I will end this silence.
If I haven't heard from you by then, tomorrow morning I'm going to call you.
If you don't answer, I'm going to leave a voicemail asking you to call me.
If you haven't called back by the time I leave work, then I'm going to your house.
If you're not home, I'm going to wait for you for as long as it takes.
I need to tell you something.
I will end this silence.
I'm thinking that maybe I should just move to Las Vegas. It might be cheaper.
I'm still, of course, going in less than two weeks. That will be all vacation.
I'm going again in late November for the same conference I always go to.
I already knew about this, but it's official now because I'm all booked.
So, yay!
As always, more detailed stalking information will be provided as it becomes available.
Also, the trip to Colorado in early September is still a go, so far.
I wasn't going to mention this at all.
I almost made it. I almost made it to the point where it would be old news, not worthy of an entry.
Almost.
But then, I figured, you guys have already seen me at my absolute worst, yet still some of you remain unrepulsed.
So a reminder is in order.
A reminder of my stupidity.
Got a new server at work last week. I think it was Wednesday. I do my Solaris installations over the network. It is 2006 after all. Installation CDs are so last century.
Anyway, I ran through all of the steps needed to make sure that the boot/installation server was running properly and that it was ready for the new equipment.
Wrong.
I rackmounted the new server, connected its network and console cabling, opened a terminal to the console port, and fired it up.
Watching the boot/installation server's logfiles and snoop output, I saw the RARPs go out from the new server. I saw the proper responses given. Then I watched the TFTP transfer of the boot image take place.
Everything was going very smoothly.
But then, then the new server installation failed with the message Unable to mount remote filesystem.
WTF?
I logged into another server on the network and verified that the installation CD images were indeed mountable. They were, so that wasn't the problem. So why couldn't the new server mount the fucking things?
I must have tried for four hours to get the new server to install. I even killed the rpc.bootparamd and tftpd and mountd processes and restarted them in debug mode, hoping that would shed some light on the problem.
Well, it did, in a way.
The problem was me.
It wasn't so much the output that I was seeing, it was what I wasn't seeing.
I wasn't seeing the boot/install server even trying to share out those CD images.
Finally, I figured it out.
See, up until a month or so ago, I'd used another server for Solaris installations. Up until about a month ago, another server had possesion of the IP address handed out by the rpc.bootparamd service.
And that other server, because it had access to the same NIS ethers database as the current boot/installation server, that other server was actually the one trying to serve up the Solaris CD images. Problem was, of course, that this other server didn't have access to those images anymore - they'd been migrated over to the new boot/install server along with the IP address used to identify the boot/installation server!
Duh.
So I killed the rpc.bootparamd process on the old server, and everything went as planned from that point on. The new server installed correctly. No thanks to me.
That's four hours out of my life that I'd really like to get back.
(This entry brought to you by Delirium Tremens. Delirium Tremens. Dave's Desert Island Beer. A DaveFest Primary Selection.)
Okay fine. I'll fucking write something relevant.
The pieces of my broken dreams lie at my feet. They've been there for longer than I care to remember. I suppose that I've become used to them, stepping around them, finding a path through them. They've become a part of this life that I live. Such as it is.
These shards do serve a purpose. There's a reason I haven't bothered to clean them up. They remind me that it's useless to yearn, that it's worthless to want, that it's naive to need, that it's dumb to dream.
That it's ludicrous to love.
If I sweep them aside then it's likely that I'll eventually forget the lessons that they represent. I am stupid, after all. I think that's been well-established. Forgetting those lessons would be bad. And these broken dreams remind me, but they also warn me.
There cannot be a second time.
So I tiptoe my way through this life. Such as it is. I watch my step. I pick my path. I go around when I have to. I get used to it. I become a nimble fucker. I should join the circus.
And then, and then she comes along and walks right through everything that I've so carefully avoided. With each passing second there's an audible crunch as another fragment is crushed into dust under her mindless stride.
My dreams, foolish as they were, broken as they are, they deserve better than this.
I deserve better than this.
You know what? Despite what people might think and what people might say - even despite what I might think and what I might say - I'm not a bad person.
My evilness is merely cosmetic.
Most things that I choose to do or choose to not do have at their root a selfless reason.
A reason.
Not an excuse.
Ah, there they are. I'd been wondering when my emotions would show up. Funny, I didn't expect anger to be leading the way.
