Matt

There Were Children Here Once

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 04:45:28 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Nonsense and scribbles scratched on the wall in crayon, pencil, dirt. Names and geometric patterns drilled into the wood work. Floors covered in hay. Mary, Richard, Seth, Sue. I know there were children here before this house became, like so many in rural farming areas in America, storage for hay. Dated February 7th, 1974, the Centre Daily Times (or as I like to call it the Centre Daily Misprint) contains a piece “Weighing the risk Of an impeachment” doing exactly that in reference to a post-watergate Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon. This is a fantastic parcel of land, and the house is still quite solid save for a crumbling foundation in one corner and a mushy floor on the back porch. There is another house just up the private road. Perhaps they just moved, electing to use their prior residence as storage for hay?

Nota Bene: you can click these and see the full resolution versions on My Flickr, or view a Slideshow of all 32 photos.

Sue’s Handiwork

Beautiful Decay

I love you

Seth’s Scribbles

Comedy/Tragedy

Weighing The Risk Of An Impeachment – 3 photos

View all 32 photos.

Location: near State College, PA

The Old Smithy

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 02:36:15 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I went home to Montoursville, Pennsylvania for the Thanksgiving holiday. This was my first time home since my father’s death, and I had my doubts about how well I was going to take seeing the house again. Thankfully I was wrong — the work my Mom is absolutely amazing. As far as the upstairs bathroom and master bedroom are concerned, I might as well have been coming home to boutique hotel. With a 50 gallon bath tub, no less.

View a slide show of all 16 photos

The bathroom is warm and inviting and features radiant floor heating, towel warmer, fifty gallon cast-iron bath tub, and airy glass shower. I’d say the icing on the cake is the HDTV on the swing arm above the bath tub.

The bedroom is the perfect place to crash after a wonderful day, or just to take a nap. My father always said that my mother was a fantastic napper. Our first dog, Boris, would run up the stairs to the bedroom if you asked him “Where’s Mommy?!” Why? because that’s usually where she was!

I love you Mom, you did a wonderful job… and you’re not even done yet!

View a slide show of all 16 photos

View the 16 photos in this set

A Year Through The Lens

Fri, 27 Nov 2009 03:31:05 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

A year is a long time, and in the space of that year I feel like I’ve really grown as a photographer. Oddly enough, this meant not only bettering my skills behind the camera, but facing fears. I was afraid to explore, because I didn’t want to go to jail. In actual fact, the Cincinnati Police Department seems to have a lot better things to do with their time. I was uneasy around people. Viewing the world through the viewfinder, the “real” world seems to fall away, and with it the anxiety. All that’s left is the image, the concentrated essence of the moment, and off we go…

Nota Bene: you can click these and see the full resolution versions on My Flickr, or view a Slideshow of all 37 photos.

You, You’re Awesome at the Southgate House

You, You’re Awesome at Northside Tavern

Abandoned Loch #5, Bowling Green, KY

Arsclan Jesus Respawns 9 Mug Shots

Sunset over Louisville,KY Rail Bridge

Unammed Boy, Sedamsville, Cincinnati, OH

Impromptu Portraits

Abandoned Hudepohl Brewery

Life in Downtown Cincinnati

Urban Decay in South Fairmont

Life as we know it:

And that’s just the beginning, trust me. I’ve come this far in a year, and the next year will be even more of the same. More shots, more exploring, more photowalks with those near and dear in Goettaville, Cincinnati, OH. I look forward to getting into my visual groove, feeling the world fall away, and creating wonderful pictures.

Much Love,
–Matt

My New Fictional Hire, An Entry-Level Technician

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 15:23:01 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

My friend Eric asked me to write up a list of skills that I thought I an entry level tech should have. I’m writing it from the point of just having hired said entry-level technician position. The “guy” I just hired has the following skills, and I am VERY happy with him:

Basic knowledge of DNS, how to add/change/delete A/CNAME/RREF records in a generic point and click environment like Windows DNS or a DNS appliance
Knowledge of DHCP, leases, static DHCP, adding/change/delete leases
Basic DOS/*nix command line navigation (cd, type, less/more, etc.)
OS installation, install all drivers, patch system
Basic virtual machine knowledge, installing OSs inside VMs, cloning VMs, re-IP & re-SID clones, etc.
Disk drive imaging like ghost
Network connection troubleshooting knowledge, finding whether problem is local to PC, segment, etc.
IP subnetting
Basic Office suite use
Printer Drivers (enhanced vs os-built in)
Identifying unknown hardware by reading device IDs, using www.pcidatabase.com or search engine
Web Browser issues/compatability

That’s it for now — but I’m about to get in the truck for the seven hour drive back to Cincinnati from St. Louis. I may edit this post an add to it when I return, or not. Good luck Aryc!

Oh how I wish this would happen to me…

Fri, 15 May 2009 14:45:33 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Signs
Uploaded by Xeryoxys - Independent web videos.

Yes. I am such a girl when it comes to things romantic.

Using Expect and Cadaver to automate WebDAV uploads (w\ example script)

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 22:24:05 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

DISCLAIMER: I still hate windows.

