Diary of a Network Geek

No, not the traditional dangers.

Most outsourcing is done to countries other than our own. At the moment, the majority of our outsourcing goes to either India or the Pacific Rim. (For those of you who don’t follow this sort of thing, the Phillipines seem to be the next “hot” market, sucking away significant portions of India’s outsourcing revenue.) Sure, the prices are right and, depending on the type of outsourcing, the work might even be comprable to what you’d get in the States, but what about the other dangers? When was the last time we had a tsunami? And how long has it been since we had a major bombing here in the States? Now, I’m sure some of the people who stumble across this blog searching for information about outsourcing to India or the Phillipines or where have you will call me a racist. I’ve been called that before when I said I thought American companies should give American workers jobs before sending them offshore. But, I promise you, nothing could be further from the truth.

Still, I find myself remembering the mortgage company I worked for when I first came to Houston. We employed a small town in the rural United States to be our phone center. That job could have easily been sent offshore to an outsourcing company in Mumbai or New Dheli or Manila. But, it turns out that it was just as cost-effective to employ American workers. Also, we never had a complaint that our customers couldn’t understand our phone center workers. Now, keep in mind, I’m just being realistic here. Not everyone who speaks English as a second language has an impeniterable accent, nor is being a native speaker any guarantee, either. But, that little town was safe. No worries about things like tidal waves or bombings or coups or even hurricanes. Even blizzards didn’t stop them, though they did slow down a little the times they got hit with that. Still, they were safer from a disaster than we were in Houston and still enjoyed the comfort of knowing that the United States was a stable government who kept the peace in their own borders. Yes, we’ve had our share of tragedy, but, mainly, we’re a safe place to live and work. Safer than most of the world, really.

So, tell me again, how is this outsourcing, offshoring thing such a good deal?

So, after more several weeks of increasing tension and decreasing communication, LK (aka Ms. NewGal aka the Pie Lady) and I aren’t dating. Naturally, I blame myself. I know how I am and I am the first to admit that I am no picnic, no walk in the park. Maybe I just wasn’t quite ready. Maybe I just need some “alone time”. Hell, maybe I’m just meant to be alone the rest of my life. Just me and my Hilda. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but probably the best in the short run. Long enough to throw out more of my ex-wife’s junk at least. I’m sure that must have grated on poor LK even more than she let on. Hey, it grates on me that I have to deal with all the junk left behind by a couple of worse packrats than me. And, even that wouldn’t be bad if not for the fact that virtually everything was a reminder of how I failed there, too.Oh, I know it wasn’t all my fault. It takes two to tango and all those platitudes, but I always blame myself. After all, I’m the one thing that’s consistent between all my relationships. Sure, some of it was bad timing and a couple of rough weeks, but some of it was just the way we interacted. And, yes, maybe I am more angry than I realize. It’s not hard to point to sources of that anger, either. They’re all over my house. I know I’m sort of harping on it now, but it’s really hard for people who haven’t seen it to fathom the volume of junk I have to wade through. 95% of it, of course, is someone else’s junk, too. The detrius of an old life left behind like a snake shedding its skin. All for me to deal with. Alone.

And, there it is. That word. “Alone”. Again. And again and again. Or, perhaps, still. And, that, I know, is my fault. Never really letting anyone in because if I do, I know they won’t like what they see. As is partially born out by this particular personal tragedy. A sadly self-fullfilling prophecy. I guess the question for my therapist now is “why?” Why should I have internalized the belief that I’m not good enough when bottom-feeding scum who cheat on their spouses and have jobs only because their parents have connections feel so good about themselves? Certainly, until I answer that question, I’m not really ready to be out dating, am I?

Well, at least answering that question, in part or in whole, will give me time to clean my house the rest of the way and lose some weight and just generally improve myself.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"Hating people is like burning down your house to get rid of a rat."
   --Harry Emerson Fosdick

Music to read by…

So, as I’ve been cleaning up the massive pile of magazines that I accumulated over the past five or six years, I’ve been cutting out interesting articles. One of the more interesting articles, to me at least, was one in Wired magazine about soundtracks to accompany books. The article itself was called Books with a Backbeat and you can read it online if you follow the link. But, this got me thinking about music and books.

