Ángel
@angel@triptico.com
Location: 40.4235492,-3.6617828
101 following, 174 followers
https://youtu.be/EuUyROUN-Bg?si=YboaUH-iSE_8mPTo&t=573
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Cartel del certamen
Comprar LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO (editorial Libros del Futuro)
Sinopsis:
Bran tuvo una adolescencia complicada, y su vida adulta no es mejor. Una sucesión de pérdidas familiares, una gran cicatriz en la cara y sus circunstancias personales han forjado en ella una personalidad esquiva.Y como si fuera una maldición añadida, la protagonista hereda y debe hacerse cargo de una casa familiar, epicentro de buena parte de las desgracias que se abatieron sobre sus seres queridos.
Una visita a la enmohecida y arruinada vivienda, ubicada en un pequeño pueblo madrileño, sumergirá a Bran en una travesía angustiante por túneles oscuros, estancias claustrofóbicas y seres terroríficos.
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Portada de LA ATALAYA RECORTADA CONTRA EL CIELO
He realized he was unable to express that love in words; so big, so overwhelming, so eerie. He had no alternative than to keep living his life: lost some friends, met new others, found a job in number crunching, as he liked to say.
Years passed and he missed no new movie featuring her; he saw great stories, mediocre films and crappy flicks just because she was there. Every time the screen showed her face he felt like a delightful rendez-vous: how is you life, are you doing well, missed you so much. And every time he felt his heart breaking into pieces. Sometimes he even cried, his face covered by his hands, warm tears in the dark theater, always surrounded by strangers. Because love hurts, love is like a sickness, love is a strange and silent death.
One day, on one of those occasions when disappointments pile over each other, he decided to travel to Paris. Once there he felt he also loved the streets, the corners, the chimneys; it was a world that was a bit like her, a bit part her. He also felt the sadness of loving something that is almost not there, a mirage, a trompe-l'oeil. The bittersweet feeling of a life wasted loving a ghost.
And then he saw her. It happened on those tiring stairs in Montmartre, no less; he was sweating and panting while she moved almost like having the wind in her sails. He recognized the crow-black hair, the pale face, the glittering eyes now surrounded by little wrinkles, more beautiful than ever. Twenty-five years ago he saw her playing the grieving spouse of the great composer Patrice de Courcy and that day he started living. He smiled her and she smiled back.
This is another bone-chilling story from the ongoing book "FROM THE DEEPS OF SORROW - Sysadmin nightmares come true" by Stefano Marinelli.
"It was anarchy out there" fucking wish, I looked out and it's still the usual nation states and capitalism and stuff.
"Out in the deep vastness of space, where traffic is slow and machines are old, the endless crawling of public resources by bots is a blight on our limited resources. If we don’t want our world to burn, we must keep them out, never invite them in. They try to change shapes, blend in, and therefore we must use what crude tools we have to defend ourselves."
Butlerian Jihad
A few days ago, a client’s data center (well, actually a server room) "vanished" overnight. My monitoring showed that all devices were unreachable. Not even the ISP routers responded, so I assumed a sudden connectivity drop. The strange part? Not even via 4G.
I then suspected a power failure, but the UPS should have sent an alert.
The office was closed for the holidays, but I contacted the IT manager anyway. He was home sick with a serious family issue, but he got moving.
To make a long story short: the company deals in gold and precious metals. They have an underground bunker with two-meter thick walls. They were targeted by a professional gang. They used a tactic seen in similar hits: they identify the main power line, tamper with it at night, and send a massive voltage spike through it.
The goal is to fry all alarm and surveillance systems. Even if battery-backed, they rarely survive a surge like that. Thieves count on the fact that during holidays, owners are away and fried systems can't send alerts. Monitoring companies often have reduced staff and might not notice the "silence" immediately.
That is exactly what happened here. But there is a "but": they didn't account for my Uptime Kuma instance monitoring their MikroTik router, installed just weeks ago. Since it is an external check, it flagged the lack of response from all IPs without needing an internal alert to be triggered from the inside.
The team rushed to the site and found the mess. Luckily, they found an emergency electrical crew to bypass the damage and restore the cameras and alarms. They swapped the fried server UPS with a spare and everything came back up.
The police warned that the chances of the crew returning the next night to "finish" the job were high, though seeing the systems back online would likely make them move on. They also warned that thieves sometimes break in just to destroy servers to wipe any video evidence.
Nothing happened in the end. But in the meantime, I had to sync all their data off-site (thankfully they have dual 1Gbps FTTH), set up an emergency cluster, and ensure everything was redundant.
Never rely only on internal monitoring. Never.
I was left by a big house, made of pale stone. The car disappeared behind a dust cloud.
By the door there was a man. He was old, bald, a bit overweight, but looked healthy. He wore a blue tie, a stripped vest and a white shirt.
"Buon giorno!", he said. Waived a hand.
"Hello! What a lovely day."