I spent a decent portion of today hunting around for a way to script or otherwise automate (at the command line) uploading a file to one of $wageslavery’s external vendors. After diddling with curl -T only to find that it only works if the destination file doesn’t exist, I finally bit the bullet and installed Cygwin. Cygwin provides a win32 version of expect, the command line automation tool and cadaver, the command line WebDAV utility, basically smbclient for WebDAV. Working example code after the break!

The script is applicable to any platform really, but what’s below on *nix platforms may or may not require the “\n” at the end of the send statements. expect sends “\r” at the end of the line by itself, and I suspect the Cygwin *nix utils running on Windows instead of *nix is probably the cause.

A practical, santized, example including dealing with a self-signed certificate:
spawn /usr/bin/cadaver https://upload.externalvendor.com/myuploads expect "Do you wish to accept the certificate" send "y\n" expect "Username:" send "starbuck\n" expect "Password:" send "0mgBACON\n" expect "dav:" send "lcd /path/to/data/files\n" expect "dav:" send "rm datafile.csv\n" expect "dav:" send "put datafile.csv\n" expect "dav:" send "quit\n"

Hopefully this helps some other poor soul stuck dealing with WebDAV uploads instead of proper sftp!

Update 2009-02-24: I added the word “script” a few times to help the Google search results. Maybe I’ll be #1 on “cadaver expect script”!

Mom Sent Me Cookies

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 05:42:04 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Eskimos = Awesome

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 01:57:07 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Those who know me pretty will know this piqued my interest in post-apocalyptic survival techniques:

Impressive, no? I doubt you or I could pull off making warm shelter in the same environment.

At UC.edu, Blackboard Loves LDAP!

Fri, 12 Dec 2008 19:22:13 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

On December 22nd, as soon the time rolls from 2008-12-22 7:59 to 2008-12-22 08:00, our seven Blackboard application servers will be changed over to authenticate against LDAP instead of the standard Blackboard RDBMS (passwords stored in the Oracle database). This transition is not without issues, and this blog post will serve to inform FTRC members of several support scenarios and other important information on how to handle them. Support Personnel: Please be sure to read this post throughly, and feel free to ask questions in the comments.

The Security Center and You

On the test system (Coke) there is a new homepage module that everyone will see when they log in, it is called the security center. Please log in to coke (link only works on campus!) and see things for yourself. You’ll need an account on coke to do this, and you’ll login with your 6+2 and current LDAP/OneStop/etc. password. The Security Center was something I wrote to provide feedback about password related issues such as expiration and grace logins. If the user’s password is expires, but they still have grace logins remaining on their account, they will be able to login to Blackboard but it will consume a grace login and decrement the user’s grace logins available by one. By default, all UC accounts provide six grace logins, and therefor users have six logins before they are locked out and must change their password. I am investigating a way to display grace login and password expiration date in SysOp, but it’s not there yet.

Things to look for in SysOp

Examine Unique Ids Source when you lookup the user’s data. There is a known issue with accounts coming from “B - Grandfathered Beecher accounts”, those accounts do not exist in the LDAP tree that Blackboard authenticates against, and the caller should use their standard 6+2 login name with blackboard instead. This issue should be very rare. When Blackboard attempts to authenticate these users against LDAP, they will be treated in the same way as visitor and other non-LDAP accounts, meaning Blackboard will fall back to their RDBMS (database) password. If the user wishes to continue using the account, inform them they must login with the same password as they did before the conversion to LDAP since their account is being handled as a non-LDAP account.

Sysop showing my LDAP-authenticated account: if the password is expired, there will be a message showing it’s expired

Sysop showing showing a non-LDAP account

Here are a few scenarios that could occur when a user calls with password issues, beyond the standard bad password errors you are accustomed to.

First Scenario

User is unable to log in and receives message a message that their password is expired. The user’s password has expired and they have no grace logins remaining. The user must visit the UCit Password Self Service portal and reset their password, or contact the UC Help Desk for further assistance.

Second Scenario

User’s password is expired, but they were able login by consuming a grace login. Immediately advise the user to visit the UCit Password Self Service before they run out of grace logins. Nota bene: logging in to Password Self Service with an expired password requires at least one available grace login! If the user has just used their last grace login by logging in to Blackboard, and the Security Center displays a value of zero (0) for remaining grace logins, the user must contact the UCit Help Desk to reset their account.

Third scenario

User’s password will expired in less than the warning period (160 days in this case, but it is set to 7 days on the production system, this is for illustration only.) Advise the user to visit the UCit Password Self Service before their password expires.

Fourth Scenario

All is well, user’s password will expire within the configured seven-day warning period. I guess it’s not really a scenario at all.

Password Resets for accounts

Can be done through the UCit Password Self Service portal, or by having the user contact the UCit Help Desk.

Security Center and non-LDAP accounts

Security Center displays a message that the user’s password will not expire. Eventually this module will be hidden for non-LDAP authenticated user accounts. Of course, that “eventually” may be before December 22nd, but not at the time of the writing of this document.

