« She's an airy ho, » I observed.

« She's made of truffle froth, » he deduced.

« She doesn't look tasty, » I observed.

« Truffle froth is only good when paired with other things, » he explained, « like Jewel in a three-way. »

Erin and Andrés are fagging it up downtown, Colette's watching movies dubbed into French, Jim is scheming to sneak into Cuba, and I'm getting escorted out of a cathedral for crimes against humanity.

Rotate.

Lenore is eating a duck's foot. There are some lies about mistranslation.

Rotate.

Colette seems confused about why I would think the dog understood Flemish. The dog neither confirms nor denies its proficiency in Flemish.

Rotate.

Collette is playing with her dirty thumbnail.

Ew.

Rudy told James that he was going to be in Tainbridge the following Saturday and asked if he would like to have dinner or drinks and catch up. James agreed to dinner and they met at a very mediocre Italian restaurant that incited a mild bit of regret in the both of them.

Though they hadn't spoken in seven years, there was not much catching up. Rudy announced that he was moving to Tainbridge soon, and James's heart lept. Then somewhat abruptly, he asked if James had a boyfriend. James replied in the affirmative, and Rudy's heart sank.

Somewhat upset, Rudy called Carlo, then asked James if he would like to have dessert with Carlo downtown. James did not particularly want to have dessert with Carlo, so he replied in the affirmative.

Presently they came to be having dessert, and Carlo excitedly chattered about how he was getting Rudy a job at his firm and how everyone's lives were going to be fantastic. James developed a slight melancholy and went home to his boyfriend, Chaim.

Rudy moved to Tainbridge, began working at Carlo's firm, and started spending as much time at Carlo's house as Carlo spent at Rudy's. After about a month, he began to lose hope that work began tolerable, and life started to wear him down. Carlo knew that Rudy did not want him very much, but swore to win him over, no matter what it took. Carlo was very devoted to him, but the constant doting did not make him happy.

James called him to chat, and Rudy asked about his boyfriend again. James changed the subject, and Rudy jokingly suggested that James buy him a new phone. James laughed, and suggested that they get together. Rudy said that he was far too busy with work at the moment, but perhaps that would change in the future.

Then a spark of hope ignited within Rudy's soul, and he began to fantasize. Rudy would leave Carlo and run to James when given the new phone which would be imbued with so much unspoken meaning.

So too, a dream nagged at James's mind. Finally, in a moment of weakness, he bought a new phone which he imagined Rudy would like.

Rudy was afraid, so he continued to say that he was too busy to spend any time with James. James continued to grow frustrated until at last Rudy was free for dinner. So they made a date, and James gift-wrapped the phone and brought it along. Just a few minutes before their scheduled rendezvous, Rudy called and asked if it would be acceptable if Carlo joined them for dinner. James did not want Carlo to join them, so he answered in the affirmative.

Rudy avoided any opportunity for him to be alone with James, and James grew increasingly frustrated. When the bill arrived, everyone just stared at it contentiously until Carlo finally announced begrudgingly that he would pay for everyone.

Carlo and Rudy returned to Rudy's house, and James retired to his. James became more downcast and berated himself for being pathetic enough to buy the phone. Rudy became even more impatient, finally losing control and calling James to scream at him for being so inconsiderate as to make Carlo pay for the dinner. James was very defensive, and their relationship grew very strained.

One day, Rudy called James and invited him to dinner immediately after work. James accepted, and headed to the restaurant. When he got there, Rudy was alone. James groaned, for he did not have the phone with him. They had a very civil dinner, Rudy paid for both of them, and then they went home.

Rudy gave up all hope that James would buy him a phone. They never saw each other again.

10/01/05 10:47PM - Me too. Drunk, partying, and telling EVERYONE about you. all my love.

10/02/05 12:24AM - I'm back. Long day, but if you want to talk, I'm here. Love you. -Sparky

10/03/05 01:27PM - My soul's joy, I am jealous of that breeze, though in caressing you it warms my whole world. I will give you monsoons. -Sparky

10/03/05 07:58PM - I never get tired of hearing it, and I love telling you...I love you. -Sparky

10/04/05 04:11PM - Been a wonderful day-despite having puns about melons and the phrase "honeydew me" stuck in my brain. My other ubiquitous thought has been "I love her so much"

10/04/05 06:33PM - Saw you were feeling moody, so I hope this tips the balance to something positive: *kiss*...I love you, XXXXX. -Sparky

10/05/05 09:02AM - I was so tired this morning I wore my ugliest shirt to class (purple stripes-I look like an asphyxiated candy cane); but waking to thoughts of you-worth it.

10/05/05 10:41AM - And just for good measure-and because I can't stop myself-I love you, XXXXX my darling. -Sparky

10/06/05 01:07PM - Know what? I love you. *kiss*

10/07/05 12:36PM - X. - It's raining here, so I'm thinking of my sunshine. *kiss* -Sparky

10/09/05 02:09PM - Sleep, rest, recover from your ephermeral MS, party girl. And be warm in my love. *big kiss* All my love to you, my darling. - Sparky

10/10/05 12:58PM - Tired today, but each time I close my eyes, however briefly, I think of you- turning fatigue into elan. Love you, hon. -Sparky

10/12/05 03:49PM - Everything about me misses you, longs for you, and loves you. I love you a ridiculous amount, my sweet everything. - Sparky

10/14/05 03:59PM - The incompetence is especially charming, my dear. Of course I love you that much more now.

10/14/05 07:52PM - Everything okay? If you need some armchair navigation or some comp'ny, give a holler. *kiss*

10/19/05 03:39PM - Getting coffee filters. Long line.

10/21/05 09:55AM - One weirdo showed up. *sigh* Drive safely. I love you.

