Category Archives: Uncategorized

Right place at the right time

Jim blogged about the PHP credits list, and so I took a look. I was amazed to notice that of all the people listed, I know at least half of them, and have met most of the others. I’ve been very lucky to be in the right place at the right time, and meet some amazing people, and get associated with a pretty amazing organization, and by extension, a bunch of others.

In the early days, when the term Open Source wasn’t quite as well known as it is now, I managed to meet a significant number of the folks responsible for Perl, and become friends with several of them. A few years later I started spending more time with Apache than with Perl, and that’s developed into speaking opportunities, books, interesting projects – but most importantly and lastingly, a bunch of friends.

Every now and then, I get a glimpse of just how lucky I’ve been over the last ten years, and the truly astonishing opportunities that have been available to me by virtue just being in the right place, and being willing to volunteer a little of my time.

I’ve been less involved for the last year, since there’s somewhere that my attention has needed to be focused. I’m gradually getting back into spending time on Apache things, but it’s given me some time to think about where I want to spend the few cycles that I have, and I expect that my involvement will be a little different from what it’s been in the past.

But time will tell.

APC

Add another one to the list of things that I’ve put off for a long time, only to realize that they’re simple to do, and have a great pay-off.

Today I installed and enabled APC, which immediately doubled the speed of my PHP applications. And, more importantly, the load on the server immediately dropped by a factor of 10.

I understand that there are other php caching accelerating thingies out there, and I expect that everyone has their opinion of which one is the best. But I’m very impressed with APC.

Fishing Floats – a sestina

We had to write a Sestina in our poetry class, which was quite an ordeal. I don’t much care for writing forms, because they tend to feel forced. But I think this one turned out ok:


Fishing Floats
February 4, 2008

One from Paris, one from Seoul,
one from down in the Keys,
these strange glass globes,
once buoyed up a net on the waves,
but now find another life,
looking for an appropriate metaphor.

But I can’t find the metaphor.
I search deep in my soul
for the meaning of life
revealed by some mysterious key
brought to me over the waves
by a small fishing globe.

Around the globe
men ply their trade, without metaphor,
on the choppy waves.
Sustaining their body, not their soul,
seems to be the key
to these spheres – for life

requires work, and work gives life.
Each of these beautiful globes
were once the key
to a man’s work. That’s the metaphor,
I suppose. A man’s soul
bobbing on the waves.

And, of course, the wave
represents the storms of life,
which blow through our souls,
wherever on the globe
we live. But, by then, the metaphor
has been stretched beyond that key

point at which the Keys
are forgotten beneath the waves,
and the overtaxed metaphor
loses its tenuous grip on life.
On the far side of the globe
on the banks of the Han in Seoul

a fisherman knows that the key to life
is to keep casting the globes on the waves,
not pursuing strange metaphors for his soul.

The Man in the Moon is a Peeping Tom

Our latest assignment in the poetry class I’m taking was to get a tabloid newspaper, and write something inspired by one of the articles. Imagine the backstory. See where it takes you.

The Weekly World News ran an article about the Man in the Moon being a peeping tom, and I wrote the following:

The Man in the Moon is a Peeping Tom
Weekly World News
January 27, 2008

He watches, coldly, calmly,
as Maureen rises in the night
to bake cookies.
The soft white dough mixes
smoothly in the bowl.
He can almost taste the chocolate chips,
almost smell the rich brown aroma, as the oven
eclipses them.

Sees in through another window
the water swirling down the drain,
the steam rising
softly into the
moonlit night.
Janet caresses her lean,
milky white thighs,
gently rolling them
in bread crumbs for the potluck on Sunday.

Dr. Alfred Eisenstone,
of the Bowl Mountain Observatory
says he’s been watching
the phases and the faces of the lunar disc
night upon night,
these many years,
the 200-inch telescope
trained on the sky,
seeing what the moon sees,
urging the people of Flagstone
to pull their shades of a full moon.

And there’s Robert,
out on the deck to grill
a late-night burger, juicy
and dripping, as he takes
a long pull from the forbidden
beer, when he’s sure nobody
is watching.

Far above Flagstone,
Dr. Alfred is vigilant.
He knows what the man
in the moon is up to.
He’s collecting evidence,
planning for his tell-all
scientific paper.

He counts chocolate chips,
his knuckles as white
as the moon.

Tribes

AllAfrica is running an article about the evils of using the word “tribe” to refer to ethnic groups. In summary, he says that the word tribe implies primitive peoples, stuck in history, unable to get past their ancient inter familial conflicts.

I posted a comment on the article, but haven’t received any response from the author. I’m not sure if I should expect one or not. I tend to think that it is merely a game, this business of pretending that a word is the difference between a correct and incorrect view of the world. Political Correctness seems like nothing more than self-deceit to me.

Anyways, here’s the comment:

I tend to get seen as argumentative when I ask this question, but I’m still somewhat perplexed, so please be patient with me.