Password Resets for non-LDAP accounts

I am currently doing the engineering before coding my own password reset utility for Blackboard to accommodate the fact that the built-in password reset functionality is not available when bb-config.properties is configured for LDAP authentication. This is very frustrating and I may give Blackboard a call to see if they can tell me how to force it on even with LDAP turned on. If this functionality is not restored, password resets for non-LDAP users will to be handled by the FTRC Blackboard Support Team via phone.

In Conclusion

If you run into issues not covered by this post, please feel free to come find me and ask. Once we solve the issue, we might even add it here. Consider this an experiment in work blogging. I’m looking forward to your comments on this post.

True Love Will Find You In The End

Thu, 20 Nov 2008 10:11:30 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

November 18th, 2008. 16:50 hours GMT-5. Some of his military friends will appreciate and probably remember Dad’s fascination with time and time keeping pieces. I think he’d appreciate me knowing the precise time of his death. This is going to be a long, long post. I promise if you read it all the way through will be glad you did. You will not want whatever minutes you spent reading this back. At this point I’m not sure I can finish writing everything I want to write in one setting, but I’m determined to do so. Oh 7 hours later… I’m done.

My father died holding my and my mother’s hands. At first he squeezed, or it felt like he squeezed; it was probably autonomic. I cannot think of a better way to go, than to have the two people who matter most to you holding your hands. I was in #arsclan (the “family room” for Arsclan) on my laptop, and my mother just said “Matthew!” in a rather urgent fashion; i dropped my laptop. My father held his hands up, and I held his right hand, and my mother had been holding his left for a long, long time. It was okay for him to go, and he should stop being such a tough, incredible, amazing man and just let go. He took one last deep breath, my mother said “There might be a another one of these”, but I knew this was it. I can’t put it into words yet, but I knew this gasp was the end. I wasn’t confident in it to say anything out loud or to my mom, but that was probably my mind fighting the fact my father was taking his last step; his foot hadn’t landed on the ground for the end of the step, but neither foot would leave the ground after this. I apologize for the very metaphorical explanation but, but that’s the only way I’ve got to explain that moment. The doctor (Dr. Nesbitt, we’ll come back to him & the hospice) knelt down and place his stethoscope on Dad’s chest and said “his heart his taking its last few beats.” I was glad I hadn’t said anything out loud, though my gut feeling had been 100% on this entire time. I held his hand. I think I said I love you, or maybe I just said it in my head. And that was it. I asked one of the nurses, with some sort of quick, awkward explanation to take a picture of his hands in ours. I sat back on the couch, sent a twitter (which didn’t get fucking delivered, GIANT FAIL WHALE) and dropped 3 lines into IRC; I forget exactly what I said, but it was along the lines of “my father has died.” I closed my laptop.

Some of you have my address. Don’t send flowers. I would rather the money go to the Gatehouse Hospice as a donation in the name of Dr. William H. Sprinsky. Without them I would have been even more of a mess. They were amazing, and Dr. Nesbitt should be commended repeatedly on what his hard work produced.

The hard part is over. No more worries. No more pain. I felt relief, and some bizarre surge of energy. My views on the body once a person has died are not old fashioned. Dad will get what he wanted to happen to his body, but the still warm hand my mother was holding was not my father anymore, it was a shell. As Vietnam veteran and a full-bird Colonel, retired from the Army in 1985, He will have full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery, which my mother explains to me is quite a sight, as her father (a WWII Army Retired Colonel) had the same. My father was not a proudful or boasting man, but his wishes reflect the pride that he took in serving this country and going from being a jewish boy in a poor family in the depression to being PhD in Geodetic Science, decorated combat veteran, and a well respected colleague in both military and academic realms. He might never have said a damn thing about it, but I am amazed and and very, very proud of my father.

This process of his death, and comforting and being there for in as best I could, as hard as I could, was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I hope that in sharing all of this I am going to help someone else, because it helps me to get it out of my head and into word form where it can be shared and understood. If you can empathize, you can better understand, and vice versa.

I am thankful that my mom was there for me to hold on to on my father’s way out. I was not the strong one. My mother held his hand more. I was more withdrawn and distracted. People have called me strong throughout this experience, but I do not feel strong or brave, I feel like I am a son who did precisely what he should have done. I was not strong the way people think I was, and that’s okay, it’s absolutely okay. I know what I did was both what needed to be done and what should have been done, and I could not possibly ask someone for more than that. I am needed more now, my mother needs me… and now I can be the strong one, and I will be the strong one no matter what. I am thankful that my job permits me to do what I need to do, and that the work that my father and mother did getting absolutely every last I & T dotted. Which is why my father’s death was the hard part, nothing after his death will be harder. I will be okay, for many many reasons. And it’s okay that I am not okay now.

The entire experience was definitely the hardest thing I have ever done, and I am only starting to gain a greater understanding of what this all means. One of the biggest things I’ve become aware of is how much of him lives on in me, in my mannerisms and the way I think. The first night after his death was very hard, every time I sighed, I heard him. It sounded exactly like him, in the hard sighs he’d release as he was dying. I look at myself in the mirror and see more of him, but also in a lot of good ways. I am just glad the hard part is over…

Yesterday. The hard part.