10/21/05 11:52AM - Zero...surprise. *smooch*

10/25/05 08:36PM - Novacaine, bad reception, long drive, and snow. Long weekend. I'll talk to you tomorrow, dear.

10/26/05 11:28PM - Sorry, really tired today (weather) so just sitting on the couch. Read your LJ, figured you'd be tired.

11/01/05 03:47PM - Been terribly over-worked; it's semester crunch time. Sorry for being unavailable but it can't be helped. I'll try to call b/n classes tomorrow. :-)

11/01/05 08:24PM - Thanks dear. I've dealt with worse though.

שָׁלוֹם

I bet that this wasn't written by The Frugal Gourmet.

Earlier, I linked to some douchebag who discusses the aesthetic judgment of photographers.

Now the good doctor links to a photo of which I would be proud, if only I had taken it.

Brett, I'm guessing that the Neo1973 is probably much less evil than anything Apple would produce. Mayhaps the same applies to the Trolltech Greenphone as well.

Ever walk down the street and see a toddler talking on a toy cellphone, then realize that it's not a toy? Yup, it's a real phone that cost way more than mine.

After seeing this and the wonderful comments, I now know where to go to get hard science.

A box of strozzapreti hopped off a shelf in Osimo, headed to the sea, and booked passage on a freighter to the Promised Land. When it finally arrived in Staten Island, things were not as it expected.

One thing led to another, and it fled to New Jersey, where it wasn't any happier. The thing is, it had unrealistic expectations and thus will probably never be happy.

I was in no hurry when I went to rescue it, so I stopped by to visit Ari's mom. She loves WKXW 101.5 FM, so I just sat on the kitchen floor and rocked back and forth while we listened to some stupid call-in show about changing one's name for marriage.

My opinion is this: if your last name is something moderately pleasant, such as King, do not change it to something horrifying, like Herschmuckler. If your name is something already horrifying, such as Shimmelshitz, get married as soon as possible to someone with a less offensive name, like Pasayunk. Look at Lou Diamond Phillips; he changed his name from Louis Upchurch, and I unanimously regard that as a good move.

Some of the callers felt that for the sake of tradition and bolstering the bonds of marriage, a woman should always take her husband's name. Some callers felt that, realistically speaking, since one is bound to divorce the person to whom one has pledged eternal devotion, probably within the first three years or so, one should retain one's maiden name to save effort later.

Many of the observations that the realistic forecast for a marriage is short-term included anecdotes about how finances are generally kept separate these days. Very frequently I see married people loaning their spouses money, or arguing about who's going to pay for something. I find all of this quite bizarre. It's certainly not how married people behaved while I was growing up.

I bid Ari's mom good day, grabbed the box of strozzapreti, and escaped New Jersey. I have a few stories about misunderstandings over the tomato content of certain pasta sauces, but I like to save those for later.

A reader informs me that she witnessed some guy hanging brain in a Virgin Megastore.

The implications are myriad.

Todd,

:0
* 1^0 condition1
* 1^0 condition2
condition1or2

This blog entry has been modified from its original version. It has been formatted to fit your screen.

It is the day the music died.

I dub Mr. Love Jewy Armstrong.

The family of Benjamin Seidenberg released this statement today:

The family will not be granting interviews at this time, but does want to issue the following statement in response to numerous media requests.

We are naturally saddened and extremely concerned about the serious allegations being made against Benjamin. We love it very much, and right now, our primary focus is on its health and well-being.

Benjamin is a very intelligent, accomplished individual. As an honorary pamp-commando of the International Bacalao Organization (IBO) and dubbed the Lauren Jarrett of the Cornell Orthodox Union Dining Society, it has resisted the evil temptation of search engines for over 18 years with a mildly-blemished record. Benjamin attained the rank of Golancipel, and sailed as a Hackergotchi Specialist aboard the Good Ship Lollipop in August 2003.

Personally, Benjamin is an extremely caring and dedicated sibling and loinfruit to its brother and parents, respectively, although we amended our life insurance policies to remove him as a beneficiary last week.

Considering both its personal and academic life, these alleged events are completely out of character and have come as a tremendous shock to our family.

We are anxious to allow the facts to develop so that we can better understand what happened, and why. We hope that the public will keep an open mind about what the facts will eventually show and that the legal system will be allowed to run its course.

Finally, we are very grateful for the expressions of love and support that we have received from family and friends, and we ask for your continued thoughts and prayers for our family.

« My daughter used to be good friends with her daughter, but they stopped spending time together when her daughter started hanging out with a group of girls that was boy-crazy. All they ever wanted to do was talk about boys. What is she on, her sixth or seventh marriage now? » he said.

« My daughter's a slut. » she said.

« Whoa, that's a bit strong, » he said. « The old-timers would have called her a pincushion. »

Expel anyone who supports x number of expulsions in an arbitrary time period.

MJ, you might want to look at this.

There were suds in the basin, and she looked down and within
While a black pearl halo was washing away

She no longer lives
In her home made of steel

Though her place will be taken
Her scent softly lingers
Like the phantom feel
Of her touch against my fingers

Give me one little breeze
Philonotis fontana
The earthen whispers
Drunk in your yard

Marco is remembering a time long ago, before people threw away their dictionaries so they wouldn't be able to look up what “policy” means, and before they started foaming at the mouth and mindlessly spouting metaphors with the word “stick” in them.

Seeya later, aggregator
After a while, OPML file

Like I was telling Barbie, Francis was right. The Sadies were fucking awesome that night.

In the sack: An orangeishness, more unnatural than Tang.

Wet: A plasticness of sorts.

The touch: Neutral.

The feel: Limoncello, lemon jello, the tropical stuff the gigolette put in her radiator, I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea I've got to be free, free to face the life that's ahead of me, zug-zug, you're the captain.

The magic of our lives:くろごまアイスクリン, the skunk over here will bring you luck, the pump over here comes with a truck.

