Oh, Linux. You are fun sometimes.
While upgrading some packages with apt (sudo apt-get update && sudo apt-get upgrade)I was recently met with a response of "The following packages have been kept back:", followed by a list of packages.
This can happen when some packages have dependencies that must be met by installing other packages. This can be solved with:
sudo apt-get dist-upgrade
This can make sweeping system changes, however, installing new packages and removing some it thinks you no longer need. If you have custom source lists or a "stable" production system, you really need a backup in case something goes sideways in the upgrade process.
Alternatively you can use:
sudo apt-get install <held back packages>
...to individually fix items with less risk to the system going <BLOOP>.
More information can be found on Stack Exchange's AskUbuntu site.
Monday, March 30, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Upgrading GoLang on a (Linux ARM) Rasperry Pi to 1.4.2, Git Edition
You may have seen my previous post where I chronicled the debacle of upgrading GoLang on my ARM-Linux Raspberry Pi only to have it roll back to a previous version, so I had to force it to upgrade with a little more manual elbow grease. Not much, fortunately, but enough to be confusing if you're not accustomed to the procedure.
At one point someone suggested that problem was because 1.4 was in git and not mercurial. That was incorrect, as I was still able to convince Mercurial to grab the proper release version. But it was an omen of what was to come.
Time had passed, updates were released, and I tried the upgrade again only to have it hilariously backpedal to version 1.3.3 again. Time to move to the latest "true" way of updating, I guess.
First, fix the damage of a Go install with the wrong version. My home directory had a ./go directory with the source in it. Make it go away...
rm -fr go
Next, grab the source.
git clone https://go.googlesource.com/go
cd go
git checkout go1.4.2
Now to compile it.
cd src
./all.bash
Wait a long time, then all set!
go version
-> go version go1.4.2 linux/arm
At one point someone suggested that problem was because 1.4 was in git and not mercurial. That was incorrect, as I was still able to convince Mercurial to grab the proper release version. But it was an omen of what was to come.
Time had passed, updates were released, and I tried the upgrade again only to have it hilariously backpedal to version 1.3.3 again. Time to move to the latest "true" way of updating, I guess.
First, fix the damage of a Go install with the wrong version. My home directory had a ./go directory with the source in it. Make it go away...
rm -fr go
Next, grab the source.
git clone https://go.googlesource.com/go
cd go
git checkout go1.4.2
Now to compile it.
cd src
./all.bash
Wait a long time, then all set!
go version
-> go version go1.4.2 linux/arm
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Teachers Don't Work To Rule When Working To Rule
I was talking with an educator for a school district in PA who was being accused of "not getting grades posted on <an online grade tracker> in time."
That got me thinking about what is expected of a teacher, especially since this district, like many others, has been in a continuing fight to actually get a contract negotiated but administrators and the board still demand teachers get everything graded in a timely manner (and any disputes result in consultation with existing contracts that have expired or policies that are woefully, or deliberately, vague.)
It's been pretty much shrugged off as expected standard operating procedure that teachers are expected to work beyond normal hours. But during drawn out negotiations, teachers will sometimes "work to rule," meaning they do what is in their contracts and nothing more. You want more coverage? No volunteering. You want after school activities? Better hope it's specified in the previous contract they're stuck working under. They're not supposed to be working extra hours, staying late, or sacrificing extra for their administrator overlords.
This was especially troubling given that school boards would release press releases implying the teachers are greedy and overpaid compared to the hours administrators put into their jobs for their pay.
Yeah, that's horseshit when it comes to actually getting work done, though. I decided to do some simple math to get a rough idea of whether this was horseshit or just assumed to be.
The teacher I talked to has a 7.5 hour day by contract, with 6 classes per day and a study hall to watch and a tutorial period to proctor. Between classes there are 4 minutes of designated "hall time" for students to get to classes (although usually the teachers have some responsibility in that period for watching the halls and managing students while also trying to set up for the next class.)
The lunch and prep times are self-directed times where they're paid to not directly teach students. So I added up the other times when they're expected to be "on clock," and it came to 346 minutes per day out of a workday of 450 minutes; subtracting lunch leaves 74 minutes of non-student contracted time.
Over the course of a week, that's 370 minutes of "banked time" on contract (or 6 hours 10 minutes.)
This teacher is required to give a quiz every week to each class. A 15 question quiz...an average quiz...takes half an hour to grade per class. Six classes means 3 hours of grading. That leaves 3 hours and 10 minutes "in the bank" per week.
This teacher is also required to give 3 tests within 9 weeks. So I'll take the 190 minutes "in the bank" and multiply it out by 9, giving 1710 minutes every 9 weeks of "in the bank" grading time (28 hours, 30 minutes.)
Six classes with three tests gives 18 tests within that period. "How long does it take you to grade the test?"
"About an hour per class."
Each test takes an hour. That's 18 hours, leaving 10.5 hours "in the bank" for nine weeks.
Now let us average it back to a per-week. That's 630 minutes divided by 9, giving 70 minutes per week, or one hour and ten minutes.
This means that teacher has roughly one hour and ten minutes, on average, under contract, in which to get other things done. Like, homework. If it takes half an hour to correct one class's 15 question quiz, then it's not unreasonable, using the spherical cow method of estimation, to say that a homework assignment for one class will take half an hour to correct. With one hour and ten minutes per week left to actually fit such grading in, under contract, that means that assigning homework to HALF this teacher's classes will already spill over that person's contracted working hours.
How often does this teacher assign homework?
"About two or three times a week."
Two assignments to six classes is twelve assignments per week, or 6 hours of grading, or four hours fifty minutes over the contracted time to work per week.
This was using rough estimates. But really, how far do these numbers fudge the teacher's actual workload? Would the school board and administrators prefer the hard numbers, and risk seeing how far off...in a not positive fashion...the rough estimates are?
Perhaps they would, since they're confident enough to discuss pay based on contracted hours to make teachers look like greedy descendants of Scrooge. And this is just contracted time obligated to the district, not including pay lost when they have to pay for their own classroom supplies and their own background checks (teachers in PA, mostly fallout from a certain coach abusing players thing you might have heard about, teachers will be required to get background checks every 3 years and pay out of pocket; it's the most hilarious demonstration of the state telling administrators they're incompetent that I've ever seen since this means that an employee would be arrested, tried, and found guilty, without the employer...the school district...ever knowing about it. How else would they fail a background check while continuously employed? New employees should be required to get checked, not continually employed staff!)
Perhaps more numbers should be figured. Maybe if teachers actually calculated the worktime they're contracted to work, and stuck within that time period before going off clock with the single finger salute sailing in the breeze from an open car window as the vehicle burns out of the parking lot, there'd be more angry frowns from people who insist on holding them to every other stipulation in the negotiated contract, since it's just expected they put in whatever hours it takes to "get the work done." I don't even know why they get a "vacation" or "break", since if they don't grade work over that time administrators can hold that against them.
Any problems with the math? Corrections? Maybe you have some of your own, as a teacher, to throw in here? I'd be interested in comments on this...
That got me thinking about what is expected of a teacher, especially since this district, like many others, has been in a continuing fight to actually get a contract negotiated but administrators and the board still demand teachers get everything graded in a timely manner (and any disputes result in consultation with existing contracts that have expired or policies that are woefully, or deliberately, vague.)
It's been pretty much shrugged off as expected standard operating procedure that teachers are expected to work beyond normal hours. But during drawn out negotiations, teachers will sometimes "work to rule," meaning they do what is in their contracts and nothing more. You want more coverage? No volunteering. You want after school activities? Better hope it's specified in the previous contract they're stuck working under. They're not supposed to be working extra hours, staying late, or sacrificing extra for their administrator overlords.
This was especially troubling given that school boards would release press releases implying the teachers are greedy and overpaid compared to the hours administrators put into their jobs for their pay.
Yeah, that's horseshit when it comes to actually getting work done, though. I decided to do some simple math to get a rough idea of whether this was horseshit or just assumed to be.
The teacher I talked to has a 7.5 hour day by contract, with 6 classes per day and a study hall to watch and a tutorial period to proctor. Between classes there are 4 minutes of designated "hall time" for students to get to classes (although usually the teachers have some responsibility in that period for watching the halls and managing students while also trying to set up for the next class.)
The lunch and prep times are self-directed times where they're paid to not directly teach students. So I added up the other times when they're expected to be "on clock," and it came to 346 minutes per day out of a workday of 450 minutes; subtracting lunch leaves 74 minutes of non-student contracted time.
Over the course of a week, that's 370 minutes of "banked time" on contract (or 6 hours 10 minutes.)
This teacher is required to give a quiz every week to each class. A 15 question quiz...an average quiz...takes half an hour to grade per class. Six classes means 3 hours of grading. That leaves 3 hours and 10 minutes "in the bank" per week.
This teacher is also required to give 3 tests within 9 weeks. So I'll take the 190 minutes "in the bank" and multiply it out by 9, giving 1710 minutes every 9 weeks of "in the bank" grading time (28 hours, 30 minutes.)
Six classes with three tests gives 18 tests within that period. "How long does it take you to grade the test?"
"About an hour per class."
Each test takes an hour. That's 18 hours, leaving 10.5 hours "in the bank" for nine weeks.
Now let us average it back to a per-week. That's 630 minutes divided by 9, giving 70 minutes per week, or one hour and ten minutes.
This means that teacher has roughly one hour and ten minutes, on average, under contract, in which to get other things done. Like, homework. If it takes half an hour to correct one class's 15 question quiz, then it's not unreasonable, using the spherical cow method of estimation, to say that a homework assignment for one class will take half an hour to correct. With one hour and ten minutes per week left to actually fit such grading in, under contract, that means that assigning homework to HALF this teacher's classes will already spill over that person's contracted working hours.