I couldn’t fully handle all of what was going on and because of that, I was detached. I was in IRC and I was so glad I had a trickle of data service with my N95 tethered to my MacBook to AT&T on EDGE (No 3G in Williamsport) because I was with my other family. I had been distracted throughout this whole thing, though I was increasingly just staring at dad, watching his eyes, as his body very slowly came to the same conclusion his mind had done hours before, and his connections and presence in this world faded and fell away, that is when it got easier. The final throws were awful. I realize that stayed distracted was my way of coping. I don’t regret it, and nobody should regret any of their own coping mechanisms. Dying is hard, and my mother’s words hang in my mind: “you do what you have to do.”

I stayed up all night with him from Monday afternoon when he was admitted to the hospice (a truly amazing and helpful, loving place) until the morning hours of tuesday. When the transport dropped him off, he was lucid. I cracked a joke at him, asked him if he had enjoyed the in flight movie. My mother said there were no peanuts. We all laughed, but that would be the last time we all laughed together. At least it was a clever joke.

Now Dad was fairly quiet, though he’d groan and grunt and try to get comfortable. I got some sleep. One of the reasons I was able to handle this entire process as well as I did was something my mother had given me, a pamphlet which explained the things that people do as their dying, in the last weeks, days, hours, and minutes before death. Having this information was absolutely invaluable for me, knowing or having some clue to what may happen next.

When we arrived, the Doctor. delivered an estimate of a couple days to a week or two for my father. My heart dropped in my chest, I knew I couldn’t handle this for that long. I knew she was wrong, I don’t know how I knew at that point, other than that’s what my gut told me. That hit me like a ton of bricks and I found my mother immediately and told her I knew they were all wrong. Dad was going to die tomorrow. I am thankful I was right, and we skipped what could have been even more grotesquely excessive.

The part of his death that infuriated me the most is what came next, in the wee hours of tuesday morning, something that I hadn’t fully been warned about. I share this not because it adds anything to the narrative I set before you, but because you nobody told me. And someone should tell you about this should you ever want to be fully prepared to be with a loved one with they died. It is an awful, needless, terrible thing called terminal agitation. This was the hardest of the hard part I think, because dad couldn’t get comfortable, he’d groan and moan and ask constantly for my mother who was busy trying to get some sleep since she hadn’t had any in over 24 hours. It was awful, and it was the only point in this entire process I wish I could have just skipped. I held him up because it was the only relief he could get from the pressure sore he had on his backside, althought it was only for 30 seconds at a time. But he wouldn’t take drugs for it, I could see the frustration in his face. It was worthless and awful, for me and for dad, to go through it. I was sad and angry that he was so goddamn stubborn and wouldn’t take medication to make him more comfortable, to make that sore on his back side feel like a bowl of melting jello. I didn’t realize what this meant at the time, but the last medication he took was because I pointed at my head and told him “Remember, I think like you, trust me.” He closed his eyes and complied with the nurse. I was glad he took the haldol, but did not grasp what I had just done.

All of this was hard enough without the fact that the string that held him to this world was slowly fraying down to the last fragile, weak strands. My mother would talk to him, and he would get even more agitated. I was afraid to talk to him, but I shouldn’t have been, because in talking to him I discovered the greatest gift I was able to give my father on his way out of this life, I was able to communicate for him. I could read his eyes. I could, somehow see in his head. Each one of the grunts and groans he made, I could hear which words and phrases they meant, from bitching at my mother being such a dingbat, to a genuine pained grunt held in a composure which could only be described as soldier-like. Now that it’s done, I realize what an important and wonderful thing being able to do that for him was. I was the bridge, as best I could be, between his logical mind, something deeply important for him, and the outside world. When I guessed at what he wanted, he didn’t get frustrated. Eventually we just held his hand and asked him yes or no questions, this was a very good, warm, effective way for him to communicate with us, and keep some dignity as man who valued his intellect above all his other processes.

What I did realize was at the times my father was talking to me with his eyes, and responding on some subliminal animal-like level, was that I had accomplished my goal of truly getting to know my father. While I did not hear all of the wonderful things he experienced in his life, I knew how to think like him. I can’t think of a more pure way of knowing something then thinking like they do. I apologized to my father for my mother and I ever thinking he was offline and couldn’t hear us when his eyes were open. He never closed his eyes throughout his death, ever since he was at hospice. I had to apologize for the disrepect I felt I had levied towards him for this. I know he understood and was forgiven. There was a point somewhere along this where I told him we would do whatever he wanted, whether it being staying at his side or “just getting the fuck out of the room and giving you some peace” — to my surprise the corner of his mouth jerked up in a smirk and his eyes smiled. Mom and I gave him some peace, and talked with each other, and again made me realize why I am so glad my mother is with me in this. I was exhausted, I don’t remember what time it was other than the sun was coming over the mountains out the window. Their beauty in the morning mist and the sunrise shining through was a comfort to me. I drifted off to sleep in the recliner next to his bed, my mother holding his right hand on the other side of the bed.

I had been half-hearing the world around me and being too tired and too overwhelmed to come out from underneath the blanket I had over my head and the ball I had curled my body into, but… eventually I fully awoke. When I did, dad was quiet. Steady breathing. I think it was around 11:00. I diddled on the internet. My mother checked her email on my Mac, which was a bit of levity since she’s never used a Mac before. I showed her expose, and she was amazed and impressed. Life went on, we were there in the room in whatever state we could be, but neither of us were going to leave his side for long.