Final verdict: Needs more enervation.

Saying that there are degrees of democracy seems like an abuse of language.

The New York Post is such a fine periodical.

This ain't the NY Post.

Your baby grows a tooth, then two, and four, and five, then she wants some meat directly from the bone. It's all over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet talker on his way to jail. And you, your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue nothing. You did, you loved, your ass is sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tail, and she wonders why her daddy is so sickeningly fat and only an associate professor at the state university.

Purse is like the Shrike, just nonchalantly plodding backward in time, saying things like « I'm just gonna go to New Jersey, » and then not being seen again until the previous year. Such is the mystery of Purse.

Barbie was dying to know some specifics of the contents of an airplane bathroom. This video does not answer all questions.

I was greeted yesterday with « Do you work at Trader Joe's? » and while I sit here, wreaking the Lord's vengeance on that little lady, I have time to reflect on gossip.

The rumor is out: Purse is engaged to be married to.. a Canadian. Where is your nationalistic pride, Purse? What of the ethnic impurity? Will you spawn and allow your half-breed progeny to gambol across the tundra, sweating to the oldiest from coast to coast, studying geography so they can one day hunt down the elusive and infamous Brunswick dugong? Woe to all of us for not letting you visit Kashmir.

She invented summer camps, and he gave birth.

Re: ion-3rc-09f911029d74e35bd84156c5635688c0.tar.gz

« I had a friend who had a friend who was at a party with Christopher Walken, » he said, « and he got creeped out when Walken apparently told him that “the best part about being Christopher Walken is you get to bang Natalie Wood in the ass”. »

« And then throw her over the side of a boat! » she said.

I thought I might indulge myself in the traditional 10-year anniversary lookback (not in Angora), but I decided that it would be far too negative. So I contemplated describing what future accomplishments and events currently excited me, but as I iterated through these I realized that about half of them were blocked or fettered by other persons who may or may not deserve the brunt of my wrath in any of its various forms.

Thus I stalled, hoping that people would eventually move their asses and live up to their commitments, so I could write a charming little piece about the sunny times to come instead of reciting a litany of complaints. There has been little motion on that front.

So, what to do? I will tally the Debian-related highlights of the past decade, excluding all items for which there is a “but”.

Here is the complete list:

An excellent conference

In the middle of the forest on the hill is a ley, and through that ley runs a creek, and across that creek rests a weir, and by that weir stands a detached concrete wall.

By that wall is a table of wrought iron, and surrounding that table are three wrought iron chairs, upon which there are no cushions. Were one to query a being seated upon one of these chairs, one might be told that it was a most uncomfortable place for one's hindquarters.

In the days of yore, one Philip discovered this place, and this Philip did seek out his friend Paul to show him the glorious place that he had found.

Paul was readily impressed, and the two of them appointed themselves the caretakers of this place by the weir in the creek in the ley in the forest on the hill. They built a shed next to the detached concrete wall, and in that shed they placed tools of the sort used for groundskeeping, and eventually they acquired an old riding mower that someone had been in the process of discarding, and they placed the mower also in the shed, and worried about the value of the mower in the shed, they procured a large combination lock for the door of the shed, and installed it hastily.

As the trove in the shed burgeoned, Philip and Paul invited more friends to share enjoyment of their place by the weir in the creek in the ley in the forest on the hill. People would come every day and watch them cut the grass and kill the moss on the detached concrete wall. On rare occasions a guest would say, « Need any help with that? » and Philip would shout back, « No, thanks, we've got it all under control! »

This golden age continued for quite some time, but as with all glorious things, one small event disturbs the balance, things spiral out of control, and despite anyone's efforts, nothing succeeds in restoring the state which many found so very acceptable.

HOW IT HAPPEN: Philip had a dream about an angel on the beach. This dream plagued him day in and day out. It plagued him like the wind. Finally, sitting on the detached concrete wall, murdering some moss, he snapped. « If I can't get an angel, I can still get a boy, and a boy'll be the next thing to an angel, » he announced. « The next best thing to an angel, » he clarified. « A boy'll be the next best thing. » Then, to further illustrate the progress of his nervous breakdown, he leapt off the wall and ran into the forest.

« What? » replied Paul, and continued his labors. « Need any help? » some guests inquired. « No, we've got it all under control, » Paul answered.

The days went by, and Philip remained absent. Paul started to work more slowly, and neglected certain parts of their sanctuary. Soon he only showed up every other day.

« Hey, guys! » Philip shouted, arriving to find most of the regulars there. « Sorry I haven't had time to attend to things, but I've been busy. »

« Do you need any help? » someone grunted half-heartedly.

« Naw! » Philip answered, « I'll just catch up now. » Thus he spake, and thus he did. Inspired by Philip's toil, Paul resumed his efforts more heartily, even though Philip disappeared again.

The days went by, and Philip remained absent. Paul started to work more slowly, and neglected certain parts of their sanctuary. Eventually he was doing almost nothing at all.

« Is. There. Something. We. Can. Do. To. Help? » asked the peanut gallery.

« I don't know, » Paul snapped. « If you want to help, ask Philip. » He stormed off.

I spout ignorant and antagonistic tripe on mailing lists. I tell people how they ought to behave. I vote, and I make, on average, fewer than two package uploads per year, but I feel that I am respected and admired enough for my opinions to not require any real contributions to back me up.

Who am I?

Biella, you ingrate, just be thankful you don't live in one of those commie countries with socialized medicine. Those people have to wait in line for 3 months before they can get triaged at the ER, and then receive second-class organs while the corrupt party leaders buy up the delicious prime organs on the black market.

Surely we wouldn't want to give up our current system when it works so much better than that.

You will now submit to our will and abuse and you will pay us for it.

Be happy that it's cheaper than a dominatrix.

« Uhh... I'm not looking at porn with you! » she said.