There’s an old “trick” that’s been given a modern twist, thanks to the iPod. In the old days, it was making a “mix tape” that your proto-character might listen to or give to someone. Now, of course, it’s all about play-lists on the character’s MP3 player of choice, which, usually, is an iPod. I’ve been thinking about this lately as I’ve been laying the ground work for my first attempt at NaNoWriMo. One of the ways people manage to get their word quota for that is by shutting out the rest of the world with music. Naturally, I’ve been ripping CDs and loading them onto my massive, 4 Gig Nano in preparation for drowning out the world. (Yes, for the inquiring minds that made the leap, Snow Patrol is on there.) But, I’ve been considering what the music I have selected will do to my writing. So, I’ve been looking at that article online again.

I’ve been trying to imagine what the sound track to my ur-novel will be like. Lots of Top 40 Pop? Rob Zombie for the fight scenes? Will that Paul Van Dyk that just came up in my random shuffle show up in a dance club? Will it drive my characters to a rave? (Do raves even still exist?) Will Bowling for Soup or Spoon be the love theme? Or will that be Sting or the Doors or, even, Warren Zevon? How is that all going to come together?
So, as I contemplate this conundrum, I’ve been looking at Albums to Books and seeing what some of my favorite books have been associated with by other fans. At least, I might find some new music out of the deal.

Oh, one other thing… One reason I haven’t used my iPod more is that I hate the earbuds that come with it. Sure, the sound is good, but I always feel like they’re about to fall out of my ears. Yesterday, I found these great Altec Lansing Clip-On Headphones at a local computer store. If you, like me, hate the default earbuds, try these babies. They stay put and the sound is as good or better than the iPod standard earbuds. I highly recommend them!
And, for all you fellow aspiring writers out there, or any artist really, what do you listen to when you create?

No, not me or anyone I know.

Sorry, but most of the geeks I know either simply are not “hotties” or are men and, well, I just don’t see them that way. And, of course, with the way my negative weight-loss has been going, I’m far from that myself. Still, rumor has it that they’re out there. Certainly, it seems they’re in Australia. At least, if this article about a Hot Geek chick calendar on AustralianIT is to be believed. Certainly, the website for the calendar itself, IT Screen Goddesses, seems to be legit. At least, they’re selling calendars of beautiful women. But, what’s their “geek cred”? Do they run Linux? Are they programmers? That I cannot say from the article or website, but, well…

Okay, this just struck me as funny. I apologize in advance to any of my readers who might, possibly find this demeaning in any way. And, you have to give them credit, at least they’re highlighting beauty and brains, in a single package. Surely, it’s no surprise that such things can coexist to my female readers, but it might shock some of my more sheltered male readers.

So, now that I’ve ruined my chances with any hot chicks who read this blog, you might as well click on the links and get chuckle. It is Friday, after all.

I’ve been cleaning up my house.

No, that’s not a metaphor for a damn thing. I’ve literally been cleaning up my house one room, one closet, at a time. A couple of weeks ago, I got down on my hands and knees and cleaned my bathroom floor right to the baseboards, getting every stray hair, human or dog. My fingers were pruney with bleach-based cleaner and my tile floor was white again.
I also cleaned my kitchen, but not quite with the same intensity as the bathroom. I still need to do the floor, but I did tackle the counters and refridgerator and pantry. It’s amazing to me that I’m still finding food left over from when I was married. Yes, that’s not a joke or an exageration. I lost count of the mystery items that I’ve thrown out of the freezer. And, the other day, I pitched some Slimfast and UltraSlimfast shake mixes. I know these weren’t mine, because, well, because they’re just not the sort of thing that I would think to buy for myself without a little “help”. They were chocolate and chocolate malt flavors and I was tempted to try them to see if they’d help me lose weight.
They smelled okay and were mostly still powdery, but the humidity had obviously not been good for them. I let them sit on the counter for a good three days before I made myself check the date on them. They stopped being “good” in 2003. I still let them sit on the counter for another couple of days before I threw them out. The whole time I was debating what to do with them, I could hear my mother and grandmother admonishing me not to waste food. I mean, they still smelled okay, right? And, Slimfast has got to be mostly chemicals anyway, so would they really go “bad”?

It was a game that finally got me to see the insanity of what I was doing and throw the cans out. As I opened one again to smell check it, and confirm the expired freshness date, my inner-eye flashed to a role-playing game I used to love called Gamma World. It’s a post-apocalyptic science-fantasy game filled with rogue robots and marauding mutants. There are countless dangers waiting to kill off unsuspecting and careless player-characters, not least of which was canned food. Yeah, old food from the time of Ancients, before the great wars that destroyed the Earth and made plants into deadly perils to be approached warily. Cans with no labels or unreadable freshness dates that could be a village’s salvation, or deadly poison that would kill everyone who ate it. Only a lucky roll of the dice would tell us for sure. But, intelligent characters stopped taking the risk.