At around 14:30 on tuesday afternoon, I had driven my mom’s car home for a shower and a change, dodged the sweet old cleaning lady who takes care of my parents’ house but talks to much, and returned by 15:30 to dad’s side. The title of this post comes from the shirt I picked, quite intentionally, to wear in what I knew was going to be the end.This beautiful bit of art in t-shirt form is a fascinating, extremely intricate illustration of a swan’s head. Dad always felt the same way about nature that I do, and if he could see what I was wearing I’m sure he would have found it pleasing. The phrase in sans-serif vertical type at the bottom reads “True love will find you in the end” and I am lucky to have stumbled upon that phrase as the most apt descriptor for the process of my father’s death that I can possibly think of.

When I came back into the room for the first time after my quick trip, cookies and coffee in tow, I saw my Mom had rotated the recliner so she could hold his hand all the time, but not be hunched over… she’s practical like that. Dad was in the same state that he was when I left, regular breathing under his own power, still, regular breathing with few interruptions for a gasp. He didn’t ever want to be hooked up to any machine. I told him I loved him, I watched his eyes and held his hand. There was no indication there was anyone there on the inside, and I was having an intense mental debate about whether Dad was really still in there. I was beginning to think my dad was gone, but I didn’t know for sure. There was only one thing to do with the energy I had gained from going home and getting a shower.

I leaned on my friends, something I really should have done sooner, I called those who had different viewpoints who I thought might enlighten me. I can’t remember everyone I called, or anything more than a loose order. I was gathering data. I was doing the engineering to make a decision, and that decision was just some part of my mind trying to cheat and make the experience of my father dying over sooner. I am glad that the conclusion that I did; though my father was completely disconnected from the outside world, I believe (and I use that word to it’s fullest purpose) that he was still in there, that he knew when mom and I were there, or maybe he could hear us. Even if it isn’t true, it doesn’t matter in the end, and the comfort I take in feeling that is echoed by my gut telling me I am indeed correct.

I was right. I would not have the last hour I had with him any other way. He died in a way that was uniquely him, and I was there telling him I loved him, and I can’t possibly be sad about the way it went. I am only sad that he isn’t here anymore, and with that sadness comes a series of revelations and realizations that are only beginning now. I will be fine, but I’m not fine now, and that’s okay.

It was just today that I realized that my father had been waiting for me. We had discussed that as soon as he went into hospice, I was going to come home. Before I left, we were thinking he had two to four weeks. No one expected things to go this fast, not even him. I had gotten home on the wee hours of Sunday morning, and here it was Tuesday afternoon and I was sure my father was going to die. I thankful that the randomness of the universe decided to be merciful in what it could have been. I am glad that I see so much of my father living on in me, and that this experience has brought me even closer than ever before with my mother.

Dad left a letter for me to read after his death. The classic procrastinator he was, he never finished it. But the letter confirmed everything my heart already knew, and it was all on the first page. Dad was always direct, and brutally honest. He loved me and my mother and had a hard time expressing it. It’s okay, there are some things that happened to him in his life that made it hard for him to do certain things emotionally. One of the things I will continue to strive against is living in my own head as he did, but it was right for him, and I know that.

I don’t know what happens from here. But I know it can’t possibly be as hard as what I’ve just done. It’s just dealing with “stuff.” The house is going to get sold eventually, and we don’t have to be in a hurry, but I do worry about it a bit in this market. But on the other hand, it’s a beautiful piece of 3 acre land with two barns and a wonderful house full of a multitude of time capsules. The main house was built in 1740, and added on to in umpteen different pieces up until the 1970s. It’s the reason I will always love old houses. It’s home, and I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be, or anything I’d rather do right now.

Many of the same people reading this have called me, or sent me an sms/text, or posted on the internet communities that live in my heart more than any of their members really realize. Without twitter, IRC, and the trickle of EDGE over a bluetooth tether, I would have been in 1000x shape. Thank you all immensely. I will warn you, I am an idiot when it comes to asking for help. Those who I will call on know in their hearts who they are.

And here’s the shit kicker, the duality in all of this. Remember “True love will find you in the end” from earlier? Well, I realize now that my circle of friends, that I’m so hesitant to call upon for help, love me in a way that I can’t quite fully describe. You sort of have to have been “born on the internet” to get it. Those reading this who this love know it by “less than 3″… or <3. Much love to all of you. I am thankful, I am positive, and I will be fine; but if weren’t for you all, my world would fall apart. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you.

And good lord this was a long post. Those who made it all the way through deserve a medal. Or something.

Twilight

Tue, 18 Nov 2008 07:37:12 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Yesterday I said I’d try to write something everyday, and the funny thing is now writing is the only thing keeping me from losing my shit in its entirety.

I’m writing this sitting in the recliner at the surprisingly comfortable Gatehouse Hospice. To my right is Dr. William Harold Sprinsky, Born 6/26/1939. Externally he is placid. Inside, I don’t know. I’m probably right in guessing he’s anxious for it to all be over with. My gut tells me I am right.

