The Daily Grind

What is it that you actually do?

Ha! I’m glad you asked. Well, let me tell you…

Today, dissolving into tomorrow, I’ve got this issue with a software project that contains more than 1,000,000 lines of code where the primary “tribal knowledge” developer was summarily laid off due to economic and COVID related business reasons back in May. “Hey ‘Mole, can you fix this?”

“Uh, does my livelihood depend upon it?”

[Cough]

“I’ll get right on it.”

So, here’s the deal:

Azure Constant Integration/Constant Deployment, CICD in DEVOPS parlance, has been building and deploying this 54 project, 1,000,000+ code line web application, containing ASP.NET, RazorPages, AngularJS, Angular+, EntityFramework and myriad other industry provided WebService endpoints for WSDL configuration and JSON data translation and has failed to XML/XSL translate the web.config file to include the RELEASE version of the configuration payload.

So, I had to figure out exactly why this CICD Publish step in AZURE’s incredibly useful but mindbogglingly complex Build + Release Pipeline process was NOT honoring our web.config transform embedded in the .CSPROJ file that contains the instructions for Publishing the entire ensemble.

Ah, I said, we’ve (I, now that all the other developers have been cast to the COVID wayside) included a BeforeBuild step in the project file but not a BeforePublish step, where we should be injecting the RELEASE nodes of the XML so that when we ship the whole payload from DEV to QA to UAT to PROD server (allowing each band of Quality-Assurance brothers/sisters their time to pass muster on the said server environments) the appropriate changes accompany the aforementioned web.config file.

Voila! Problem solved. Until tomorrow, when the apparent solution exposes internal corporate credentials, during non-TLS1.2 compliant transfer to a vendor that “says” they need the API to the EF data project but, hey, we know better and they can use the default login’s to access the data through REST just like all the other smucks who want in.

Right? Am I right?

If you’re reading this, way-the-fuck-down-here, know this: all of that up above is legit. Real, actual, nightmare inducing, shadow in the mirror—with a ghostly hand upon your shoulder, shit. Everyday is like this. Only way, way more involved, with another dozen software languages tossed in. Who the fuck has even heard of X++? Or VUE or BLAZOR, or geezus ach crist!

So, now you know what I do for my day job. What do you do?

[Here’s a funny aside: Azure is Microsoft’s Cloud solution right? Well, what is the definitions of “azure”… the color of a cloudless sky! What Dumb Fucks! I’d have called it Olympus, The Data Fortress in the Sky! Armed with God like capabilities and protection against Titan-like threats.]

 

Search? You mean Find?

When was the last time you paged to the 2nd list of results in a Google Search?

GoogleSearch

If the answer you seek is not either item #1 or #2 do you give up? Search differently? Try #3?

How many of you skip the first result item intentionally, to deny that resource the satisfaction of being numero uno? Oh, you think your so smart, do you? Well, fuck you!

Do you actually use DuckDuckGo or DuckGoGo or GooseMeNow?

Is search so ingrained in our lives that we would flop around like a flounder gasping for breath on the deck of Spongebob Captain’s schooner were we denied? No more Google for you, young man, you’ve grown far too lazy with your critical thinking skills.

 

Fermi’s Paradox: Space Crap

Did you know the FCC is one of the agencies that governs satellites and the potential for them to turn into space crap. That’s a technical term: everyone knows aliens empty their sewage lines and dump their garbage before they streak off at FTL speeds.

Starlink

The more humans shoot stuff into LEO (low earth orbit) the higher the probability that eventually, that stuff smacks into other stuff and then game over. Millions of itty-bitty specs, screaming around the planet, that will fuck-you-up if they hit you. No more space access for humanity for centuries. Not at least until they find a way to launch a Jedi laser garbageman to clean up the mess.

But more than this, the fact that space crap (rocks, pebbles, dust, astrophysical-shrapnel) circling in quantity any habitable planet, will pretty much preclude any intelligent species from ever getting off the surface and up into orbit.

Add this to the reasons Fermi’s Paradox is not a conundrum.

Earth is 2^70 unique—a coin, flipped 70 times, all landing heads—unique.

 

Curse you TomBeingTom

I despise these vapid Webby type contrivances designed to stroke the poles of bloggers and web developers since the late ’90s. My walls are lined with ribbons and placards of all the awards I’ve won. To add another is more nuisance than accolade.

(Mole dear, your wall is covered with posters of the Partridge Family, not web awards.)