How often does this teacher assign homework?
"About two or three times a week."
Two assignments to six classes is twelve assignments per week, or 6 hours of grading, or four hours fifty minutes over the contracted time to work per week.
This was using rough estimates. But really, how far do these numbers fudge the teacher's actual workload? Would the school board and administrators prefer the hard numbers, and risk seeing how far off...in a not positive fashion...the rough estimates are?
Perhaps they would, since they're confident enough to discuss pay based on contracted hours to make teachers look like greedy descendants of Scrooge. And this is just contracted time obligated to the district, not including pay lost when they have to pay for their own classroom supplies and their own background checks (teachers in PA, mostly fallout from a certain coach abusing players thing you might have heard about, teachers will be required to get background checks every 3 years and pay out of pocket; it's the most hilarious demonstration of the state telling administrators they're incompetent that I've ever seen since this means that an employee would be arrested, tried, and found guilty, without the employer...the school district...ever knowing about it. How else would they fail a background check while continuously employed? New employees should be required to get checked, not continually employed staff!)
Perhaps more numbers should be figured. Maybe if teachers actually calculated the worktime they're contracted to work, and stuck within that time period before going off clock with the single finger salute sailing in the breeze from an open car window as the vehicle burns out of the parking lot, there'd be more angry frowns from people who insist on holding them to every other stipulation in the negotiated contract, since it's just expected they put in whatever hours it takes to "get the work done." I don't even know why they get a "vacation" or "break", since if they don't grade work over that time administrators can hold that against them.
Any problems with the math? Corrections? Maybe you have some of your own, as a teacher, to throw in here? I'd be interested in comments on this...
Monday, February 2, 2015
Gimme the Answer! (It's What Business Wants)
Moving from the world of a student to the job-holding world can be jarring. You spend many years learning how things are supposed to work in theory, only to have those ideas demolished when you enter the working world where business, humans, and theory collide in an attempt to achieve "results."
In a way this is a natural side effect of the progression of technology. Manufacturers want their products to get cheaper and easier to use so more people, usually technology illiterate, will buy their products. Computers today are several factors faster and more reliable than computers ten or fifteen years ago. They are also priced several factors less than those computer from a decade ago.
Computers used to cost enough that when they broke down, it made sense to take them to a repair shop to replace parts and diagnose issues. Today the cost of repair can cost about as much as buying a new computer, with the added bonus of usually acquiring a faster system in the process.
As time passed, more utilities were released to help manage fleets of computers in business. Operating systems started including more helpful systems to accommodate imaging and system deployment. They're far from perfect (oh, so far, in some cases...) but they exist, and system management has significantly advanced to try to meet the needs of large businesses.
"Surely, these are good things! Companies need these features so system administrators can focus on getting work done instead of spending all their time troubleshooting user problems on their desktops!"
On one hand these features are great. They cut down on time that might have been wasted with repetitive tasks, and rolling out simple changes to a hundred desktops through automation really adds up.
The other hand, though, is the one in which exploring problems and creating solutions fosters understanding. Why is this computer failing to install this application? What do I do to find a key to delete in the registry? How can I replace a file on a system that won't finish booting?
Sometimes you can learn very interesting things through what your manager would have deemed a waste of time; I learned about visibility of various Windows timers while trying to troubleshoot an application that was supposed to schedule a reboot from the time a user had logged in (spoiler: it's not as simple as you'd think), for example. Working with Visual Basic was like a lesson in spotting people who were actually vampires hiding among normal people; I didn't realize how many applications, written by professional programmers, with a large price tag attached, were actually written in a language that is the object of so many jokes by other professional programmers.
But now there is often pressure to not explore the problem but instead just re-image the system, or reinstall the operating system. We don't take the time to try to figure out what is causing the problem or poke at internals. That's a waste of time. The efficient, responsible thing to do is just wipe it and that should probably most likely fix the problem.
In fairness it usually does.
Then a month later you find other sysadmins or support people complaining about how kids today don't have any comprehension of how things work. They don't know about registry editing, or have any intuition in tracing an application failure when the antivirus program is supposed to be talking to the clients but isn't.
It might very well have to do with the fact that they never had to, and were actually discouraged from taking the time to discovering how things work in favor of the quick re-image. It may have to do with the fact that people who did benefit from having no possible choice but recompile the Linux kernel to get a feature or device to work properly won't take the time to mentor new people for comprehension of a problem rather than just fixing a problem and moving on.
Cheaper technology, simpler solutions. Reimage it. Reinstall it. You don't understand it because you don't have to.
Eventually it's all just magic.
We'll remember the days when stuff cost so much you had to learn to troubleshoot it and keep it going rather than swapping out cheap parts from Walmart. We'll remember learning how things worked because we were forced to poke at parts until the spot where data was getting stuck could be unstuck, instead of reinstalling and hoping the corrupted entry or random file was overwritten with a working version.
And then continue bitching that people today don't understand what the hell they're doing.
Because...y'know...they don't have to.
The other hand, though, is the one in which exploring problems and creating solutions fosters understanding. Why is this computer failing to install this application? What do I do to find a key to delete in the registry? How can I replace a file on a system that won't finish booting?
Sometimes you can learn very interesting things through what your manager would have deemed a waste of time; I learned about visibility of various Windows timers while trying to troubleshoot an application that was supposed to schedule a reboot from the time a user had logged in (spoiler: it's not as simple as you'd think), for example. Working with Visual Basic was like a lesson in spotting people who were actually vampires hiding among normal people; I didn't realize how many applications, written by professional programmers, with a large price tag attached, were actually written in a language that is the object of so many jokes by other professional programmers.
But now there is often pressure to not explore the problem but instead just re-image the system, or reinstall the operating system. We don't take the time to try to figure out what is causing the problem or poke at internals. That's a waste of time. The efficient, responsible thing to do is just wipe it and that should probably most likely fix the problem.
In fairness it usually does.
Then a month later you find other sysadmins or support people complaining about how kids today don't have any comprehension of how things work. They don't know about registry editing, or have any intuition in tracing an application failure when the antivirus program is supposed to be talking to the clients but isn't.
It might very well have to do with the fact that they never had to, and were actually discouraged from taking the time to discovering how things work in favor of the quick re-image. It may have to do with the fact that people who did benefit from having no possible choice but recompile the Linux kernel to get a feature or device to work properly won't take the time to mentor new people for comprehension of a problem rather than just fixing a problem and moving on.
Cheaper technology, simpler solutions. Reimage it. Reinstall it. You don't understand it because you don't have to.
Eventually it's all just magic.
We'll remember the days when stuff cost so much you had to learn to troubleshoot it and keep it going rather than swapping out cheap parts from Walmart. We'll remember learning how things worked because we were forced to poke at parts until the spot where data was getting stuck could be unstuck, instead of reinstalling and hoping the corrupted entry or random file was overwritten with a working version.
And then continue bitching that people today don't understand what the hell they're doing.
Because...y'know...they don't have to.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Clipboards and Passwords and Symantec and Encoding, Oh My!
There's been an interesting quirk in our SEPM server for...months, I think. It's one of those quirks that we find annoying, but our workarounds have been sufficient to the point that we ignored the problem. You know how it is...always something more pressing, and getting this to work was more or less an annoyance, not a showstopper.
We couldn't log into our SEPM server unless the password was pasted in.
Weird, eh?
The thing is that the person who normally logs into it is me. Like, 90% of the time. And we can log into the server itself, just not SEPM.
I'm on a Mac, so I use RDP to connect to our antivirus server. I'll call it AntivirusServer. I enter SuperUser and type in the password. SEPM replies that I have the wrong password.
I open my password manager, running on Windows in a Virtualbox VM, and display the password; it matches. I retype the password in the RDP session.
"WRONG. TRY AGAIN."
Clipboard sharing is enabled for both the VM/host and client/RDP session. I copy the password from the password manager, paste it into the RDP session and hit the enter key.
"GREETINGS PROFESSOR FALKEN."
Okay, maybe it didn't say that exactly, but you get the gist. Every time.
SEPM is basically a web interface to a Tomcat application (Apache/Java on Windows?...yeah, nevermind...) so I began to wonder if it wasn't doing something strange with the encoding of the password string. Maybe what I type in doesn't match the encoding of text pasted in!
So I asked on SuperUser how to determine the encoding of text. The first comment said it's not possible. Basically the encoding takes place within the application at the point where it's exported, saved or transferred, as per this answer on StackOverflow. It turns out that Clipboard does try to maintain some encoding, and from the looks of it an application can accept or translate input from the clipboard to some degree.
It may not inherently be incorrect, but the act of transferring it may cause some interesting side effects. But how can I tell what is happening in Clipboard?
Turns out ClipSpy provides a simple peek into what is in the clipboard.
I copied ClipSpy to the server and the workstation, then opened Notepad on my VM. Here's what happened when I copied it to the clipboard:
We couldn't log into our SEPM server unless the password was pasted in.
Weird, eh?
The thing is that the person who normally logs into it is me. Like, 90% of the time. And we can log into the server itself, just not SEPM.
I'm on a Mac, so I use RDP to connect to our antivirus server. I'll call it AntivirusServer. I enter SuperUser and type in the password. SEPM replies that I have the wrong password.
I open my password manager, running on Windows in a Virtualbox VM, and display the password; it matches. I retype the password in the RDP session.
"WRONG. TRY AGAIN."
Clipboard sharing is enabled for both the VM/host and client/RDP session. I copy the password from the password manager, paste it into the RDP session and hit the enter key.