He’s laying in the hospital bed next to me, breathing is almost metronome like, 3 seconds from in to out. I was going to go home. I was going to curl up and cry around my fat fuzzy dog who barks too much. I fetched Wegmans subs for dinner (OmNomNom!!!) and used the soporific effects of Ommegang’s Three Philosophers on my mother and myself. This place is amazingly warm and comforting, I can’t imagine being in a typical sterile hospital environment. It’s much easier to be peaceful and gain some perspective here.

21:24 He settles a bit.
21:25 “What the hell is going on?”
21:26 He settles again.
21:27 “What the hell is going on?”
21:28 <uncontrollable hiccups>
21:30 I go get the nurses…

The hiccups, oh god the hiccups he’s having, wretched things. “Goddamn miserable cock suckers” he says. I know he means the hiccups, and somehow that’s a comfort.

This last part of life, this most infuriating part for me because it is just so absolutely worthless in terms of it’s contribution to the overall beauty and vibrance of what a life is. This morning he agreed with my mother that it would be better if it were just over with. His mind has made up the decision, what’s left is the ride to his body catching up with what his mind has already determined.

I look over, I can’t see his eyes, his water cup is in the way. I move it. He looks at me. I tell him I couldn’t see his face, and he looks so handsome with a beard, he always gave me shit about having a beard.

I fetched the nurses in regard to the hiccups, thorazine on the list. I gave them the schpiel about how much he hates drugs. He probably heard me. He’d probably be upset that I tried to pull a fast one on him, if he were lucid enough to realize it. The nurses just came in and offered drugs, but left having readjusted him to be a bit more comfortable. He’s no longer lucid enough to say that for himself, but the thoughts are there. He can’t get them out. It must be infuriating. But he is comfortable, and still and back to regular but labored breathing for now.

What hit me so hard today, while I listened to dad and his physician discuss the plan to keep him comfortable in whatever time he has left, was a realization. I realized that this was the twilight hour, the last very bit of life before it’s all over and done with. And he wasn’t actively fighting anymore, maybe because he’s completely out of energy. I realized that he hadn’t eaten, let alone chugged an old people energy drink (an ensure) in more than 24 hours. Water intake was minimal. From a guy who did everything he knew he had to do during chemo, and still knows that water and food are essential for life, to refusing those. He’s ready to let go. I’m ready to let him go, and yet it still goes on. That’s the scary part I can’t seem to wrap my head around. I hope this goes quickly, there’s no benefit in drawing it out. I realized that my father was now essentially admitting that he is ready to die.

…And that’s the most I’ve cryed since he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in spring of this year. but I talked to one of dad’s good friends for about half an hour. It was like talking to one of my friends, but that’s because there’s a lot of similarity in us, and this particular friend is a family physician, so of course it was easy.

I am thankful my employer loves me to death, and whatever happens just happens, it will all work out and I will still be able to pay the bills and keep my job. I’d be working now if I had a packet data connection that would do more than trickle packets, but I don’t. I’d probably be doing shoddy work anyway. My mind is wandering, I’m going to shut up now.

Thanks for listening, I can feel the love.

This Is The Beginning Of The End

Mon, 17 Nov 2008 03:56:18 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this out, let alone posting it on the internet. There’s something about putting the thoughts inside my head into a more permanent form, and perhaps all this sharing will be therapeutic in some form or another. I’m not going to pull any punches, and I have a funny feeling that reading this may upset some of my friends… as for complete strangers, who cares?

It is a very good thing indeed that my mother is here doing pretty much all the care giving for my father. The hospice nurse is here once a day, but their ministrations are largely too short, at least to give my mother some relief. But that’s why I’m here. My mother asked me today “You’ve changed diaper on a baby, right?” — no, I have not. What this made me realize is that I am utterly unprepared to take care of my father. I am very glad my mother is the tough, positive woman that she is, and it’s amazing that she’s done this much for my father already.

The only call to action I had today was when mom was on the phone and dad needed to go to the bathroom, which is nothing new. The “#2″ isn’t anything new, he’s had issues with the runs since the chemo started. Now it’s the medication to clean the ammonia out of his blood, since his liver shut down two weeks ago. Last night, before I arrived, was the first night he had some serious issues; my mother contacted one of her dear (probably soon to be sainted) RN friends who loaned us a bedside commode.

But this time was was different. My mother was on the phone and I had to help dad get to the bathroom, the most basic of functions someone can do for themselves, I felt it: dread, terror, malcontent, paralysis. I wanted to say “Dad, just use the bed side commode” as he wobbled, my arms under his, towards the bathroom. But I didn’t, because I figured that would upset him. He must have sensed something, or maybe he just wanted my mother, because he yelled (or as much of a yell as he could muster) “Lynnie!” Mom got off the phone double quick, and I just stood there. I failed in this most basic of things.

That moment is a microcosm of what’s coming, and he knows it. I know it. He doesn’t answer if you ask him what he’s thinking, or if he’s in pain. Two to four weeks to live and he’s refusing all pain meds, says he feels no pain. My mother believes him. I know he’s full of shit - because I know how I manage pain, and my incredibly high tolerance for it. I also know how utterly self reliant my father was for the majority of his life, and how incredibly infuriating it must be for him to need help to just go to the bathroom.