(continued)
Showing up at 8:00 always means that I've got to really pace myself or I'll end up going home at 10:00 like some old man. I needed to drink only tame beers. So I sat on the sofa and ordered an NABC Artemsia (180) and talked with a couple of regulars. Regulars who will no doubt be disappointed that I haven't given them nicknames.
Anyway, there was some old lady in the throne. I talked with her for a bit. She seemed really nice, which was strange because most old ladies really creep me out.
Once the old lady and the regulars left I grabbed the throne for myself.
I'm pretty sure that some other stuff happened, but I don't know what. It must not have been important, or interesting.
Actually, that brings up a point. I'm woefully unprepared to write this, the second half of my Saturday beer report. I took notes at the BBC, and I had my notebook with me at Rich O's, but I made very little use of it. In fact, here are the only notes I took at Rich O's last night:
Don't forget. Three times a lady.I wrote this because they played that song over the radio or CD player or whatever they have back there. I was reminded of a dance I went to when I was in 8th grade. This girl had a crush on me for some reason and we danced all night. They must have played that song a dozen times. That was in 1978.
Weirdoes at 10:00.A whole herd of weirdoes came in at 10:00 and looked around for a bit. Then I guess they went and sat out front.
PretentiousAssholeThis one guy shows up every now and then and makes fun of everyone's beers. I hate him, and I guess just about everyone hates him.
At a little after 10:00 I texted DooRagGirl, telling her to put down the paintbrush and come to Rich O's. About an hour later she came in, but not (she claimed) because I'd asked her to. Didn't matter, it was nice to see her.
My next beer was a Smithwick's (936).
I spent the next hour or so talking with DooRagGirl and MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl. I determined that I haven't managed to completely alienate DooRagGirl. The HatGirl question remains unanswered. Also, I guess MusicalHippyDude is supposed to get his hair cut next week. I probably won't bother giving him a new nickname. We'll see.
They started kicking everyone out at 12:30, so I bought myself a couple of Gulden Draak bottles and came home.
See, I hadn't slept since Friday morning. I gave it a hell of a try, but certain images and events and non-events prevented it. So I devised a plan.
I would drink until I passed out.
Not the healthiest plan I've ever had, but I figured that if I didn't manage to get some sleep then I'd probably end up in the hospital. And that's when the accusations would start flying. I couldn't let that happen.
So I came home, and I sat out on my swing, and I had two bottles of Gulden Draak (204). I was still conscious, so I had a bottle of Delirium Tremens (599).
That did the trick. I woke up at 12:30.
I kinda wish that I could sleep until it's time to leave for Las Vegas. I doubt that the next couple of weeks will be very much fun.
This is me trying to be funny. Not with the content of the entry, more like the theme. Or the lack thereof. Only time will tell if I am successful or not. Well, time and RockGirl, what with RockGirl being the only other person on Earth who might get the joke.
Plus, I'm kinda repeating the same joke from the Friday report, so this time it might fall flat.
Anyway, Ha Ha.
Saturday evening I went out to the BBC brewpub on Shelbyville Road. I'd been craving their Dark Star Porter and I'd been thwarted last weekend when I went downtown. So I this time I went straight to the source.
I sat at a table over by the outdoor area, and the first thing I noticed was that ExoticGirl was sitting outside. The second thing I noticed was that her husband was sitting with her. Oh, well.
I ordered a spicy cheeseburger and fries and a Dark Star (194). The beer was yummy. At least what I had of it was. What happened was this - Out of the corner of my eye I saw ExoticGirl lean forward in her seat and expose some panty material. For some reason I chose that exact moment to reach for my beer, but in my distracted/excited state I didn't so much grab the beer as knock it over. Actually, I didn't so much knock it over as backhand it across the table and onto the floor.
Oops.
So I only had about a half-pint of the Dark Star (184).
My second beer, which arrived at the same time as my food, was a BBC Smoked Porter (54). It was pretty good, but the caution with which I found myself drinking it - that caution neutralized some of the enjoyment for me. I was being very careful because I figured that if I managed to spill two beers in a row they'd probably call the cops just on principle. I'd go directly to jail. I wouldn't pass go. And I most definitely wouldn't collect $200.
The remainder of my time at the BBC passed without incident, and I got to Rich O's at about 8:00.
(to be continued)
...then you're lucky.
My hosting company did some shit last night and the problems caused are continuing.
This site is either completely down or it's unbearably sloooooooooooooow.
This sucks.