"GREETINGS PROFESSOR FALKEN."
Okay, maybe it didn't say that exactly, but you get the gist. Every time.
SEPM is basically a web interface to a Tomcat application (Apache/Java on Windows?...yeah, nevermind...) so I began to wonder if it wasn't doing something strange with the encoding of the password string. Maybe what I type in doesn't match the encoding of text pasted in!
So I asked on SuperUser how to determine the encoding of text. The first comment said it's not possible. Basically the encoding takes place within the application at the point where it's exported, saved or transferred, as per this answer on StackOverflow. It turns out that Clipboard does try to maintain some encoding, and from the looks of it an application can accept or translate input from the clipboard to some degree.
It may not inherently be incorrect, but the act of transferring it may cause some interesting side effects. But how can I tell what is happening in Clipboard?
Turns out ClipSpy provides a simple peek into what is in the clipboard.
I copied ClipSpy to the server and the workstation, then opened Notepad on my VM. Here's what happened when I copied it to the clipboard:
 |
| No password for you |
What happened in the RDP session?
 |
| Well, that's different. |
The content would look the same, but clearly the content is encoded differently.
My guess is that somehow the Apache/Tomcat/servlet front-end is translating the pasted text differently from my manually entered password, and when I last changed the password (yet, they get cycled periodically) I must have entered it into the password vault first then pasted it into the change dialog to prevent typos.
Yes. I introduced an invisible typo in the effort to prevent transcription errors.
I wondered what the application saves text into the clipboard as "natively." I entered some text into the username text box and copied it to the clipboard:
 |
| That certainly looks different. |
That doesn't definitely mean that this is the type of encoding that the application is expecting or translating, but it does hint to me that it's more of a possibility that maybe the application is trying to be intelligent and accept a different encoding without translating a string to a "base type" when evaluating the password.
In the end, I think this supports the theory that the application is caring about the inserted encoding, and doesn't force a string to be "just" a string of a particular encoding before comparing it to the stored password; my copy-pasty care may be the vector by which it became screwed up.
Whoops.
If anyone else can weigh in on this or provide a way to definitively prove if this theory is correct, I'd love to hear it!
Monday, January 19, 2015
Get Elected to the School Board, then the Kid's Untouchable
I had an interesting conversation with a teacher-type person the other day. It seemed to once again illustrate ways the school system is broken when you mix small town politics with education.
See, this teacher had a student misbehave. The student had a track record of misbehaving...not exactly setting fires in the classroom or pooping in the hallways type misbehaving, but the kind of track record of not paying attention and being a low-level disturbance in the classroom that some kids just seem to revel in. Teachers are expected to teach to the kids who at least pretend to give a damn about learning, so this student was ejected to the office, where we typically expect pain in the arse cases to go and be dealt with.
The teacher soon had a mysterious "You've been selected to go to classroom management class" an hour away from the district. Really coincidental timing, given that the kid had a parent on the school board.
Yeah, guess I forgot to mention that.
That seems to be a pattern I've noticed over the years. If you have a parent or some other pseudo-sponsor on the school board, you gain a "get out of jail free" card for your behavior. I knew of a teacher who often got away with insulting other teachers and students; quite unprofessional behavior. That person was moved around to other classrooms on more than one occasion within the district for offenses that I'm sure would have resulted in more severe consequences had they not had a school board relation; I've never heard of that school board member exercising any special privilege for their position, but it certainly seemed as if the administration in that district simply didn't feel like testing how far they could push the matter lest they incur potential wrath rather than doing their actual job and manage employees properly.
There are whispers among teachers in that district that if you have a student with a parent on the board, they are suddenly under increased scrutiny from administrators; performance and test content is questioned more quickly, and threat of having material ordered changed or performance (and competence) reviewed with more scrutiny seems to be more quickly doled out to educators assigned these little darlings. Teachers feel they should just give up in some cases; the students have an invisible smirk tattooed to their arm that gives them power over the classroom, since anything they do is apparently the fault of the teacher, not a parent who raised an entitled brat.
Keep in mind that this is also happening at a time when the school boards of all the schools in my area are currently fighting to keep the teachers from having actual employment contracts. Unfortunately, the school boards are populated by people with personal agendas and a very simple method of figuring out what to vote for and against; if it costs them more money in some way, they vote against it.
It's a simple but effective method that prevents the need for much thought. After all, most of the districts hired a lawyer to deal with contract negotiations on their behalf (yes, the lawyer is working for multiple local districts and pools knowledge of the various requests for their benefit...no conflict of interest there!) and refuses to actually give a straight answer as to how much they've spent using this lawyer.
The problem is the school board members who ran and are currently trying to squeeze every drop of workplace joy from the employees are the people who have only a simple, self-centered agenda. They don't contribute to the idea of "what can we do to create an educated citizen in our area?" They certainly don't give thought to creating a non-toxic work environment...see, for example, how they decided to post a news release insulting the teachers as a home page for their entire district. They have a simple idea...vote down anything that might cost them money or effort because public education is bad, and as school board members, they can choke public education and symbolically burn it in effigy to the citizens. As a side perk, when one of their children causes problems, the school board member doesn't hesitate to flex their influence and make sure it's the teacher's problem, not theirs.
For teachers it's yet another reason to give up on trying to actually teach. It's an environment where kids know that if they whine enough, administrators will give in, because parents are a pain but employees are easy to bully. Kid being a pain in the classroom? The teacher must not be engaging enough. It's never because Johnny is being a dick and his parents reinforce the idea that he's "just being a kid." It's because the teacher isn't a good enough performing monkey dancing a good jig in front of the room, being more of an attention-grab than the FaceBook update Johnny is sneaking under his desk on the cellphone he's not supposed to be using during school.
But if the teacher sends Johnny to the office for having the phone, Johnny will have it right back soon enough. It's not really worth the teacher's effort and lost classroom time having to send him down.
And why bother dealing with Johnny at all if it's just going to mean the teacher will be told it's their fault?
If Johnny has daddy on the school board, the teacher will surely expect a drop-in from a principal soon anyway. Because they lack classroom management skills.
It's better to just shuttle Johnny to the corner of the room and hope to keep his disturbances to a minimum while other kids try to concentrate on learning, making the environment a little more toxic for everyone.
And then we can wonder a little more about why the classroom experience is worse for everyone today while conveniently ignoring another obvious contribution to the problem.
See, this teacher had a student misbehave. The student had a track record of misbehaving...not exactly setting fires in the classroom or pooping in the hallways type misbehaving, but the kind of track record of not paying attention and being a low-level disturbance in the classroom that some kids just seem to revel in. Teachers are expected to teach to the kids who at least pretend to give a damn about learning, so this student was ejected to the office, where we typically expect pain in the arse cases to go and be dealt with.
The teacher soon had a mysterious "You've been selected to go to classroom management class" an hour away from the district. Really coincidental timing, given that the kid had a parent on the school board.
Yeah, guess I forgot to mention that.
That seems to be a pattern I've noticed over the years. If you have a parent or some other pseudo-sponsor on the school board, you gain a "get out of jail free" card for your behavior. I knew of a teacher who often got away with insulting other teachers and students; quite unprofessional behavior. That person was moved around to other classrooms on more than one occasion within the district for offenses that I'm sure would have resulted in more severe consequences had they not had a school board relation; I've never heard of that school board member exercising any special privilege for their position, but it certainly seemed as if the administration in that district simply didn't feel like testing how far they could push the matter lest they incur potential wrath rather than doing their actual job and manage employees properly.
There are whispers among teachers in that district that if you have a student with a parent on the board, they are suddenly under increased scrutiny from administrators; performance and test content is questioned more quickly, and threat of having material ordered changed or performance (and competence) reviewed with more scrutiny seems to be more quickly doled out to educators assigned these little darlings. Teachers feel they should just give up in some cases; the students have an invisible smirk tattooed to their arm that gives them power over the classroom, since anything they do is apparently the fault of the teacher, not a parent who raised an entitled brat.
Keep in mind that this is also happening at a time when the school boards of all the schools in my area are currently fighting to keep the teachers from having actual employment contracts. Unfortunately, the school boards are populated by people with personal agendas and a very simple method of figuring out what to vote for and against; if it costs them more money in some way, they vote against it.
It's a simple but effective method that prevents the need for much thought. After all, most of the districts hired a lawyer to deal with contract negotiations on their behalf (yes, the lawyer is working for multiple local districts and pools knowledge of the various requests for their benefit...no conflict of interest there!) and refuses to actually give a straight answer as to how much they've spent using this lawyer.
The problem is the school board members who ran and are currently trying to squeeze every drop of workplace joy from the employees are the people who have only a simple, self-centered agenda. They don't contribute to the idea of "what can we do to create an educated citizen in our area?" They certainly don't give thought to creating a non-toxic work environment...see, for example, how they decided to post a news release insulting the teachers as a home page for their entire district. They have a simple idea...vote down anything that might cost them money or effort because public education is bad, and as school board members, they can choke public education and symbolically burn it in effigy to the citizens. As a side perk, when one of their children causes problems, the school board member doesn't hesitate to flex their influence and make sure it's the teacher's problem, not theirs.
For teachers it's yet another reason to give up on trying to actually teach. It's an environment where kids know that if they whine enough, administrators will give in, because parents are a pain but employees are easy to bully. Kid being a pain in the classroom? The teacher must not be engaging enough. It's never because Johnny is being a dick and his parents reinforce the idea that he's "just being a kid." It's because the teacher isn't a good enough performing monkey dancing a good jig in front of the room, being more of an attention-grab than the FaceBook update Johnny is sneaking under his desk on the cellphone he's not supposed to be using during school.
