without success.
Now she was watching as well, as reality seemed to to shimmer and bend. The roof became arched, and there were loud mechanical noises as our environs transformed. When it finished, the place where the garage doors had been was now a wall of screens displaying video as you might encounter in a television store. More disconcertingly, we were in front of a railing which overlooked what appeared to be a car dealership showroom.
Luda sucked in her breath. “Benjamin Snow, you were into some serious shit,” she muttered.
A boy died.
He knew he was dying. He tried to get help. We don't know if it occurred to him to switch off the modem and make a phone call, or if he was too weak to get up and do it. We know he sent an email.
He didn't type perfect English at the best of times, and as his life slipped away from him, he misspelled many things. He misspelled “ambulance”. He may have misspelled “diabetes”. That was all fine—the meaning was clear enough—but the bit where it gets tragic is that he misspelled “.net” in the To: line.
So instead of arriving at its destination, the NOC of his employer, where it would have opened up a ticket and been seen by a human at some point, the email bounced.
We will never know whether they could have or would have done anything in time. We will never know if, had whoever been on postmaster duty at his ISP at the time been paying attention, he could have been saved.
These things were debated angrily, by people struggling to make sense of something, but it changes nothing. The email bounced, and he died.
After recovering from the shock of seeing “consensus” spelled correctly for a change, I thought I should respond to some claims of healthiness.
Package fiefdoms waste people's time quite frequently: MIA processing, duplicated effort in DELAYED NMUs, conspiracy and infighting, trying to get an absentee maintainer to respond, the ridiculous things that happen when a maintainer is still around but not doing his job for 3 consecutive years, and so on. Having all packages maintained by "Debian Developers" is a great idea.
The current hierarchy might work better than some lesser evils, but that doesn't mean it's good at all. We should strive toward ZERO hierarchy, not some magical fiction where people imagine themselves wiser than everyone else because their drinking buddies said so.
The anti-consensus features in Debian would better be replaced by a real solution to the problem pervading nearly all free software projects: ego.