« What? Are you fucking kidding me? » I asked.

« Just wait. You can have it when I'm done, » she replied.

On February 14, 2004, Gage & Tollner, ostensibly New York's oldest restaurant, closed down and, if that weren't traumatic enough, became a TGI Friday's.

Finally, Friday's is gone, and the façade sports a banner advertising a fully-equipped restaurant for rent.

What will it become next?

Look, tall, short, that's not what matters, understand? If you.. If you love a girl, well, then you stand up for her, no matter what, with all you've got. If you can do that, then you're a man, no matter how tall you are.

Not quite right, but ominous nonetheless.

Dear 仲芸,

I went to 饒河, 公館, and 烏來, but not your birthplace. I thought you should know. Write back soon, kthx.

This makes me smile.

The DM GR and the discussion surround it do not make me smile.

run Diagnostic

or restart application

ZOMG has now been updated for Audioscrobbler 1.2, and is now in a Mercurial repo.

Users should be aware that the caching of credentials and the caching of unsubmitted tracks have both changed in incompatible ways, so be sure to flush or remove your old data before upgrading.

Probably the only exciting user-visible change is that currently-playing tracks will now show up on last.fm as “now listening”.

There's this Brit named Steve. Steve loves strip clubs. Now, being a Londoner, he has the requisite interest in talk of sex, boozing, and sport, three topics that bore me numb, but I have only ever seen Steve get truly excited about two things in life. The first is the culture of strip clubs, best exemplified by a sex act Steve calls (complete with pantomime) “feeding the pony”. The other has to do with Ali G. Steve (remember Steve?) is tickled pink that people wanted to sue Sacha Baron Cohen for racism but could not, for since he is a Jew, he is incapable of bigotry. This made no sense to me, but after witnessing the insanity of the UK legal system, I see no reason to doubt it.

I am standing up to my nipples in salt water.

I saw someone who looked remarkably like Steve yelling « สวัสดีค่ะ » with a mildly impressive accent but poor grammar. I knew it wasn't Steve because he wasn't being tailed by an Eastender shouting “blimey”.

I am standing up to my neck in salt water.

Jörg points out the reasoning for why normal peon developers don't have access to NEW. This makes perfect sense once you realize that each member of the ftp team is both a citizen and resident of the United States of America.

The sea is rough. It is difficult to keep the laptop dry, and, well, the Piers Anthony book in my other hand is going to smell like ocean for weeks. That's precisely why I brought it, though; it would take extreme effort to keep it from getting wet.

As it stands, or as I stand, there are three options available to me. I can retreat to the beach, where I will be mostly safe from the water. You could call this turning tail and running, or you could call it mastering my environment. It's all in the marketing. I'm going to succumb to this option anyway, and now is not the time for it. So I could also keep doing what I'm doing, keeping my head and laptop and book above water by expending near-constant effort. It's a little easier than in Puerto Rico at the place some random passerby kindly informed me that i was going to die a horrible death just like the 12 other people who had died in that spot that year. In essence though, it's like the futility of continuing living when you're surrounded by INTPs. Then there's the most appealing option: to be as the reed in some Taoist metaphor. I can just let go, and let the tides have their way with me, coolly caressing my face, washing over me, drenching my book, short-circuiting my keyboard, and filling my lungs with plant matter and some kind of 0.479M NaCl solution. My lungs see a problem with this otherwise-logically-sound philosophy.

There's an old Middle Eastern proverb that goes something like “Be as the date palm, above the spites. When she is hit with a rock, she strikes back with her sweetest fruits. Disthrust! Dilute! Disthrust!”

There may have been some corruption in the intermediate language.

(clara) Oh really? My brother used to spray my butt with lysol when we used to go camping.

(carol) did it burn?

(clara) Yes, it was cold and then burned. Lol

(clara) My brother used to sneak up behind me when I was in the woods pooping over a fallen tree. Lol. I know it sounds funny but he would do that. He also used to threaten me by putting my blanket out the window when driving down the interstate.

Disclaimer: This is not the carol of the hallucinatory libtool reacharound.

You make one little Durex pun and all of a sudden-like, somebody's making a PNG file for you.

Maintenant j'ouvre la fenêtre et une mouche la chambre entre
Ni la moche ni l'italienne ne peut être trouvée plus à son centre

This place with its wood and its shingles, this place
with birdshit splattered down the bricks
This place with drunken girls screaming Meat Loaf lyrics
and behaving like abject pricks

Maintenant je suis bien loin
But yet oh so close
Cerca de la criatura del lago
Not Iago as has been previously claimed

Humming, screeching, gurgling, squeaking
Not unlike Barbie's mom on a Thursday night
It goes through the motions of accomplishing something
When really it is advancing its own sinister agenda
An agenda so sinister that you'd name it Dexter if you could.
You can't.

Then, as the disruptive forces destabilize reality, like
they destabilize the rhyme and scansion and hyperlinklessness
of
This Poem

Then, like
Mike Stone
expressing
gratitude,
like something demanding its $3.50 (but oh, oh, it does not want its $3.50; it wants
something far more visceral and ephemeral), it makes a simple statement.

F01.

Natuurlijk.

Dear Sirs and/or/but Madam:

Kindly write a free clone of Syndicate Wars.

I can never remember this BTS URL:

oldbdb

Wow, Ian Jackson is on crack.

Tollef, little monkeys think FreeSynd is good enough.

This one is long and boring. You'll want to skip it entirely.

A while ago, Ulrich Drepper made getaddrinfo() in GNU libc behave according to an IETF RFC. Sounds sane, right? Well, not entirely. The way RFC 3484 rules work for IPv4 is less than ideal. On the other hand, returning network address query results unsorted is also less than ideal. Imagine if getent passwd returned lines in a randomized order. It would be perfectly functional, but piss me off to no end until I conditioned myself to always sort them the way I wanted them. I digress.