Dad is sleeping. The redskins are on TV. They’re playing the Cowboys, and it’s one of the biggest rivalries in the NFL. Any other time, even two weeks ago, he’d be watching and screaming at the TV along with every other rabid Redskins fan. Before he had his hips replaced, we attended the one and only NFL game I’ve ever been to, 10*F and sleeting, gritting his teeth the whole walk to and from the stadium. That is the love my father has for football, especially redskins football.

Whatever is going on in his head, he knows what’s going to happen. He’s just waiting. My mother and I expect his ever impatient nature still comes into play. I don’t see any shame in ending your own life if you know it’s going to happen shortly anyway. My mother agreed, noting that it’s legal and available in Oregon.

I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how much work I’m going to done in this telecommuting setup. I am terrified of having to wipe my father’s backside, but only because I know he’ll see that as even further degradation of his dignity. I am afraid that I am going to “deer in headlights” again when I am needed most. I have never been so scared in my life, but even saying that out loud feels empty, because I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening.

All I can do is keep going, which is what I am going to do. I also hope to write something like this on a regular basis, as a way letting the worry out. Keeping worry in tends to rot the soul.

I love you, dad.

Chemotherapy with my Father

Fri, 24 Oct 2008 01:09:36 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

For those of you who didn’t know, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer back in May this year. I came home for a long weekend after I found the news, courtesy of a very understanding boss. It wasn’t long enough, and it was all so new that nothing was really different. His mind was still sharp as he hadn’t started chemo, and he as still doing things around the house himself. Move forward till now, he’s quiet, his logic is questionable (and my father is a very, very intelligent man) and his one concern is fighting it and staying alive. Now I’m home for two weeks, and spending lots of time with dad. The sad part is that he doesn’t want to go do anything, but he didn’t before he got sick. He lives all inside his own head, and it’s been that way for a long time. I can tell he’s only angry and scared not for the future but because of the loss of control he has over his own life, and the loss of energy.

Tuesday of this week, I accompanied him and my mother to Geisinger hospital in Danville, PA. These pictures are of a man with the stubbornness of 1000 mules and who does not know how to fail at anything. I am his son, these are my pictures.

View the entire set on Flickr.

Bork bork bork

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 14:19:53 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Maybe it’s all the classical I’ve been listening to as of late, but this was absolutely hilarious and really brightened my morning. Borka Borka Bork.

In Which I Chase a Squirrel

Thu, 25 Sep 2008 19:28:42 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

The video pretty much explains everything…

And yes, I am breathing hard at the end of the video, deal with it. I’m a sysadmin, not an Olympic squirrel wrangler.

Photoshop Experiments

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 04:31:59 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I wondered if I still had my knack for using Photoshop, and I knew there was much more to learn that I’d never picked up before. This week I read a lot of photoshop tutorials, but the most important thing I never learned to use before: Brushes. I have NO idea how I’ve missed out this feature, and this week I discovered a few tutorials/videos on how to make photoshop do all sorts of things with my Wacom tablet that my ex-wife got me so many years ago. I’d really not been utilizing it enough. Without further delay, though, I’ll get to the art:

Promotional Artwork for Arsclan.net Turkey Shoot 2008 (my favorite camping trip):

Playing around with pixels & streaks, from the 3D Pixel Effects tutorial:

Playing around with grunge brushes, sunbursts, and making a new banner for the Ars Brute Squad:

And one from way back when I first started playing with brushes:

Comments are appreciated! Thank you.

Dan Rather nails why mainstream news sucks

Sat, 06 Sep 2008 23:38:19 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

And now you have why I don’t watch the news.

Of Enders Game, my career and the Blackboard army

Wed, 20 Aug 2008 18:25:01 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

My first 8 months at this job have been a roller coaster of seemingly intractable technical problems, breakthroughs, and finally being appreciated for what I am truly capable of. It’s been enjoyable and infuriating, and I’ve come to a number of conclusions. I’ve likened it to Ender’s Game, where ender is constantly tested and pushed past the breaking points, but continues to succeed because he is incapable of failure. Sometimes my perfectionist side does get the best of me, and in turn completely destroys any semblance of balance in my life… But I’m constantly learning new things that (surprisingly) I’m pretty good at, and getting to know myself and what I want better than ever before.

Been talking to myself forever / and how I wish I knew me better… — “Oceanlab - On A Good Day” — That’s how it goes.

The huge revelation: build an army, and trust them to do things right. As someone who considers himself a true engineer in terms of thought processes, I am capable of thinking up and designing solutions to huge problems that work well, I am not a one man army. I can solve any problem give an infinite amount of time, but the problems I work on and have priority don’t work like that. I’ve already learned to think on a huge scale, now it’s time to learn to make it real, and learn to manage the resources (human, vegetable, and mineral) that go into the process.