On the one hand, you state that most people mean a certain thing when they use the term “tribe”, and it encompasses many notions that I’ve never thought, much less associated with that term. Unchanging and timeless? Primitive? Really? Most people mean that? I must be rather out of touch with most people. Granted, I lived my early years among people who used this word to refer to themselves, with none of these connotations, so perhaps my assumptions are skewed by that fact.

But the deeper question here is that you seem to be dismissing the undeniable fact that there is tension between the Kikuyu and the Luos which is causing them to kill one another. Likewise, other groups, but let’s focus on these two for the moment. How would you like to categorize this hatred? How do you explain statements like “The world will not be a safe place until all Kikuyus are killed”, which was made as recently as today on kenya.rcbowen.com, with the same comment being made about the Luos moments later. These are not remarks that are seated in rational thought. They are coming out of something deeper, taught to them as infants and reinforced throughout their lives.

I hope that this is an honest question, and not merely defending my use of a word that I’ve heard used all my life to designate these people groups. Surely exchanging one word for another is sophistry, if the reality is still there.

Bosnia, also, is a region of what I would call tribal conflict, as is Israel and Appalachia. It’s simply not the case that these kinds of conflicts are purely an African phenomenon. People hold grudges for generations and generations, long after the initial causes are long forgotten. Why is this? And what term should we use to refer to this undeniable reality? Exchanging one word for another, as you observe, in no way addresses the underlying attitudes associated with the word.

Kenya still burning

4 weeks ago, the elections in Kenya went sour, and people were, justifiably, it seemed, angry with the seemingly obvious fact that the elections were rigged. I mean, 115% turnout in even one precinct is sufficient to call foul.

If, at that moment, the leading candidates had stepped forward, together, and said, something’s not right here, we’re going to get to the bottom of it, stay calm until we can get everything sorted out – if they could have just done that, postponed the anger for a day or so, gotten things worked out, perhaps we could have avoided this.

As it is, it took them more than 3 weeks even to talk to one another, and by that time, more than 700 people had been brutally killed. Now, things are escalating more each day. Rumor is that there’s a convoy of buses and trucks going from village to village, burning, killing, raping, anyone who appears to be from the “wrong” ethnic origin. Families that have lived next door for years are now bitter enemies, willing to kill each other with machetes, arrows, knives, rocks, whatever they have handy.

The optimism I had in the first days that things could be fixed, the problems could be resolved, there could be peace and reconciliation – I’m afraid that’s all gone now. With each passing day, the chance that things can get back to the way they once were gets slimmer and slimmer. The damage to the economy is devastating. Tourists won’t come back for years. The hotels that have already closed will discourage others from opening. Shipping companies are avoiding Mombasa, because it’s not safe. Nairobi has always been a hub of commerce for the surrounding nations, and folks are starting to look for somewhere else to go through.

And the violence is getting more and more organized. Weapons are being distributed. Strategy meetings are being held, and more and more people are being killed.

Meanwhile, Mr. Kibaki, the so-called president, continues to insist that there isn’t in fact any problem, and that it will all be just peachy if the opposition takes their complaints to court and lets the (Kibaki-appointed) judges decide what needs to happen next.

Where will it end?

MEMORY

MEMORY
The Weekend Wordsmith this week reminded me of a tiny neglected cemetery on Nicholasville Road, right before Regency Center (heading North), on the edge of a parking lot. You can’t quite see it from the road. You could even park there and not notice it. All that remains is perhaps 4 headstones, only two of which are actually still legible.

And one broken stone on which the only thing legible is one word.

MEMORY
January 26, 2008

Stepping over the tumble-down
rock wall into the past,
the chill of the wind
chewing at our fingers
and noses, the urge
to move on and forget
resisted for just a moment.

A few broken stones,
all that is left to remember
these lives.

John died in 1885,
aged 46.
Martha Tull, a beloved
mother, departed from us.

And this one, only
MEMORY
and nothing more.

Our three score and ten,
and nothing more,
leaving only

MEMORY.

Another marathoner killed

My heroes have always been runners – Sebastian Coe, Eric Liddle, Steve Prefontaine, Jesse Owens, and many others.

And, of course, Kip Keino, who won gold in Mexico City and Munich, and then went home to start an orphanage, where he’s got more than 100 kids who call him Baba. Not only a great athlete, but also a great man.

Most of the Kenyan distance runners are from the Kalenjin family of tribes, and they are in the center of the recent violence that’s going on in Kenya. Another one of them was killed this week, having missed his flight out for a race due to the fighting. Lucas Sang was killed the week before. And Luke Kibet, who’s the world marathon champion, is in the hospital recovering from being struck in the head by a stone.

I have no profound thoughts to add to this. Just continuing sadness at the methodical way that the greatest nation in Africa is tearing itself to pieces.

Update: Now the government is targeting these folks, claiming that they’re funding the “ethnic cleansing.” Who knows what to believe?