So, we shipped a stable release that behaved this “new” way. Nobody objected. I don't know if Ubuntu did or not. It would amuse me if they did, but I don't much care.

Then all of a sudden, along comes bug #438179. The gist is that Kurt thinks that trying to make intelligent decisions based on network topology is a bad idea because “it defeats the point of having multiple A-records in the first place.” We'll come back to that in two minutes. James filed the analogous bug in Ubuntu. I keep mentioning Ubuntu for a reason. I'm not going to tell you what that reason is.

The GNU libc maintainers were reluctant to change the default (which is how most other modern operating systems behave; MacOS X being a notable exception, though I heard that they were working on it), so Kurt escalated to the Technical Committee. Now nothing in our lovely and flawed Constitution says that the tech-ctte should be a technically-capable bastion of wisdom and patience; I just think it does because I don't waste my time reading Foundation Documents that don't accurately describe our governance structure.

Now for a brief interlude while I vamp incoherently for some of my less technical readers who are not implementors of a DNS resolver libraries, past IETF participants, DNS administrators, someones who've followed some of the IPv6 transition work, or have invented the Internet lately: Round-robin DNS is a giant hack, a poor man's loadbalancer, as it were, something that only works due to a de facto standard that no standards bodies seem to have thought worth preserving. gethostbyname() has been marked obsolescent in POSIX and deprecate in GNU libc for what seems like forever, and the GNU libc implementation of it suffers from bugs that probably no one should ever fix, and as such, no one should ever use it. getaddrinfo() is not a drop-in replacement for gethostbyname(), and expecting it to behave the same is daft. If it were meant to behave the same, I would expect that it using it would be simply a matter of changing calls to gethostbyname() to getaddrinfo(), rather than the amount of code rewriting you need to do now to change the same effect. Furthermore, nothing guarantees the behavior of gethostbyname() except for years of observed consistent behavior and the expectation that should anyone implement a C or resolver library that sorted gethostbyname() results, there would be much loud screaming that it was the library that's broken, and not the applications or programmers for being naïve.

I hope that was less than helpful. Let's move on with the plot.

While the Technical Committee “deliberated”, and I use the quotation marks because several -ctte members don't seem to have participated at all, Ian Jackson jumped up and down like some kind of Rumpelstiltskin, screaming that he is Der Komissar and that voting is in order, and a few other things I won't mention. On the 20th of September, Ian Jackson called for a vote. On the 20th of September, Ian Jackson uploaded an Ubuntu version of glibc with the default changed. On the 20th of September, my mother had trouble sleeping, though I suspect she has no idea it was because of this debacle.

This story has no ending. Let the rain come down.

Once upon a time I proposed a DebConf talk about how to write zsh completion functions, but it was rejected. Accordingly, I didn't waste any time preparing materials for it, so I never have anything to throw at people when they ask for some kind of introduction.

Here we have a fictitious program called arismom. Usage information from the fictitious manpage and the fictitious --help output is as follows:

Usage: arismom [OPTION]... [FILE]...
Do it Jersey style.

  -a, --all                       do all those things
  -b                              bubble
      --bounce                    bonuce
      --CoC=STYLE                 adhere to STYLE code of conduct
  -d, --debian=PACKAGE            dedicate actions to Debian PACKAGE
  -e, --ensqualm=USER             ensqualm USER first
  -t, --tempdir=DIRECTORY         spew temporary files into DIRECTORY

So let's cut to the quick. Create a file called _arismom somewhere in your function search path. This is described by the array $fpath. You can view its contents by typing print -l $fpath, and you can add a a directory to the beginning with fpath=(\~/.zsh/scratch $fpath) or to the end with fpath+=(\~/.zsh/scritch). For the purposes of this blog entry, we'll pretend you have a \~/.michaelbolton/squatch directory in your $fpath and that you are now editing \~/.michaelbolton/squatch/_arismom. The first line of the file, at the very tippy top, should read

#compdef arismom

This ensures that when the completion system boots up and finds your file, it will associate your function with the command arismom and complete options and arguments for it accordingly. Speaking of arguments, skip a line for aesthetic equilibrium, and invoke the _arguments utility function.

_arguments \

_arguments is sort of the cdbs of the zsh completion fleet. By the end of this blog entry, you'll have no idea how it works, and if you want to do anything particularly complex with it, you might encounter some resistance. For those of you unfamiliar with Z-Shell syntax or shell syntax in general, the trailing backslash means “I'm a-gonna feed you a ton of information about the command-line interface to arismom.” So tell it about the first option already.

  '(-a --all)'{-a,--all}'[do all those things]' \

To oversimplify, this declares that -a and --all are options which produce the identical behavior of “do all those things”. Specifically, the part in parentheses says to not complete either -a or --all when either -a or --all is already on the command-line. The part in braces is merely brace expansion; for that reason it is outside of the single quotes. If you're unfamiliar with brace expansion, try print '(alice)'{bob,carnie}'[wilson]' to see how it expands. Finally, the phrase in brackets is an explanation of the option, which may or may not be displayed depending on your configuration. Next, do a short option that has no long option equivalent.

  '-b[bubble]' \

A long option with no short option equivalent looks similar. Don't feel limited by upstream's inadequate descriptions, misspellings, or poor grammar.

  '--bounce[amplify bounce level according to X-la algorithm]' \

Some options take arguments. Now we use colons.

  '--CoC=[adhere to CoC]:CoC style:(mjg59 buxy ubuntu)' \

The first “column” is the same optspec by which you've been so excited thus far, and the part between the colons is the message or description of that which will be matched. The part after the last colon is the action; in this case you are specifying a list of possibilities within single parentheses. In most cases, you'll want to be more dynamic than a pre-defined list, and there are many helper functions all ready to serve you.