But if the teacher sends Johnny to the office for having the phone, Johnny will have it right back soon enough. It's not really worth the teacher's effort and lost classroom time having to send him down.
And why bother dealing with Johnny at all if it's just going to mean the teacher will be told it's their fault?
If Johnny has daddy on the school board, the teacher will surely expect a drop-in from a principal soon anyway. Because they lack classroom management skills.
It's better to just shuttle Johnny to the corner of the room and hope to keep his disturbances to a minimum while other kids try to concentrate on learning, making the environment a little more toxic for everyone.
And then we can wonder a little more about why the classroom experience is worse for everyone today while conveniently ignoring another obvious contribution to the problem.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
How to Flush Your DNS Cache
Happy New Year! I thought I'd start off the year with a quick reference post on flushing your DNS cache. This falls under the flag of "This shouldn't be a pain in the ass, but here we are..."
Sometimes your laptop switches networks and your DNS lookups don't follow. Sometimes something on the network decides to go wonk. Sometimes sunspots and planets align just right. At any rate, once in awhile the system needs to have name lookup cobwebs swept. Here's how to do it.
On Windows, use
ipconfig /flushdns
...from the command prompt. On Linux, you can usually use
/etc/init.d/named restart
or
/etc/init.d/nscd restart
...depending on which one your system uses.
OS X is more fun because Apple devs insist on changing stuff periodically. For OS X 10.10:
sudo discoveryutil udnsflushcaches
On 10.9:
dscacheutil -flushcache; sudo killall -HUP mDNSResponder
On 10.7 and 10.8:
sudo killall -HUP mDNSResponder
On 10.5 and 10.6 (who's using those now?):
sudo dscacheutil -flushcache
Sometimes your laptop switches networks and your DNS lookups don't follow. Sometimes something on the network decides to go wonk. Sometimes sunspots and planets align just right. At any rate, once in awhile the system needs to have name lookup cobwebs swept. Here's how to do it.
On Windows, use
ipconfig /flushdns
...from the command prompt. On Linux, you can usually use
/etc/init.d/named restart
or
/etc/init.d/nscd restart
...depending on which one your system uses.
OS X is more fun because Apple devs insist on changing stuff periodically. For OS X 10.10:
sudo discoveryutil udnsflushcaches
On 10.9:
dscacheutil -flushcache; sudo killall -HUP mDNSResponder
On 10.7 and 10.8:
sudo killall -HUP mDNSResponder
On 10.5 and 10.6 (who's using those now?):
sudo dscacheutil -flushcache
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Why Do I Do This Stuff?
It's that time of year again. The time when we examine the events of past year, list the things we hate about ourselves, and vow to change.
Ostensibly it's about trying to make the conscious decision to steer your life in a better direction. Overweight? Let's lose it! Unlucky in love? Time to find that "one true love!" That bucket list burning a hole in your brain because you were too lazy to write it down? Time to write it down! (Maybe you can work on the actual crossing off of an item or two next year...let's be realistic in our goals, after all...)
Having a son makes me reflect once in awhile on life circumstances. It doesn't hurt that the job change...and such a drastic change, having moved to New York City while my family is still back in Pennsylvania, with my wife in the same industry that I left...gives a radically new perspective as well.
Age has given me more mistakes to reflect on; for example, I see the times I martyred myself in the workplace thinking this was a way to "get ahead," to gain respect for my dedication to the job. Extra hours expecting nothing in return. Either I was doing it wrong or that's not how the world worked because the employer didn't give a damn when I left. In fact it's my understanding they replaced me with someone less experienced at the same approximate pay.
I've started thinking in terms of legacy. That's the type of morbid thinking that enters your head when you go back to an empty apartment at night after an hour on the subway; I wonder, if something happened to me, who would know?
After having left my previous employer with barely any recognition of "sorry to see you go," I wondered what I would leave behind. When a cog breaks it gets replaced. You don't know anything about the replaced cog. It was unimportant. It doesn't leave a mark. Unless it really exploded off the axle and scratched the shit out of the surrounding area, so the next repair guy is like, "What the hell scratched the shit out of this?" But really, who questions that? Unless the scratches look like Jesus or the Virgin Mary or some neat writing that summons demons or something. But that's off topic.
I also think of my parents; I don't know what they were like when they were kids or teenagers. And much of the stuff that might be interesting to the later generations doesn't seem so interesting at the time, so your memory shuffles it into the mental trash bin. I'm still not sure their favorite toys weren't made of sticks tied together with rags or some other Little House on the Prairie idea of what passed for fun back then.
Today we have more tools than ever to indulge in our narcissism. Cameras in everyone's pockets. Entertainment available at a few clicks. Outrage delivered by Twitter. Everything in our lives, for better or worse, documented by not just our government but by ourselves.
But what does this say about us? Are we nothing more than our FaceBook farts (usually shared meme images and rants about political figures, little more than the impulse to shout ME TOO to our circle of social media friends?)
To that end I want to be more creative, or at least try making something that lasts longer than I will in the world.
I've tried doing a few things so far. This blog, for instance. Very few people ever read it. My wife rarely sees me in real life as we're apart for work, but I don't think she ever reads my musings online. And my view stats demonstrates that most of what I say isn't of importance to others. But recognition isn't why I'm doing this.
Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get paid to write brain droppings. Realistically that isn't going to happen. What this does do, though, is highlight some of my thinking process and act as a snapshot of things I find important enough to comment on over time; my son, should he grow up wondering something about his father, can go back through these writings and see some of what his father thought and enjoyed (and what ticked him off.) It's not complete, but it's something. It's definitely more than my parents left for me to read. My little guy will have something to look back on. It doesn't hurt that this is a convenient place to leave notes to myself either.
I wrote a novel; the manuscript never generated enough interest for an agent to pick it up, but I still managed to finish a novel-length manuscript. It's been a little time...I'd have to look up how long it's been. The important thing for me is that I wrote it and the manuscript is on my computer. It actually exists. And maybe someday I'll be motivated again to try querying more agents.
I have managed to keep my self-imposed schedule creating my podcast, Geeking After Dark. It's nothing fancy; there's no varied feedback so I can't really use it as a reference for what to tune or try to improve. But I still kept up with it. Each week, one episode recorded, lightly edited and uploaded. There have been times when I ask myself if I want to continue working on it because it does seem like a lot of work for so little payoff and there have been a couple of times when I want to quit. Then I go ahead and do it again anyway.
If you're keeping count, the creativity bin has a podcast, a blog, and a manuscript.
I did have progress in creating a utility using the Go language; I scrapped it when there was a push to move to another platform altogether in the company, then that push was scrapped and I never picked it back up. The reception to the utility was lukewarm and I decided that if I was going to write something again it would have to be useful to mostly me and it had to be something that I wasn't hoping would have some kind of encouragement from others to buoy my enthusiasm to completion.
I feel like this isn't enough, though. I'm not leaving enough of a footprint to say that I was here. So this would be as good a time as any to consider options. Some things that have been on my mind...
Ostensibly it's about trying to make the conscious decision to steer your life in a better direction. Overweight? Let's lose it! Unlucky in love? Time to find that "one true love!" That bucket list burning a hole in your brain because you were too lazy to write it down? Time to write it down! (Maybe you can work on the actual crossing off of an item or two next year...let's be realistic in our goals, after all...)
Having a son makes me reflect once in awhile on life circumstances. It doesn't hurt that the job change...and such a drastic change, having moved to New York City while my family is still back in Pennsylvania, with my wife in the same industry that I left...gives a radically new perspective as well.
Age has given me more mistakes to reflect on; for example, I see the times I martyred myself in the workplace thinking this was a way to "get ahead," to gain respect for my dedication to the job. Extra hours expecting nothing in return. Either I was doing it wrong or that's not how the world worked because the employer didn't give a damn when I left. In fact it's my understanding they replaced me with someone less experienced at the same approximate pay.
I've started thinking in terms of legacy. That's the type of morbid thinking that enters your head when you go back to an empty apartment at night after an hour on the subway; I wonder, if something happened to me, who would know?
After having left my previous employer with barely any recognition of "sorry to see you go," I wondered what I would leave behind. When a cog breaks it gets replaced. You don't know anything about the replaced cog. It was unimportant. It doesn't leave a mark. Unless it really exploded off the axle and scratched the shit out of the surrounding area, so the next repair guy is like, "What the hell scratched the shit out of this?" But really, who questions that? Unless the scratches look like Jesus or the Virgin Mary or some neat writing that summons demons or something. But that's off topic.
I also think of my parents; I don't know what they were like when they were kids or teenagers. And much of the stuff that might be interesting to the later generations doesn't seem so interesting at the time, so your memory shuffles it into the mental trash bin. I'm still not sure their favorite toys weren't made of sticks tied together with rags or some other Little House on the Prairie idea of what passed for fun back then.
Today we have more tools than ever to indulge in our narcissism. Cameras in everyone's pockets. Entertainment available at a few clicks. Outrage delivered by Twitter. Everything in our lives, for better or worse, documented by not just our government but by ourselves.
But what does this say about us? Are we nothing more than our FaceBook farts (usually shared meme images and rants about political figures, little more than the impulse to shout ME TOO to our circle of social media friends?)
To that end I want to be more creative, or at least try making something that lasts longer than I will in the world.
I've tried doing a few things so far. This blog, for instance. Very few people ever read it. My wife rarely sees me in real life as we're apart for work, but I don't think she ever reads my musings online. And my view stats demonstrates that most of what I say isn't of importance to others. But recognition isn't why I'm doing this.
Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get paid to write brain droppings. Realistically that isn't going to happen. What this does do, though, is highlight some of my thinking process and act as a snapshot of things I find important enough to comment on over time; my son, should he grow up wondering something about his father, can go back through these writings and see some of what his father thought and enjoyed (and what ticked him off.) It's not complete, but it's something. It's definitely more than my parents left for me to read. My little guy will have something to look back on. It doesn't hurt that this is a convenient place to leave notes to myself either.
I wrote a novel; the manuscript never generated enough interest for an agent to pick it up, but I still managed to finish a novel-length manuscript. It's been a little time...I'd have to look up how long it's been. The important thing for me is that I wrote it and the manuscript is on my computer. It actually exists. And maybe someday I'll be motivated again to try querying more agents.
I have managed to keep my self-imposed schedule creating my podcast, Geeking After Dark. It's nothing fancy; there's no varied feedback so I can't really use it as a reference for what to tune or try to improve. But I still kept up with it. Each week, one episode recorded, lightly edited and uploaded. There have been times when I ask myself if I want to continue working on it because it does seem like a lot of work for so little payoff and there have been a couple of times when I want to quit. Then I go ahead and do it again anyway.
If you're keeping count, the creativity bin has a podcast, a blog, and a manuscript.
I did have progress in creating a utility using the Go language; I scrapped it when there was a push to move to another platform altogether in the company, then that push was scrapped and I never picked it back up. The reception to the utility was lukewarm and I decided that if I was going to write something again it would have to be useful to mostly me and it had to be something that I wasn't hoping would have some kind of encouragement from others to buoy my enthusiasm to completion.
I feel like this isn't enough, though. I'm not leaving enough of a footprint to say that I was here. So this would be as good a time as any to consider options. Some things that have been on my mind...
- Write another novel. I am not a writer...oh lordy I'd love to make an income writing novels. Realistically it's not an option. But it is a possibility. People love possibilities. At a minimum I can write the story to see if I can flesh out what is bouncing in my head.
- Write another application. There's a couple things I could work on. Programming is weird...I keep shying away, feeling utterly stupid and overwhelmed at mediocre work. Then I keep going back to it, wondering if some simple task is something I can tackle. Sometimes I think the biggest challenge is the fear of simply failing, so not doing it is the best way to avoid yet another failure. Oddly enough this is also the biggest obstacle to writing a novel manuscript.
- Work on YouTube videos. I have a channel, as everyone with a Google account does by default. My channel has languished, but I am always watching videos from Ryan Connolly (Film Riot) (if you haven't seen some of his work, you really should check them out...) and wishing I could do more to learn about film editing and compositing. I don't have great equipment, but maybe I could do something fun.
Those are the big ideas I've been toying with. I think I'm going to ponder a bit more this week and come up with a "plan" of what I want to pursue, if anything, in earnest this coming year. Then I'll hopefully get through the year and promptly forget what I wanted to do. Who knows? Maybe I'll end up writing a variation of this blog post in another year...
Thursday, December 25, 2014
Stephen King Just in Time For the Holidays
I am writing this a few days after the fact; I'm trying to recall the highlights. It's not even been a week and already the details are starting to slip from my sieve of a memory.
My father is a bit of a superfan when it comes to Stephen King. We've been to Maine to visit the Bangor area and try to recreate the setting for many of King's works. We've passed by his home (complete with people dressed in constructions gear having lunch at odd hours...I recall the distinct impression they were not really doing home improvements...)
While Dad is a superfan, he's not crazy. He collects King's works. He reads articles about King, watches movies based on King's works and of course buys King's short stories and novels.
The newest King novel, Revival, also marked the kickoff of a book tour. That tour happened to start on November 11th in New York City.
My parents had just been to the city for my birthday a week prior; if you have been to the city, you know that even a weekend trip can quickly drain a bank account. I knew my parents had some interest in seeing Mr. King. I had thought they were planning on coming into the city. But when I asked about the book signing after they had returned home from my birthday Mom said that the budget just couldn't cover it.
I had already emailed requesting the 11th off in anticipation of my parents coming into the city for the book signing event. Instead of reclaiming the day, I decided to go to the Union Square Barnes and Noble and try to get the signature for my father.
"I'll get up early and head to the bookstore and if the line goes around the block, I'll say, 'fuck it' and spend a day doing some shopping or relaxing." That was the last thing I said about the book signing to a coworker before heading back to my apartment on the night of the 10th. I remember him saying that I shouldn't have much trouble..."Stephen King isn't a huge name with young people today, you shouldn't have any trouble getting a decent spot in line if you get there early." I figured he was right.
I set my alarm for a quarter to five in the morning. Ugh. I was damn near dragging myself to the subway station that morning. It was a cool morning, kind of cloudy, but fortunately there was no rain or snow.
My first feeling of setback came when I arrived at the subway station; perhaps because it was early in the morning, perhaps because it was Veteran's Day, perhaps it was because of a Mole Man attack, I don't know, but the R train took seemingly forever to arrive. In reality it was probably 15 minutes. When you're used to the 5 minute rush hour schedule and you're already feeling the effects of waking up extra early, that 15 minutes feels like an eternity.
I made my way to the Union Square subway station and emerged onto the bustling sidewalk. I then passed some nice people handing out free papers and some vendors, trying to get my bearings and remember where the book store was positioned in the square. As I approached I could see some people standing along the facade. Expected; I figured there would be some early-morning people, the same people that would get in line at one in the morning for a Black Friday sale. Having checked the website in the morning to double check information, I saw that a 350-wristband limit was set for the event; I figured a few people in the front of the line wouldn't kill my chances at getting a band.
I drew closer to the building and saw people not just standing in line, but laying in sleeping bags and reclining in folding chairs along the sidewalk. But then I saw it wasn't just adults; kids were sleeping in the sleeping bags. Families. "Holy crap," I thought. "These people are hardcore."
The line filled the front of the block and wrapped around. Okay, I can deal with that. I kept hiking around the block.
...only to see the line continue around the block again. At that point, I was starting to feel a twinge of worry and remembered what I had said the previous night.
The line ended directly behind the Barnes and Noble. I mean, I was literally on the back end of the block from the store; about fifteen feet in front of me a delivery truck was hauling pallets of Nooks into the store loading dock. I had the words echoing in my head repeating my promise of leaving if the line wound around the block, but I figured it was early in the morning, I had shuffled my way through a forty-some minute commute, so it was worth standing around a bit.
It couldn't have been more than a minute before I was joined by some more fans in line. I'd like to say that I remember everyone's name, but that would be lying. I suppose I could have covered up for this by making names up, but that would be dishonest. Well, there is one person whose name I remember, but that was for a separate reason. The point is this small group gathered in my immediate area and we became line-buddies.
I'll sum them up thus; one was a friendly, slim Hawaiian-looking lady, a little more than my age. Another was an older and friendly woman from Pennsylvania, and also joining the group was a younger woman possessing very white teeth who had bussed in from Pennsylvania as well, leaving her fiance' to fend for himself for the day. And then there was Optimist Tom. He was from Jersey City and was ever the energetic optimist.
There was some friendly banter about King books and movies mixed among the pleasantries of social exchange. We confirmed with each other some of the details of the signing; 350 bands, which some in the group declared was silly, since they were certain that Barnes and Noble had handled larger events than that without problems. Indeed, a dark-haired woman who said she was an ex-employee from that very store confirmed they had larger events. I asked if it was a bad sign when a person who used to work there, and had contacts with management and other workers at that store, wasn't able to get a band.
We had another two hours before the store would begin handing out bands, and another 3 hours after that before Stephen King was expected to arrive and start signing. One of the group declared how much it would suck to be number 351 in this still-growing line, and we all heartily agreed.
The irony of this wouldn't be clear until at some point in our waiting a Barnes and Noble employee walked the line and then declared that a guy in a hoodie, about three bodies in front of me, was the 350 person cutoff. A big guy in a dark suit was left behind at that point, as if they were guarding the guy from being mugged by jealous signature-seekers.
I remember suggesting we move the guy they said was 350 back about ten people in line. That would make the line of people getting in for bands a bit bigger.
I sent a message to my wife asking what she thought...should I give in? Tom insisted that we were close enough that there wasn't much reason to give up. "They could have miscounted," he said. "Or they'll expand the line. It's up to Stephen, man. Besides, they say these things to thin the herd and discourage huge lines. I'm staying."
My wife texted back that we'd have nothing to really lose in staying around; we were so close to the cutoff, that it was still likely that a small miscount would mean walking away would leave me wanting to kick myself. That, combined with the psychology of having a small group of still-optimistic linebuddies commiserating together, made me stay in line and tough it out.
The line moved in bunches; we speculated they were pulling people in batches to get their bands. It didn't take long for rumors to spread; at one point they were taking standbys. Moments later, that wasn't true. An employee traveling the line said they had only 350 books and that's why we were limited. Another said it was limited by Stephen King's people, and his handlers were limiting the signing event attendance.
More than a couple of times I felt like it might be worth giving up...but remembering that this would have meant so much for Dad kept me there. It helped to have the linebuddies there too, bolstering spirits with stories of spending time trying to get autographs from celebrities at broadway shows. Tom kept insisting that he was going to have his "nephew", a young black boy sitting in a folding chair behind his father and who kept his nose buried in a football game on his tablet most of the time, learn to make puppy eyes at the store management in an attempt to get into the store. They had to let his (white) uncle Tom in with him, right?
It kept spirits up. Even when the little boy thought we were strange.
As we rounded the corner ("Hey, look guys! I can almost see the last corner to go around to see the store doors!") someone noticed that someone in the line had posted to eBay a "guaranteed signed copy of Revival, with wrist band and promotional event posters, a bargain at $400!"