Second revelation: When customer ask questions of us that are accusatory in nature, either deliberately or just asking if something is wrong on our end when it is not, are not personal attacks. If the customers had any clue that they were the ones doing something wrong, they’d probably not do it. But then again, this is the way I think, and I am fully aware that there are lazy, incompetent dumbasses who like to hide their faults by blaming others. Those are not my customers, or at least not that I’m aware. What makes the whole thing infuriating is that as an engineer, the only answer is that it works perfectly. Not “fairly accurate”, “most of the time” or “well”… but flawlessly. When my mistakes cause trouble tickets to be generated, this makes me very angry, as it is a personal failure. When the customers think I made a mistake, but in fact they were the ones in error, they aren’t blaming me… they simply fail to see their own mistake and have to be shown in a polite and courteous manner.

Third revelation: Dan was right when he said that all that matters at the end of the day are results and relationships. When the customer is getting good service, that’s good for everyone. When you build this social bridge with customers, it only makes your job better. I already empathize with the needs of my customers, in fact it’s one of my strengths — but when the bridge is built, it becomes a two-way street. The customers understand that we have their best interests in mind despite how long any given problem may take to solve, this understanding in turn smooths the day to day bumps and bruises of running Blackboard for so many customers. This is confounded by the fact that (apparently) I’m very good at writing business e-mail, and the command of the English language that my mother worked so hard to beat into me is serving me well in ways I’d never imagined. Working with people is easier, although it can be infuriating when the other party/parties are not on the same level of cognitive horsepower that I am. I’m learning to deal with that, and realizing that it’s out of my control.

Fourth revelation: I am and will forever be a hardcore tech person. If I move to a managerial or more administrative role, the part of me that has to tinker and explore and mess with things will either get shifted to hobbies (at home, photography, hobby programming, robotics, offroading, whatever.) or will continue to be available at work for the intractable problems that nobody else can crack, or when something has to be done on a truncated time table and work perfectly — because that’s what I’m good at.

So where does this leave me? I don’t know… I’ll keep hacking away at UC until I have reason not to.

Sometimes you just have to COMMIT

Thu, 31 Jul 2008 20:29:26 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

If I ever get married again, my wedding vows will be written in PL/SQL, with the honorable Larry Ellison presiding over the ceremony. I’m sure he’s gotten his ordination through the Universal Life Church by now.

START TRANSACTION UPDATE life SET husband='matt', wife='annie';

Then Mr. Ellison would ask the crowd gathered at the event if there is any reason we shouldn’t be wed, and ROLLBACK; if so.

In the end marriage is about one thing, you just gotta COMMIT;.

If you didn’t understand a damn bit of that, you’re not nerdy enough, and should go learn about transactions, commits, and rollbacks.

Habitat for Inhumanity

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 13:58:37 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Congrats to [variable] on having his 15 minutes of fame on the daily show.

It’s too bad they didn’t let you keep the Enhanced Home Makeover shirt.

Doomsday Vault

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 13:41:22 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I have previously presented discourse in the area of discipline known to pessimists as “we’re fucked”, but we’ll go there again just in case you missed it the first time. But before I segue into the rambling you’re probably expecting, let me say that if Smart People think that we need something like this seed vault, we’re more screwed than I thought. Without further adieu, I link the Doomsday Seed Vault.

Starbuck in Scary Stormy Wonderland

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 00:45:13 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I awoke to a waterfall coming down the back steps of my house, but by virtue of the floor drain that wasn’t a problem. Once I sured up everthing in the basement, it was off to work. I got another series of surprises, trees down and blocking Erie ave in front of the police station, and part of the intersection on delta… but it wasn’t until I navigated that particular obstruction that I came upon this sad sight. Two approximately 200 year old oak trees were ripped clean out of the ground, flip over on their sides. The size of the root ball alone was bigger than a large SUV. Look at the steps for scale.

And for the first time, I do youtube! I hope this goes well.

Video contains: little tree snapped off, bigger tree snapped off, exceptionally huge tree ripped out. Sorry for the rambling, please let me know if you want the next two minutes of your life back.

But wait, there’s another one down. This time a pine…

Kind of a crazy day all in all. This video recording on the cell phone thing is awesome. The Nokia N95 was a really, really good purchase. I am very happy with it. It enables me to do things like this, things that I really enjoy, and that I’ve never done before.

Don’t Mess With My Camera, Bro

Tue, 13 May 2008 19:44:51 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

Jeremy Brooks has a great writeup entitled “If You Put That Picture On The Internet I’ll Call My Lawyer.” I can only hope to handle a similar situation in the same way. Although, there are parts of the city I want to photograph but will not venture there until I have my Ohio concealed firearm carry permit. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.

I Love Beards

Fri, 09 May 2008 04:50:42 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I cannot possibly describe how awesome this is: The Quest For Every Beard Type. I love my beard, you should too!

Electronics Geek + Gamer = Hacks

Wed, 23 Apr 2008 15:37:46 GMT

Originally published at Living. Please leave any comments there.

I love hacking electronics, or at least thinking about it. I’ve had this particular thought before, but I never realized the beauty of it in action until now. Go to about 1:30 and watch from there if you’re impatient. The video is lengthy but shows just what a little Microchip PIC and some tinkering can pull off. Can you say “Machine Pistol?”

Via Hack a Day.