  '(-d --debian)'{-d,--debian=}'[dedicate actions to Debian package]:package:_deb_packages avail' \

_deb_packages is a function that completes Debian packages; it can take avail, installed, or uninstalled to restrict which set of packages it offers. In this case we want it to complete any package available from your sources.

  '(-e --ensqualm)'{-e,--ensqualm=}'[ensqualm user first]:user to ensqualm:_users' \

Here the _users function will complete usernames.

  '(-t --tempdir)'{-t,--tempdir=}'[spew]:temp dir:_files -/' \

Normally the _files function will complete files, but you can tell it that you only want directories with the -/ option. Finally, we want to cover all the remaining arguments (which according to the fictitious usage information is a list of files). In this case, you happen to believe that files with the .nj extension are to be completed.

  '*:NJ files:_files -g "*.nj"'

The -g option specifies a glob pattern to match files. Now the entire file should look like this.

#compdef arismom

_arguments \
  '(-a --all)'{-a,--all}'[do all those things]' \
  '-b[bubble]' \
  '--bounce[amplify bounce level according to X-la algorithm]' \
  '--CoC=[adhere to CoC]:CoC style:(mjg59 buxy ubuntu)' \
  '(-d --debian)'{-d,--debian=}'[dedicate actions to Debian package]:package:_deb_packages avail' \
  '(-e --ensqualm)'{-e,--ensqualm=}'[ensqualm user first]:user to ensqualm:_users' \
  '(-t --tempdir)'{-t,--tempdir=}'[spew]:temp dir:_files -/' \
  '*:NJ files:_files -g "*.nj"'

There you have it. Restart zsh and try tab-completing various things after arismom.

P.S. I expect bug reports containing functions for dpatch-edit-patch, pkill, and pgrep by tomorrow morning.

P.P.S. Why is Scott James Remnant still on Planet?

Joey, I find it the creepiest when I see my words scroll across my boss's monitor.

My next installment was going to cover a different topic, but Marty made a wish and unless Rajaton intercedes before this blog entry is over, the curriculum is going to careen off the track.

The relevant question is something like “Why do I have to type all that junk in when there's perfectly good --help output to parse?” and the relevant answer is something like “Yes. No. ROFLcows. Lamar.” This is somewhat easy when a program has well-behaved, sane-ish, GNU-style --help output.

Let's say you want completion for GNU ptx. Now you could go through and write a function using _arguments like you learned all about here, or you could just type

compdef _gnu_generic ptx

Suddenly you'll be able to complete options after ptx. You'll notice a few things as you perform your QA due diligence. It won't understand the subtleties of -G. It won't know what STRING and REGEXP and NUMBER mean, but then, neither do I.

It's possible to use _arguments to explain what WORDS IN ALL CAPITALS mean, but let's find a less BORING example.

Usage: nurmepuu [OPTION]... [FILE]
Drive Miss Nurmepuu

  -c, --compress=TYPE            apply this compression TYPE to the aircon
  -f, --force                    use force
  -s, --side=SIDE                drive on this SIDE of the road
  -u, --unbearability=LEVEL      tolerate this LEVEL of unbearability

So start out the way you have now learned instinctually.

#compdef nurmepuu

_arguments -- \

WAIT. WHAT'S THAT‽‽ The double hyphen-minus, contrary to the expectations of GNU and git users alike, means (are you ready for this?) parse the --help output and try to sanely complete long options. Now lets give it some hints so it isn't too braindead.

  '*=TYPE*:compression type:(gzip bzip2 lossy gainy pancakebatfish)' \
  '*=SIDE*:side of the road:(left right east west up)' \
  '*=LEVEL*:tolerance level:((japan\:haha radiohead\:hoho))'

There you go. The patterns on the left will be matched against the help output, and the completion actions on the right. The list in double parens are matches paired with descriptions (note the backslashed colons). Once more, the whole thing:

#compdef nurmepuu

_arguments -- \
  '*=TYPE*:compression type:(gzip bzip2 lossy gainy pancakebatfish)' \
  '*=SIDE*:side of the road:(left right east west up)' \
  '*=LEVEL*:tolerance level:((japan\:haha radiohead\:hoho))'

Let's say you're a French person who has EXTENDED_GLOB on and types HEAD^ all the time, but can't be bothered to type a backslash before the caret. Personally, I have no problem typing HEAD\^, but I probably only do that twice a day.

Here are a few/several/many (depending on how you count) “solutions”. They all have their downsides. Finding out their side effects is an exercise for the reader.

Number one: setopt noextendedglob

Number two: setopt nonomatch

Number three: alias git='noglob git'

Number four: custom ZLE widget:

accept_line_with_headcaret () {
  if  ${BUFFER} = git*HEAD\^* ; then
    BUFFER="${BUFFER//HEAD\^/HEAD\\^}"
  fi

  zle .accept-line
}
zle -N accept-line accept_line_with_headcaret

I'll just keep hitting the backslash key.

The zsh-lovers man page contains the following example.

# Show me all the .c files for which there doesn't exist a .o file.
$ c=(*.c) o=(*.o(N)) eval 'ls ${${c:#(${~${(j:|:)${o:r}}}).c}:?done}'

What's with the ugly dollar-sign prompt? I'd do it this way instead.

print *.c(e_' ! -e $REPLY:r.o '_)

buxy is on the wrong track.

DSA is a fundamentally-flawed organization; all of the self-selecting “committees” in Debian are: you cannot have a functional and respectable subgroup if it maintains autonomy like that.

The solution to the current set of problems that have been plaguing us for years is not to have backroom discussions and negotiations. It is not to add MORE team members, because that will, at best, achieve minor performance improvements. At worst, that will bolster its structural problems.

To fix DSA cleanly and healthily, the honorable members need to resign, and Debian needs to fire the rest. Attempt anything else and you will likely become part of the problem.