I still have the original rules for that game upstairs on a shelf, but I threw out the Slimfast. Just in case.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"When I'm working on a problem I never think about beauty. I think only of how to solve the problem. But, when I have finished, if the solution is not beautiful, I know it is wrong."
   --R. Buckminster Fuller

An old “trick” that never seems to get old, even when it doesn’t quite work.

Every once in a while, I actually talk about technical stuff on this blog and this week, I’m focused on Google. Oh, sure, it’s called “Diary of a Network Geek”, but I generally talk about all sorts of geeky things that have nothing to do with computers or networking at all. Well, today you get a treat, gentle readers, and I’ll write a little technical bit about what this is and how it works, or doesn’t. Here’s the trick, in a nutshell: Google a specific site or page with no extra parameters, using the “site:ryumaou.com” syntax. (To hit a specific page, “site:ryumaou.com/hoffman/netgeek/“) When you get your search results, notice at the bottom of each description, there is a link labelled “Cached”. Click that and you’re looking at the page as it resides on the Google servers. At this point, normally, you’d not be hitting the actual website at all, but simply viewing the page as it was stored on Google’s servers when they spidered the site for their search database.

Now, normally, that would hide you from a web log, but not from this blog. Why? Good question. What you see pictured in the graphic on this post is a rookie mistake. Googlecache browsing doesn’t work well to conceal one’s IP address when browsing dynamic content. I know it might not always seem like it, but this blog is, actually, fairly dynamic. In this particular case, what tripped up our inexperienced sneak is a plugin, or set of plugins, running on the blog. Mainly, it was the plugin that makes the pretty title graphics via PHP. When our tricksy, little Hobbit hit the Googlecached page, his browser made a call directly back to code stored on my site to generate the cool graphics. Graphics which, because they are generated dynamically, are not stored in Google’s cache, but created “on the fly” every time someone hits my page. Interestingly enough, even if our erstwhile intruder had turned off the ability to view graphics in his browser, the PHP code would have still generated graphic, thereby alerting me to his rather weak attempt to conceal his identity.
The only thing one might gain from this “hack” is the ability to get around a blocked IP address. Sadly, the sneak doesn’t need to do this, as I block very few IP addresses at all. For one thing, an IP block is of limited value for blocking spammers, since they change IPs regularly to avoid such blocks. For another, to deal with spam and other unwanted visitors, I have other tools that work much better. So, really, all this particular tricksy, little Hobbit did was, well, waste their own time and give me a handy topic to write a quick piece about very basic web security.

So, um, thanks. Now, c’mon in from the cold and just browse the site to your heart’s content, okay? Oh, and don’t forget to vote on the poll in the sidebar there everybody!

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"The only difference between saints and sinners is that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future."
   --Oscar Wilde

Truer words were never spoken.
At the time, I found it amusing. Not that I’m a wreck, but that someone would notice and say it out loud. But, I have to admit, it was less and less amusing with every repitition.

It was a Tuesday night and Ms.NewGirl was over for the first time. It was an evening of apple pie and pizza and roommates and dogs. A test, of sorts, to see if she was up to me. My house is a disaster. I don’t say this lightly. It really is. Imagine, if you will, a house that was once mostly orderly and only slightly cluttered. Now, picture what happens when the sole occupant slides into a deep depression with little motivation to eat, much less clean. Add to that a steady stream of papers, legal and otherwise, junk mail, and magazine subscriptions. Getting a good picture? Great, now, factor in one guy trying to scrape the last remnants of a life he’d just as soon forget into one room so the movers can haul it all away, only to find out that those movers aren’t ever coming. But, wait, there’s more! Add to that a roommate and a dog. What do you have? Yeah, a wreck.

I know it was just her way of telling me to get that junk out of the house so she wasn’t faced with that part of my past everywhere she looked, but I can’t blame her for that. Hey, I’d rather not be faced with it, either! But, it’s there. Both the Augean-Stable-like clutter and the past. She may not have to face it, but I do. Every day. But, you know, who I am today is a result of who I was then. It’s not good or bad, really, but it is a fact. The man I strive to be is built on the wreckage of the mistakes I made, the poor choices and the bad behavior. Who I am today is not who I was because, today, I choose not to be that guy. And that choice is pretty important. I choose to be who I am. I make choices that have consequences and take me places. Hopefully, different places than I’ve been or would have gone in the past. So, there’s no point running or hiding from any of it. I just have to get started on the wreckage that sticks out where folks might trip over it.