Oh, right. Damn, that was the life I was GOING to have having dedicated my thirty’s to learning web languages and becoming a published web author. Alas, none of that panned out. I ended up working for failed startup after failed startup. (Geeze, maybe I’m the accursed one…)

OK, OK, here we go: Thanks TomBeingTom for, you know, calling me a female fox and obligating me to reply else I feel the heel and potentially miss the opportunity to flash my programming prowess, albeit, 20 years too late.

BlogEntry

That, my friends, is some of the first C# I wrote back in late 2002 when .NET first came out. And what did I apply myself to building with that great new language? A blog of course, or rather: Web Log, as no one called it a blog back then.

I managed to post more than 500 entries into my custom made blog over the next 10 years until my server’s harddrive failed and I quit trying to fool myself that I would ever win any praise as a developer. A living career, yes. Awards, never. (I did make copies of everything, I’m not entirely daft.)

My first ever “blog” post in January 2003: (I used XML as a storage format — pretty prophetic, no?)

BlogEntryXml

Blogging became more of a personal diary. But after things fell apart, I pishposhed about until I thought I’d better get back in and WordPress was a platform that seemed easy (free) and open (and free) and so I joined up (because it was free) in 2009; or so it says on my account page, I can’t believe it’s been that long.

Anonymole came a few years later in 2012.

The rest is all documented here in the pages of a subterranean gadriosopher (gatherer of knowledge). When it comes to life histories, brief is best. So, in short, I learned to code, made a blog, wrote some shit, the end.

But, hey, thanks AGAIN TomBeingTom for being the first to shine a bright light onto my failure as a web developer. (Kidding) [No, not kidding.] (No, seriously, I’m kidding.) [No, I’m not kidding at all, this is heavy shit. I think I may have to write another letter to Mudge begging to be consoled, placated at least, uncomfortably petted? Ya see, it’s all about bloggers getting stroked!]

Dystektopia

Momma Path straightened up from her work in her garden and tapped the screen attached to her wrist. Down the road, she’d heard the driverless shuttle squeak to a stop and expected young Nicholas to come running up and around the house to find her minding her rows. When he didn’t show, the GPS pinpointing his Patch-Trak flashed his location—cousin Ben’s house across the small Appalachian valley.

Oh, that’s right, Friday night at Ben’s.

Despite the shift to being a Ward-State, the country’s school calendar remained stuck in the 1800’s. Summer became a free-for-all and Momma Path’s large farmhouse and barn transformed into school-age-mayhem central. One more week and Nick and the others will finally help me sow our greens and victuals.

At eighty, Polenna Path had, as most folks who shared her geriatric tendencies, benefited from guv’ment’s research and subsequent distributions of “health-gevity” programs. “Healthy to the end,” had been their chorus. Little had they realized, that for most, the end now came much later in life. Her morning ritual included twenty minutes of exercise and scrounging through her weekly Ward package looking for the bright-yellow blister packs and gulping her dose along with a peanut-butter protein bar that came as standard fare.

She set fists to hips and regarded her plot. A quarter acre cordoned off from the deer and rabbits, tilled to uniform rows, with the heads of corn and squash seedlings leaning toward the early June sun. When her wrist chimed, instead of glancing at the screen she spoke openly.

“Who is it?”

A guv-droid voice, sounding like the historical filmstar Julie Andrews, spoke, “The caller is Regina Walker, Ben’s mother enroute from her residence.”

“Accept. Reggie, how are you dear? I hope Nicholas is behaving himself. I’m sure those two are bracing themselves for next week. I only…”

“Momma Path, what do you mean? I thought Ben and Nick were going to spend the night at your place. I see Ben’s tracker, he’s right there on your front porch.”

~~~

100 years into the future, technology’s promise has been fulfilled. A form of UBI, Universal Basic Income, has been implemented, funded by the incredible advancements of work automation. The United States has become the fifth nation to implement the Ward-State. Those who wish it can work as they like, educate themselves as they see fit, pursue pastimes and the arts to their heart’s desire, in a word, retire. Ward benefits include medication, food and a stipend for housing, clothing and sundry needs.

Capitalism’s strangle hold on the working-poor has given way to government managed communalism. The financial cast system continues to influence the lofty regions of political office where only the richest of the rich believe they still hold sway. In general, however, corporate entities innovated themselves out of their own profits — they automated themselves out of existence.

Momma Path has witnessed the change. She welcomed the release of worry yet still distrusts the surveillance state she knows watches her every move. Today, that distrust proved critical.