El año pasado 1,944 neoyorquinos vieron algo y dijeron algo. Gracias por mantener tus ojos y oídos bien abiertos. Y no guardar tus sospechas para ti mismo. Si ves algo, di algo! Habla con un policía o con un empleado de la xxx. O llama al 1-888-xxx-xxxx

Raphaël, I'm not sure you understood.

The solution is to get rid of all of DSA (and maybe anyone that supports them). Removing one side of a power struggle may win you some short term gains, but may be a no-op or even more harmful in the long run. Such a solution is indicative of what I would call an overly-practical mindset, the kind I'd expect from Project Scud.

You can say that DSA's inadequacies and ineptitude are due to specific individuals, but it is a team: each member is free to quit at any time (unless there is some kind of sinister blackmail or other means of coercion in progress, in which case I'm sure we would all appreciate if you exposed it), and each member is responsible for the performance of the team.

If you accept that each team member is responsible, and you acknowledge that DSA's behavior is unacceptable, then how can you imagine that adding or subtracting members piecemeal will effect anything substantial?

John Goerzen nearly transforms into Tom Robbins.

Dear Lazyweb (and Andres):

Why are Ian Murdock, Eben Moglen, and Pamela Jones supporting a company that tries to extort another company? Is it because actually filing suit is more evil than threats? Why shouldn't they both burn in hell? kthx.

Someone gave me an MP3 player. He did so for somewhat devious reasons, but that's outside the scope of this post. It is a SanDisk Sansa—stop thinking of pulp fantasy—and it has roughly 500 gigs too little storage space. The FAQ says such cute things as “The original firmware is recommended for charging at this time,” and “Rockbox does not currently provide either functionality so you will need to continue using the original firmware (for now) in MSC (UMS) mode to add music to the Sansa.”

Please don't tell my Sansa about this FAQ because it thinks that both of those claims are false.

I want my newfangled device to participate in the spyware fiesta known as last.fm, and Rockbox has an option for supporting that; if you turn it on, it fills a /.scrobbler.log file with tab-delimited lines for your parsing pleasure.

Rather than download additional software to cope with my new lifestyle, I whipped up the following script (released under the gnocchi-ng license) which “converts” the log to something you can just stuff into your ~/.zomg/cache file and send up to the submission server at your next appropriate invocation of zomg. I'm afraid you'll have to handle any timestamp sorting by hand, but if you script it, be a dear and implement some kind of cache file locking.

#!/bin/zsh
# Copyright (C) 2007  Clint Adams.  All rights reserved.
# This program has no name and is released under the terms of
# the gnocchi-ng license.

audioscrobbler_urlencode() {
  if (( $+options[multibyte] )); then
    setopt localoptions extendedglob nomultibyte
  else
    setopt localoptions extendedglob
  fi

  input=( ${(s::)1} )
  print -- ${(j::)input//(#b)([^A-Za-z0-9_.!*\'\(\)-])/%$(([##16]#match))}
}

audioscrobbler_constructquery() {
  local sid="$1"
  local artist=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$2")
  local track=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$3")
  local album=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$4")
  local mbid=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$5")
  local length=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$6")
  local ttime=$(audioscrobbler_urlencode "$7")
  local source="$8"
  local tracknum="$9"

  reply=("&s=${sid}" "&a[0]=${artist}&t[0]=${track}&i[0]=${ttime}&o[0]=${source}&r[0]=&l[0]=${length}&b[0]=${album}&n[0]=${tracknum}&m[0]=${mbid}")
}

while read -r line
do
  local -a field

  field=("${(@ps:\t:)${line}}")

  if [[ $field[6] == L ]]; then
    audioscrobbler_constructquery "" "$field[1]" "$field[3]" "$field[2]" "" "$field[5]" "$field[7]" P "$field[4]"
    print "$reply[2]"
  fi
done <<(grep -v '^#' .scrobbler.log)

Killing
HARIBO MACHT KINDER FROH UND ERWACHSENE EBENSO
Chocolates eying jealously that tub of avocado mush
Then you're just awed
By the awesomeness
Of the awesome powers displayed before you
It's pretty awesome

Struggle and conflict
Orbs of mercury rolling across space
While dogs battle in the darkness
Cable in pants at last for a hot bus ride
Woogie, woogie, woogie

I was lied to; there were supposed to be sixteen, but there were twelve. I can no longer remember my dream about the eyrie. A semester just ended, but a new one begins tomorrow, and the heat is almost unbearable. They say that some people are like cats, aloof and uncaring, and that some are like dogs, loyal and affectionate. So why does the mackerel cat rush over to rub against my legs when I say, « Bye, cutie »? Is she perhaps a dog-like person? I think not.

This morning I felt ready, but hours later I had backslid. I acquired two items to be given, but did not give them. I regret nothing, or do I? Grandma Edith says you're wishy-washy.

Sometimes being considerate is the most inconsiderate thing you can do.

P.S., Trish says all y'all got fat-ass squirrels.

I spent 10 hours unraveling a horrible place: from Q to A to B to the valley. I watched countless mystic forces acting one way, then another, but the ones I could see were not the ones tugging on my heartstrings. I doubt Freddie knows, but will Emily call? Will Amy? At some point blood will rain down from those allied stars.

At midnight, I turned into a pumpkin, but no one thought to inform me, least of all before I encountered the pink ribbon barriers. After that, all was lost, and Torres was forgotten, though his jowls were not.

Unwanted boots and unwanted bridges
Thinking of shells and penne with ridges

A picture was not there.