So, that’s what I’ve been doing the past couple weeks. I’ve been working on it. I mean I’ve been really working on getting my house in order.

I highly reccomend checking yourself on Google.
Why? Because your next employer may be Googling you, that’s why. At least, according to this article on the New York Times, that’s what’s been happening.  I certainly know that I’ve been found on Google on more than one occasion.  Not only by employers, but also by potential dates and, well, obviously, dates.  This blog did, after all, start as a marketing scheme, a way to get the search engines to find me and catalog me.  It worked.  Very well, in fact, as this page has a Googlerank of Five out of Ten.  And, if you Google Linux Resume, I’m the second hit.  If you Google CNE Resume, I’m the first two hits.  If you Google Jim Hoffman, I’m the sixth hit.  So, I think about what I say here, and how I say it, because I know people might actually read it.  People I might care about and people who’s opinion matters to me or can effect my life.  And, I’m told that in the dating world, it’s more and more common to Google potential dates to see what mischief they’ve been up to on the web.  Obviously, one never knows what might turn up.

This is a special concern for bloggers, of course, who put themselves “out there” on a regular basis.  Do you want a potential employer reading that last rant?  Or about your after-hours antics?  Or about the slacking you do at work to post to your blog instead?  All things to think about.  So, what do you find when you Google yourself?  If you don’t know yet, maybe you should try it and see what turns up.

Advice from your Uncle Jim:
"The moon does not think to reflect in the water, nor does the water think to reflect the moon."

Probably not what it sounds like…

I’m too sensitive. I know this, not because I’ve been told by my mother and LK both, but because I can see how I react to things. I have a “rich interior life” that no one sees, thankfully, and I think way too much. Way, way, too much. As a result, I’m overly sensitive to a lot of really stupid things.

Case in point,Final Straw by Snow Patrol. Now, that might seem fairly safe. Some rather bland pop band not unlike many, many others. So why would I react so strongly to it? This led to a rather unpleasant “discussion” with LK and I. We’d been out and, as we pulled up, some song by Snow Patrol came on the radio. LK coos that it’s her favorite new song and turns the volume up. I asked who it was and she told me. Suddenly, I was nauseous. I sat for a moment and listened, but it got to me too much. Sadly, I apparently whispered my explanation to LK, who couldn’t hear me over the song. I sat for a few more seconds then I had to get out of the car. I felt the adrenaline sprint through me making me shake, but with rage or fear or just simple pain, I don’t know. She chased me, demanding to know what’s wrong and, finally, I choke out “That’s how I knew”.
“Knew what?” she asked me, bewildered.
“Knew that my ex-wife was cheating on me.”

You see, one night after being at one of the men’s support group meetings that I’d been attending, she and her daughter were playing that CD. It was obviously not new and I hadn’t seen it before. I asked her where it came from and she told me that a “friend” gave it to her. Now, in most situations, I suppose, a man might accept that answer, but, and I say this without any animosity or exaggeration, my wife didn’t really have any friends, by her own choice. Really. I am not lying or exaggerating or anything for effect or the sake of a good narrative. It was that precise moment that I knew, for sure, that she’d been cheating on me. There wasn’t any other explanation in my mind that could put that CD in her hand. Certainly not the lie that she told me.

But, all that aside, my point is that it shouldn’t bother me anymore. I should be past the fact that she did what she did. God knows, I was no angel either, though, I never cheated on her. Small comfort, considering. So, a couple of days ago, I made up my mind that I was going to get that CD and listen to it until those feelings burned their way clean.

I’ve been listening to that CD for two days now, letting it loop over and over and over. Funny thing is, though they’re not my favorite band, and I think their music is somewhat bland, overly “emo” and not all that original, they’ve started to grow on me.

I love cartoons.

Some of you may have noticed that I’m a fan of rather unusual literature. I admit, I tend toward the fantastic, surreal and bizarre, but, hey, if it’s getting published, I can’t be the only one! One of my favorites, who I discovered in early High School, is H. P. Lovecraft. I started with The Tomb and Other Tales
and moved on from there.

Well, there are a lot of fans out there and we all seem to have slightly skewed senses of humor. Often times, this results in very, very strange homage taking forms that the human mind can barely encompass. The Unspeakable Vault (of Doom) is one of those things. It’s a parody of much of Lovecraft’s work. It’s also a very funny cartoon. Enjoy!