This got the dark-haired ex-employee very mad. There was nothing illegal about doing this...we suspected there were more than a few people who were paid to get this book on behalf of someone else...but she went up and complained at least twice to store security (loss prevention, I think the badges clipped to their lapels said?) about these horrible bastards who were taking spaces away from actual fans selling his or her book on eBay...before actually getting them signed! The NERVE! It was also a testament to the way we use technology now that I was still far back in line but stood swiping at pictures of the signs posted in the front of the store as part of the sellers proof of event. There ended up being at least 2 books from this event posted on eBay, and they were around the $350 to $400 range; I don't know how much they ended up going for, if they sold at all.
We were all sort of lamenting the fact that we were so close to the cutoff. Younger girl wondered if she had just taken the earlier bus, would she have made it? If she didn't spend time prepping her hair, shaving a few minutes off the travel time? Tom, from Jersey City, said he stopped and gave a homeless guy some money and he had dawdled a bit coming in...did that extra few minutes cost him his spot? I wasn't sure if he was kidding, but given his plucky positive attitude I couldn't rule it out. I lamented if I had been a few minutes earlier, maybe I wouldn't have had to wait 15 minutes for the subway; I could have made an earlier one, and that five minutes would have been enough to have been in front of the cutoff for a guaranteed band. Dammit.
But we were still in remarkably good spirits as a group. Tom kept giving us hope. I kept thinking we were in that horrible spot where the cutoff was so close that if, if, they decided to take a few more people, I'd be in that group. Or maybe we'd see Stephen King, and I could at least snap a photo for my Dad. Needed to be able to tell him that I tried.
I think that was the most important part. I had taken a vacation day, I was there, and I needed to be able to tell my Dad that I gave it my honest to goodness best shot at getting this signature. He deserved it.
I was surprised, though, at the number of people who had beaten me to a spot in line. The rumor traveling the line was that people had lined up there at 2:30 the previous fucking afternoon. That would mean that by the time they got their signed book it would be nearly a day of waiting. And they had families in line. Some in our linebuddies group drew a line at having kids sleep out on the sidewalk in NYC overnight. These were definitely hardcore fans, a notch above what I would call Superfans. I considered my Dad a superfan. I don't think he'd camp out all night on a sidewalk to have less than a minute of facetime with Stephen King.
Granted, this was a special book tour stop. King was signing in NYC. Not reading. Not visiting. No posed photos. No personalized signing. You were in line, you were marching forward, you went on stage, he said hi (if you were lucky) and you were hustled out. I looked at his upcoming stops on the book tour; the next day he was in Washington, DC, where King would do a reading and brief Q&A but no signing. Some pre-signed copies would be given out at random, and you had to buy tickets. The next night, the 13th, was another "not book signing" in Kansas City with some randomly signed copies given out at random. The 14th he was in Wichita, and again it was not a book signing with desperate fans hoping to get one of the random copies given away. The 15th King was in Austin, Texas, and it was finally a signing event. Ticketed. And it said that one person cannot buy multiple tickets for people other than themselves, and had to purchase the ticket in person. His last stop had King near his home in Maine on the 17th, and this was a book signing as well. Basically, not every event was a signing event, and NYC being a kickoff and signing was pretty good luck for me to even be close to achieving.
But really, 2:30 in the afternoon, the previous day? Those were people I would think King was afraid of meeting. Had I known there was a proto-lineup starting that early I wonder if I would have figured it was futile to even try getting there in the first place for the line. Ignorance of these...uber-fans...probably got me in line in the first place.
Another bit of debate in the line involved how long the event would go on. We knew King was slated to sign starting at noon. Some said he would sign until four; someone else said he'd be only around until two. Supposedly that was why the number of wristbands were so limited. This still gave Tom hope-fuel..."Stephen may let other people in if he has time. It's really up to him how many books he'll sign, you know. Not the store."
Once we reached the door, we were cut off. There was probably two people in front of me at the point when the security people and Barnes and Noble staff announced that they had reached the 350 cutoff. I remember these two guys...they spoke and dressed as if they were from a stereotypical old-timey Italian Brooklyn neighborhood, with smoking, hoodie jacket, large cross hanging from the neck and heavy accent, where one was allowed in and the other argued that he was there for his friend because he suffered extreme anxiety, and they had to go together. I think he somehow snuck in because he disappeared. Really they were pushy jackasses. But if there's something I discovered living here, it's that being a pushy jackass doesn't win you friends but does often give you opportunities.
This was the biggest test time. Store security came out and told us everything short of "go home." Of course, they couldn't really tell us that, because as I recall from Occupy Wall Street if you weren't blocking people trying to walk along the sidewalks and you weren't blocking access to other businesses, the sidewalks are more or less considered public space. If you didn't mind sitting on little circles of blackened, hardened bubblegum and spots of sidewalk that may or may not also have dried spit and urine, you're allowed to just sit there.
One of the exchanges had a security guy telling us point blank, "There is no standby line. There is no reason for you to form a line."
To which Tom replied, "But we're going to anyway!"
At one point the security people said that we were not going to get near the event. The store even posted signs that said the fourth floor was cut off, and if we wanted a book located on that floor a bookseller had to assist customers. But we were not going to get near the event. Subtext: go home.
"Was this from Stephen's people?," asked Tom.
"This is from management."
"The book store doesn't know what they're talking about. Stephen will tell us to go home."
Oh, Optimist Tom. At this point, our group had largely taken turns going in and buying a copy of Revival. One of the sweet older ladies turned to me and asked if I'd go in and get a book. "You don't want them to come out and say we can go in, but you have to have a book, and you didn't have a book, do you?," she said. I was tired and aching from waiting several hours on my feet (I debated sitting for a spell, but I really didn't want to get that hardened gum crap on my pants...) but, as she pointed out, I could return the book if things didn't work out. I remembered I had a B&N gift card...I figured I had nothing to really lose in getting a book. You know, just in case. So I did.
I hobbled back out to what remained of the line. Most people had given up and left, so the line had dwindled until it extended only to the end of some scaffolding that terminated before the entrance to a store next to a restaurant that was called something like the Red Line or Red End. I don't really recall the proper name, just a red canopy that extended over part of the sidewalk.
"At this point," I said, "We can keep waiting and hope we get in, we could go around back and see if Stephen King is coming in that way...maybe get a picture of him. Or we could leave." I think this sentiment was kind of stirring in many who were left outside, after having been told repeatedly by store employees that we were not going to get in and that was the end of the story.
I remember Tom was getting kind of antsy. He had left a couple times from line to talk to his friends that were farther back and to use the bathroom in different stores. He disappeared while we were under the scaffolding to look around the back of the store and see if Stephen King were coming in through the loading dock entrance.
It was at this time that an employee came out and said they were taking 12 more people.
A member of our linebuddies club squealed with joy. Someone tried to have them get Tom, as he would no doubt be back soon, but management wasn't having it. They counted us out and ushered us in. And funny enough, before letting us up the guarded escalator, they asked if we had a copy of the book because we needed to have one to sign. I had fortunately listened to their advice.
They ushered us up to the fourth floor and made us stand in the back next to a life-sized LEGO Batman. I know...strange. but nonetheless we were there. We made it.
The store never quite seemed to have everyone on the same page. We were asked twice if we had wristbands. Er...no? You had someone specifically bring us up...why do you not know that?
Multiple times while down in line we were given different stories of what was going on; where limits came from, how many books there were, etc. The left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing, and this confusion was part of what I think Tom could use as hope-fuel. It was funny as hell to me to hear him say the store didn't know what they were talking about and surely Mr. King would have final word, and hopefully he would take pity on the people standing outside.
We were all sad upstairs when we speculated on Tom's fate. We hoped that he had met King in the back of the store entrance, maybe got a photo with him. There was an irrational sense of pity and we told ourselves this story to comfort ourselves, that we didn't abandon a fair-weather friend.
After standing around for ten or fifteen minutes, we were told to move up to the end of the line for the book signing because they were bringing up another batch of people. Another batch! The line was moving pretty fast, too. King wasn't dawdling. A book slid in front of him, he wrote his name, and in barely enough time to acknowledge the fan with a courteous howdy, the book was handed back over and the fan was ushered away to the 3rd floor escalator. I had never seen the seats empty so quickly; Stephen King may be getting older, but damn, he was a fast signer.
It took several minutes before the next group of people arrived. I looked over and said, "Tom's here!"
There was a cheer from our group. Loud enough that surely the people in the front probably wondered what happened. Tom jumped up and down as we waved; "Hey guys! I got back and the line was all different!"
"We tried to save you a spot, they wouldn't let us!," said one of our buddy group.
"That's okay!" he called back. "It wasn't your fault!"
I turned to the younger girl in the group and said, "He's the most optimistic son of a bitch I've ever met. He's the only one that I'm fairly certain returned to see that much of the group had been taken in, and instead of being crushed that he missed the opportunity, he doubled down that it meant he would probably get in with the next group he was certain would be brought in." And sure enough, he was standing on the fourth floor with us waiting to get a book signed.
From that point it was rather straightforward. Photos were allowed until you reach the stage. No flash. No posing. No personalization. Stephen King said think you to me...not sure why, but I remember replying, "No, thank you so very much!" as I headed towards the exit.
I was sad that my parents couldn't be there. I knew my father would have loved to see King, despite not being able to have a conversation of any meaningful length with his favorite author. I wished he could have been there with me, but I knew he would never have wanted to wait as long as the uber-fans had waited. Also, by the time I was sliding the book into my bag and heading for the exit I had been on my feet at least five hours. My parents would never have been able to tolerate that; my own feet were howling in pain and my appreciation for the suffering of restaurant staff reached a new level. I couldn't imagine what my father's feet would have felt like; sure, could have folding chairs, but that's just another hassle of something to carry around the streets. Everything's a tradeoff.