I'm not a fan of Fryderyk Franciszek Chopin, but this morning I was thinking that if I had to do the soundtrack for Light by M. John Harrison (and let us hope that they do not make it into a movie, because they would probably remove the brother, sister, and Tom Bombadil; make Ender's daemon a polar bear, and replace any subversive elements with a 25-minute tap-dancing rendition of Hamlet, without even bothering to cast Christopher Walken or Christian Bale; I mean, seriously…), I would include 2 Nocturnes No. 8 in D-flat major, Op. 27: II.

There are people in this world who believe that mediocrity is a sin, and that it is incumbent upon them to push and prod others into realizing their full potential, that potency above all else which will transform one from an unremarkable nobody into someone quite remarkable, for no higher purpose than the remarkability itself. There are other people who believe that these people are overbearing authoritarian morons guilty of child abuse and worse, that being normal and average is fine and dandy, and that whiling one's days away without ever accomplishing anything is perfectly acceptable, since it won't make a lick of difference when one is rotting in the ground. Then there are people who are themselves motivated to do things like spend 16 hours a day playing Wii Boxing, becoming the best in the world, and achieving remarkability for nothing more than an ego boost, only to be attacked by the first two groups of people for having priorities completely out of wack.

A long time ago, a bunch of possibly crazy people sang “Free to Be… You and Me” in my general direction, while cavorting and being otherwise scarily insane all around me. They did not explicitly instruct me to “be myself”, and if they had, I was far too young to know to distrust them. Somewhere by a weeping willow near Charles's special homo friend who was mistaken for Charlie Chaplin in the redneck bar, a bent-out-of-shape mechanical arm smolders in a chemical fire, and the guy with the red leather topcoat doesn't care one whit.

sexyasswoman1011 with the acrylic nails and the Sidekick: your earrings are ridiculous.

I was running down Boylston to avoid smelling ICF guy, and, much to my surprise, I accidentally kidnapped a young girl. « Look well, » I said, after distracting her from the lotion store. « Up there, by the rainbow mezuzot, what do you see? »

She squinted, bit her lip, and squeaked « Is that Coldplay they're listening to? »

« I'm afraid so, » I replied, and waited as she drew me this:

« Hmm.. me remete a um poema de Camões » he said. « Ainda se eu falasse a língua dos anjos.. não.. Ainda que eu falasse as línguas dos homens e dos anjos, e não tivesse amor, seria como o metal que soa ou como o sino que tine. »

« É um trecho da carta de São Paulo aos Coríntios » she said. « Ainda que eu falasse as línguas dos homens e dos anjos, e não tivesse amor, seria como o metal que soa ou como o sino que tine. »

« Um grupo musical pegou partes dessa carta de São Paulo e de um poema de Luis de Camões e usou como inspiração para sua canção » it said.

I needed to quickly stuff a bunch of random music onto a ridiculously small vfat medium. I used this:

#!/bin/zsh
# also released under the gnocchi-ng license
zmodload -i zsh/datetime

zomg_shuffle() {
  declare -A h
  local +h -Z 5 RANDOM=$EPOCHSECONDS
  integer i
  for ((i=1; i <= $#; ++i)) { h[$i.$RANDOM]=$argv[i] }
  reply=( $h )
}

zug=( /pathtomusic/ogg/**/*.ogg )
zomg_shuffle $zug

for i in "$reply[@]"
do
 cp -v "$i" /media/tinyflashdrive/"${${i:t}//[:?\"*]/_}" || { rm -v /media/tinyflashdrive/"${${i:t}//[:?\"*]/_}" ; exit 1}
done

Freshly stolen from Europe:

b() {
  setopt localoptions extendedglob

  if [[ $# -eq 1 ]]; then
    case "$1" in
      ([0-9]##)
    links "http://bugs.debian.org/cgi-bin/bugreport.cgi?bug=$1"
    ;;
      (*@*)
        links "http://bugs.debian.org/cgi-bin/pkgreport.cgi?submitter=$1"
        ;;
      (*)
        links "http://bugs.debian.org/cgi-bin/pkgreport.cgi?pkg=${1%%_*}"
        ;;
    esac
  else
    print "$0 needs one argument"
  fi
}

That was the best cover of the Super Marios Bros. theme song ever.

« As you know, » he said, « I am dating other women, but you are among the front-runners. »

« You have a month, » she retorted.

« A month‽‽ » he sputtered. « I only need like a day! »

My grandmother used to buy frozen liver and fry it. I bet it was atrocious. She only cooked once a week, so the damage was probably limited.

The first time my mother saw chocolate cake, she was a young woman in France. The sight and smell of it made her physically ill. Later on, she fainted from malnutrition in a post office. It is unclear whether she ever regained consciousness.

When my mother was a little girl, my grandfather used to go to the slaughterhouse at 4am and get liver. It was still warm with the heat of mammalian life by the time he got home, but they'd barbecue it anyway. I bet it was delicious. Freshly-killed plants and animals usually are. Fungi and sea salt follow other laws of nature, as they have considerably different souls.

After meeting my grandmother and being disgusted by her fried liver, she also was disgusted by pickled beets.

Coincidentally, I grew up hating liver, pickled beets, and chocolate cake. I managed to get over the first two, but the chocolate cake thing might last forever.

Tell her what's not true. She will fix it.

I spent two hours answering the phone, ribbing the clients affectionately before sending their calls off to different areas in the firm. It was like I couldn't get enough. I had to stop when Carol came back to her desk and demanded to know what the hell I was doing. I rejected the first fourteen answers that came to mind, and instead gave her a shrug, a wink, and a fingersnap. Then like a Carmelob, I scuttled away and strolled back across town to my office.

My dyspeptic boss tapped his foot in a hostile manner. He demanded to know where I had been. I rejected the first three answers that came to mind, and simply responded that I had been answering phones. Also I quit. It seemed the thing to do.

Explaining to my colleagues that I had just freed up a bit of time, I returned to Carol's office, where I found her rocking back and forth in the corner.

I turned off her light. It seemed the thing to do.