So Dad...I got it for you. There were so many times I was told to leave, and that this wasn't going to happen...but perseverance paid off. Or just ignoring the people running the store paid off. Maybe a little of both.
Merry Christmas.
My father is a bit of a superfan when it comes to Stephen King. We've been to Maine to visit the Bangor area and try to recreate the setting for many of King's works. We've passed by his home (complete with people dressed in constructions gear having lunch at odd hours...I recall the distinct impression they were not really doing home improvements...)
While Dad is a superfan, he's not crazy. He collects King's works. He reads articles about King, watches movies based on King's works and of course buys King's short stories and novels.
The newest King novel, Revival, also marked the kickoff of a book tour. That tour happened to start on November 11th in New York City.
My parents had just been to the city for my birthday a week prior; if you have been to the city, you know that even a weekend trip can quickly drain a bank account. I knew my parents had some interest in seeing Mr. King. I had thought they were planning on coming into the city. But when I asked about the book signing after they had returned home from my birthday Mom said that the budget just couldn't cover it.
I had already emailed requesting the 11th off in anticipation of my parents coming into the city for the book signing event. Instead of reclaiming the day, I decided to go to the Union Square Barnes and Noble and try to get the signature for my father.
"I'll get up early and head to the bookstore and if the line goes around the block, I'll say, 'fuck it' and spend a day doing some shopping or relaxing." That was the last thing I said about the book signing to a coworker before heading back to my apartment on the night of the 10th. I remember him saying that I shouldn't have much trouble..."Stephen King isn't a huge name with young people today, you shouldn't have any trouble getting a decent spot in line if you get there early." I figured he was right.
I set my alarm for a quarter to five in the morning. Ugh. I was damn near dragging myself to the subway station that morning. It was a cool morning, kind of cloudy, but fortunately there was no rain or snow.
My first feeling of setback came when I arrived at the subway station; perhaps because it was early in the morning, perhaps because it was Veteran's Day, perhaps it was because of a Mole Man attack, I don't know, but the R train took seemingly forever to arrive. In reality it was probably 15 minutes. When you're used to the 5 minute rush hour schedule and you're already feeling the effects of waking up extra early, that 15 minutes feels like an eternity.
I made my way to the Union Square subway station and emerged onto the bustling sidewalk. I then passed some nice people handing out free papers and some vendors, trying to get my bearings and remember where the book store was positioned in the square. As I approached I could see some people standing along the facade. Expected; I figured there would be some early-morning people, the same people that would get in line at one in the morning for a Black Friday sale. Having checked the website in the morning to double check information, I saw that a 350-wristband limit was set for the event; I figured a few people in the front of the line wouldn't kill my chances at getting a band.
I drew closer to the building and saw people not just standing in line, but laying in sleeping bags and reclining in folding chairs along the sidewalk. But then I saw it wasn't just adults; kids were sleeping in the sleeping bags. Families. "Holy crap," I thought. "These people are hardcore."
The line filled the front of the block and wrapped around. Okay, I can deal with that. I kept hiking around the block.
...only to see the line continue around the block again. At that point, I was starting to feel a twinge of worry and remembered what I had said the previous night.
The line ended directly behind the Barnes and Noble. I mean, I was literally on the back end of the block from the store; about fifteen feet in front of me a delivery truck was hauling pallets of Nooks into the store loading dock. I had the words echoing in my head repeating my promise of leaving if the line wound around the block, but I figured it was early in the morning, I had shuffled my way through a forty-some minute commute, so it was worth standing around a bit.
It couldn't have been more than a minute before I was joined by some more fans in line. I'd like to say that I remember everyone's name, but that would be lying. I suppose I could have covered up for this by making names up, but that would be dishonest. Well, there is one person whose name I remember, but that was for a separate reason. The point is this small group gathered in my immediate area and we became line-buddies.
I'll sum them up thus; one was a friendly, slim Hawaiian-looking lady, a little more than my age. Another was an older and friendly woman from Pennsylvania, and also joining the group was a younger woman possessing very white teeth who had bussed in from Pennsylvania as well, leaving her fiance' to fend for himself for the day. And then there was Optimist Tom. He was from Jersey City and was ever the energetic optimist.
There was some friendly banter about King books and movies mixed among the pleasantries of social exchange. We confirmed with each other some of the details of the signing; 350 bands, which some in the group declared was silly, since they were certain that Barnes and Noble had handled larger events than that without problems. Indeed, a dark-haired woman who said she was an ex-employee from that very store confirmed they had larger events. I asked if it was a bad sign when a person who used to work there, and had contacts with management and other workers at that store, wasn't able to get a band.
We had another two hours before the store would begin handing out bands, and another 3 hours after that before Stephen King was expected to arrive and start signing. One of the group declared how much it would suck to be number 351 in this still-growing line, and we all heartily agreed.
The irony of this wouldn't be clear until at some point in our waiting a Barnes and Noble employee walked the line and then declared that a guy in a hoodie, about three bodies in front of me, was the 350 person cutoff. A big guy in a dark suit was left behind at that point, as if they were guarding the guy from being mugged by jealous signature-seekers.
I remember suggesting we move the guy they said was 350 back about ten people in line. That would make the line of people getting in for bands a bit bigger.
I sent a message to my wife asking what she thought...should I give in? Tom insisted that we were close enough that there wasn't much reason to give up. "They could have miscounted," he said. "Or they'll expand the line. It's up to Stephen, man. Besides, they say these things to thin the herd and discourage huge lines. I'm staying."
My wife texted back that we'd have nothing to really lose in staying around; we were so close to the cutoff, that it was still likely that a small miscount would mean walking away would leave me wanting to kick myself. That, combined with the psychology of having a small group of still-optimistic linebuddies commiserating together, made me stay in line and tough it out.
The line moved in bunches; we speculated they were pulling people in batches to get their bands. It didn't take long for rumors to spread; at one point they were taking standbys. Moments later, that wasn't true. An employee traveling the line said they had only 350 books and that's why we were limited. Another said it was limited by Stephen King's people, and his handlers were limiting the signing event attendance.
More than a couple of times I felt like it might be worth giving up...but remembering that this would have meant so much for Dad kept me there. It helped to have the linebuddies there too, bolstering spirits with stories of spending time trying to get autographs from celebrities at broadway shows. Tom kept insisting that he was going to have his "nephew", a young black boy sitting in a folding chair behind his father and who kept his nose buried in a football game on his tablet most of the time, learn to make puppy eyes at the store management in an attempt to get into the store. They had to let his (white) uncle Tom in with him, right?
It kept spirits up. Even when the little boy thought we were strange.
As we rounded the corner ("Hey, look guys! I can almost see the last corner to go around to see the store doors!") someone noticed that someone in the line had posted to eBay a "guaranteed signed copy of Revival, with wrist band and promotional event posters, a bargain at $400!"
This got the dark-haired ex-employee very mad. There was nothing illegal about doing this...we suspected there were more than a few people who were paid to get this book on behalf of someone else...but she went up and complained at least twice to store security (loss prevention, I think the badges clipped to their lapels said?) about these horrible bastards who were taking spaces away from actual fans selling his or her book on eBay...before actually getting them signed! The NERVE! It was also a testament to the way we use technology now that I was still far back in line but stood swiping at pictures of the signs posted in the front of the store as part of the sellers proof of event. There ended up being at least 2 books from this event posted on eBay, and they were around the $350 to $400 range; I don't know how much they ended up going for, if they sold at all.
We were all sort of lamenting the fact that we were so close to the cutoff. Younger girl wondered if she had just taken the earlier bus, would she have made it? If she didn't spend time prepping her hair, shaving a few minutes off the travel time? Tom, from Jersey City, said he stopped and gave a homeless guy some money and he had dawdled a bit coming in...did that extra few minutes cost him his spot? I wasn't sure if he was kidding, but given his plucky positive attitude I couldn't rule it out. I lamented if I had been a few minutes earlier, maybe I wouldn't have had to wait 15 minutes for the subway; I could have made an earlier one, and that five minutes would have been enough to have been in front of the cutoff for a guaranteed band. Dammit.
But we were still in remarkably good spirits as a group. Tom kept giving us hope. I kept thinking we were in that horrible spot where the cutoff was so close that if, if, they decided to take a few more people, I'd be in that group. Or maybe we'd see Stephen King, and I could at least snap a photo for my Dad. Needed to be able to tell him that I tried.
I think that was the most important part. I had taken a vacation day, I was there, and I needed to be able to tell my Dad that I gave it my honest to goodness best shot at getting this signature. He deserved it.
I was surprised, though, at the number of people who had beaten me to a spot in line. The rumor traveling the line was that people had lined up there at 2:30 the previous fucking afternoon. That would mean that by the time they got their signed book it would be nearly a day of waiting. And they had families in line. Some in our linebuddies group drew a line at having kids sleep out on the sidewalk in NYC overnight. These were definitely hardcore fans, a notch above what I would call Superfans. I considered my Dad a superfan. I don't think he'd camp out all night on a sidewalk to have less than a minute of facetime with Stephen King.
Granted, this was a special book tour stop. King was signing in NYC. Not reading. Not visiting. No posed photos. No personalized signing. You were in line, you were marching forward, you went on stage, he said hi (if you were lucky) and you were hustled out. I looked at his upcoming stops on the book tour; the next day he was in Washington, DC, where King would do a reading and brief Q&A but no signing. Some pre-signed copies would be given out at random, and you had to buy tickets. The next night, the 13th, was another "not book signing" in Kansas City with some randomly signed copies given out at random. The 14th he was in Wichita, and again it was not a book signing with desperate fans hoping to get one of the random copies given away. The 15th King was in Austin, Texas, and it was finally a signing event. Ticketed. And it said that one person cannot buy multiple tickets for people other than themselves, and had to purchase the ticket in person. His last stop had King near his home in Maine on the 17th, and this was a book signing as well. Basically, not every event was a signing event, and NYC being a kickoff and signing was pretty good luck for me to even be close to achieving.
But really, 2:30 in the afternoon, the previous day? Those were people I would think King was afraid of meeting. Had I known there was a proto-lineup starting that early I wonder if I would have figured it was futile to even try getting there in the first place for the line. Ignorance of these...uber-fans...probably got me in line in the first place.
Another bit of debate in the line involved how long the event would go on. We knew King was slated to sign starting at noon. Some said he would sign until four; someone else said he'd be only around until two. Supposedly that was why the number of wristbands were so limited. This still gave Tom hope-fuel..."Stephen may let other people in if he has time. It's really up to him how many books he'll sign, you know. Not the store."
Once we reached the door, we were cut off. There was probably two people in front of me at the point when the security people and Barnes and Noble staff announced that they had reached the 350 cutoff. I remember these two guys...they spoke and dressed as if they were from a stereotypical old-timey Italian Brooklyn neighborhood, with smoking, hoodie jacket, large cross hanging from the neck and heavy accent, where one was allowed in and the other argued that he was there for his friend because he suffered extreme anxiety, and they had to go together. I think he somehow snuck in because he disappeared. Really they were pushy jackasses. But if there's something I discovered living here, it's that being a pushy jackass doesn't win you friends but does often give you opportunities.
This was the biggest test time. Store security came out and told us everything short of "go home." Of course, they couldn't really tell us that, because as I recall from Occupy Wall Street if you weren't blocking people trying to walk along the sidewalks and you weren't blocking access to other businesses, the sidewalks are more or less considered public space. If you didn't mind sitting on little circles of blackened, hardened bubblegum and spots of sidewalk that may or may not also have dried spit and urine, you're allowed to just sit there.
One of the exchanges had a security guy telling us point blank, "There is no standby line. There is no reason for you to form a line."
To which Tom replied, "But we're going to anyway!"
At one point the security people said that we were not going to get near the event. The store even posted signs that said the fourth floor was cut off, and if we wanted a book located on that floor a bookseller had to assist customers. But we were not going to get near the event. Subtext: go home.
"Was this from Stephen's people?," asked Tom.
"This is from management."
"The book store doesn't know what they're talking about. Stephen will tell us to go home."
Oh, Optimist Tom. At this point, our group had largely taken turns going in and buying a copy of Revival. One of the sweet older ladies turned to me and asked if I'd go in and get a book. "You don't want them to come out and say we can go in, but you have to have a book, and you didn't have a book, do you?," she said. I was tired and aching from waiting several hours on my feet (I debated sitting for a spell, but I really didn't want to get that hardened gum crap on my pants...) but, as she pointed out, I could return the book if things didn't work out. I remembered I had a B&N gift card...I figured I had nothing to really lose in getting a book. You know, just in case. So I did.
I hobbled back out to what remained of the line. Most people had given up and left, so the line had dwindled until it extended only to the end of some scaffolding that terminated before the entrance to a store next to a restaurant that was called something like the Red Line or Red End. I don't really recall the proper name, just a red canopy that extended over part of the sidewalk.
"At this point," I said, "We can keep waiting and hope we get in, we could go around back and see if Stephen King is coming in that way...maybe get a picture of him. Or we could leave." I think this sentiment was kind of stirring in many who were left outside, after having been told repeatedly by store employees that we were not going to get in and that was the end of the story.
I remember Tom was getting kind of antsy. He had left a couple times from line to talk to his friends that were farther back and to use the bathroom in different stores. He disappeared while we were under the scaffolding to look around the back of the store and see if Stephen King were coming in through the loading dock entrance.
It was at this time that an employee came out and said they were taking 12 more people.
A member of our linebuddies club squealed with joy. Someone tried to have them get Tom, as he would no doubt be back soon, but management wasn't having it. They counted us out and ushered us in. And funny enough, before letting us up the guarded escalator, they asked if we had a copy of the book because we needed to have one to sign. I had fortunately listened to their advice.
They ushered us up to the fourth floor and made us stand in the back next to a life-sized LEGO Batman. I know...strange. but nonetheless we were there. We made it.
The store never quite seemed to have everyone on the same page. We were asked twice if we had wristbands. Er...no? You had someone specifically bring us up...why do you not know that?
Multiple times while down in line we were given different stories of what was going on; where limits came from, how many books there were, etc. The left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing, and this confusion was part of what I think Tom could use as hope-fuel. It was funny as hell to me to hear him say the store didn't know what they were talking about and surely Mr. King would have final word, and hopefully he would take pity on the people standing outside.
We were all sad upstairs when we speculated on Tom's fate. We hoped that he had met King in the back of the store entrance, maybe got a photo with him. There was an irrational sense of pity and we told ourselves this story to comfort ourselves, that we didn't abandon a fair-weather friend.
After standing around for ten or fifteen minutes, we were told to move up to the end of the line for the book signing because they were bringing up another batch of people. Another batch! The line was moving pretty fast, too. King wasn't dawdling. A book slid in front of him, he wrote his name, and in barely enough time to acknowledge the fan with a courteous howdy, the book was handed back over and the fan was ushered away to the 3rd floor escalator. I had never seen the seats empty so quickly; Stephen King may be getting older, but damn, he was a fast signer.
It took several minutes before the next group of people arrived. I looked over and said, "Tom's here!"
There was a cheer from our group. Loud enough that surely the people in the front probably wondered what happened. Tom jumped up and down as we waved; "Hey guys! I got back and the line was all different!"
"We tried to save you a spot, they wouldn't let us!," said one of our buddy group.
"That's okay!" he called back. "It wasn't your fault!"
I turned to the younger girl in the group and said, "He's the most optimistic son of a bitch I've ever met. He's the only one that I'm fairly certain returned to see that much of the group had been taken in, and instead of being crushed that he missed the opportunity, he doubled down that it meant he would probably get in with the next group he was certain would be brought in." And sure enough, he was standing on the fourth floor with us waiting to get a book signed.
From that point it was rather straightforward. Photos were allowed until you reach the stage. No flash. No posing. No personalization. Stephen King said think you to me...not sure why, but I remember replying, "No, thank you so very much!" as I headed towards the exit.
I was sad that my parents couldn't be there. I knew my father would have loved to see King, despite not being able to have a conversation of any meaningful length with his favorite author. I wished he could have been there with me, but I knew he would never have wanted to wait as long as the uber-fans had waited. Also, by the time I was sliding the book into my bag and heading for the exit I had been on my feet at least five hours. My parents would never have been able to tolerate that; my own feet were howling in pain and my appreciation for the suffering of restaurant staff reached a new level. I couldn't imagine what my father's feet would have felt like; sure, could have folding chairs, but that's just another hassle of something to carry around the streets. Everything's a tradeoff.
So Dad...I got it for you. There were so many times I was told to leave, and that this wasn't going to happen...but perseverance paid off. Or just ignoring the people running the store paid off. Maybe a little of both.
Merry Christmas.
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| This was where we were initially placed to wait once inside the store. An employee said it was supposed to go in the toy section, but was a little too "unsteady" on its feet to be near kids. |
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| One of several photos I took... |
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| Camera phones apparently don't yield the best results... |
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Upgrade GoLang Linux ARM (Raspberry Pi) to 1.4
"Well, this is weird," I thought, running the upgrade steps once more on my Pi. "Why is it 1.3.3?"
I had run the upgrade a few days ago and a go version cheerfully burped back the 1.4 version. Now it was downgraded.
I re-ran the usual steps...
cd go/src
hg pull
hg update release
./all.bash
...and it still laughed and repeated the 1.3.3 version. Why did it downgrade?
I went to Twitter and asked why it would happen. Someone replied that 1.4 was in git, not mercurial, but then added that there was a tag for "release-1.4" that wasn't moved to "release."
I'm guessing at one point it was. Then they reverted. I'm not very bright, so I want to upgrade it anyway.
I didn't feel like dealing with the weird aborts I was getting from Mercurial...:
mv go go.old
hg clone -u go1.4 https://code.google.com/p/go $HOME/go
cd go/src
./all.bash
What happened then?
me@mymachine ~/go/src $ go version
go version go1.4 linux/arm
I changed out the Go subdirectory because I already had other parts of the environment...path variables, for example...already set, so the rebuilding of the source code should work.
I had run the upgrade a few days ago and a go version cheerfully burped back the 1.4 version. Now it was downgraded.
I re-ran the usual steps...
cd go/src
hg pull
hg update release
./all.bash
...and it still laughed and repeated the 1.3.3 version. Why did it downgrade?
I went to Twitter and asked why it would happen. Someone replied that 1.4 was in git, not mercurial, but then added that there was a tag for "release-1.4" that wasn't moved to "release."
I'm guessing at one point it was. Then they reverted. I'm not very bright, so I want to upgrade it anyway.
I didn't feel like dealing with the weird aborts I was getting from Mercurial...:
mv go go.old
hg clone -u go1.4 https://code.google.com/p/go $HOME/go
cd go/src
./all.bash
What happened then?
me@mymachine ~/go/src $ go version
go version go1.4 linux/arm
I changed out the Go subdirectory because I already had other parts of the environment...path variables, for example...already set, so the rebuilding of the source code should work.
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