"You are Mr. Corbetto, I suppose". I loved how it sounded. For an instant I considered officially changing my name to that.
"Miroslav Corbett. Nice to meet you, Don Pasquale."
"Please, come in."
I found myself in a room with a very high ceiling. Three chairs and a table; the tablecloth showed a pattern of light green flowers. There was a bottle of wine, two short glasses and a dish with slices of something. The same reddish light I saw outside flowed through an oval window like a spotlight. A grey mutt was sleeping under it and ignored me with royal elegance.
"Have a bit of pecorino toscano", said Mr. Pasquale. "It's magnificient."
I had a piece. He was right.
He filled the two glasses with wine.
"I'm sorry, no alcohol for me", I said.
He shrugged and took a sip from his glass, visibly delighted.
"So, what do you want to know?", he said, inviting me to sit down.
"As I told you in my letter, my job is documenting things. Specifically, things that are happening after the Great Anomaly."
"That was a very big fuckup", he said. His English was thick but precise.
"It was. Many issues has been fixed since then, but many others are still dangling. A bunch of creatures crossed The Seam, wreaking havoc and spoiling everything."
"You bet it. We had several of those motherfuckers here. It was hard to put them down, but we finally did it."
"I'm sure you did."
"Ain't you one of the Cleaners that many talk about?", he said while having another sip of wine.
"Oh, no, no", I said. "Those are great and effective fellows, but I'm just a documentalist. I just take notes and fill forms."
"You fill Excel sheets, do you?", he said while winking. Microsoft software products were known to be one of the causes of the Great Anomaly and consequently banned forever. I smiled back. A risky joke. But all OK.
"Only paper ones, I swear."
"Superb!"
The dog stretched, sucked his balls and got back to sleep.
I asked Don Pasquale about how hard the Great Anomaly striked here.
"Oh, very badly.", he replied, "There are still some unfixed issues, but mainly just places and images, nothing too severe. We also had a bunch of that filthy bloodsuckers fucking around. You know, the Vampires, they even kidnapped the innkeeper's daughter, never to be seen again."
Through the window a red brick tower could be seen, behind a bunch of hills. It looked smooth, almost painting-like, under the sunlight. I found it very distracting for some reason, so I forced me to look away.
"This is the main reason I'm here.", I said, my mind slightly blurred. "They are usually very hard to eradicate, and I wanted to ask you if you know what happened to them."
"Oh, yes.", said Mr. Pasquale while munching a slice of cheese. "We just took them one by one and forced them to watch several of those awful young adult movies featuring Vampires, you know, the ones with the sparkling skin kids and such. Ha ha. Those filthy flying rats are tough motherfuckers, but they could not swallow the cheessy flicks full of bland, pale, skinny crybabies. Then we hit with a second strike: we read them a bunch of those romance fantasy crappy books with all that cringy sex scenes and stupid dialog and cardboard characters."
"Wow."
"Yes. That was what we did. And then they left. One after another. The Vampires were horrified with how we humans represented them. They flew away because they were ASHAMED."
I was speechless. And then I found myself looking at the chapitel of the shimmering red tower again.
"Try not to look at that tower too much,", said Don Pasquale, suddenly aware, "as it can be dangerous. You know, that is one of the effects of the Great Anomaly we haven't fixed yet. It looks very real, beautiful even. But it makes you think, it makes you wish, that you can just pass over those hills and find the base of the tower and cross the door and climb up to the battlements and toll the bells, but you can't. It's not really there. It's a trompe-l'oeil. You will never get to it, as it's always beyond the horizon, all while looking very close. You can get obsessed about going there and lose your mind and die of thirst and hunger trying to reach it."
I wasn't listening. I was anxious. I was just craving to go to the tower.
Fortunately, Mr. Pasquale took me by the hand and carried me to the back of the house. There, a bunch of kittens were chasing each other. Their mother, a magnificient cat with a pure white fur, was watching them with loving boredom. It was a mundane but captivating scene. I returned to the real world, but not immediately.
Personally, I consider the existence of so much ways of receiving water from the sky pretty redundant, bloated and unnecessary. Rain is awful and cumbersome enough, why also have falling ice in multiple formats and textures. Snow is specially annoying, covering everything with a dull, boring layer of white.
Rain/snow/blizzard/whatever is a clear example of design-by-comittee.
1990s: programmers are nerds
2010s: programmers are rockstars
2020s: programmers are extinct
Have you already grown tired of waiting for #Mastodon to implement some proper #Markdown support ?
You still can't believe to be waiting for such a simple feature on 2026?
Well .. you can keep waiting until you grow varicose veins on your legs, or just move to #snac2 , call it a 9 years old and be done with it! 🥳
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega showing the words MONSTER BRAINS. The letters are made from bones, guts, mechanical parts and eyeballs
Here is the CPU usage graph for the last 24 hours of the FediMeteo VM. A full 24 hours, during which a huge number of people are connecting, helped by the traction gained from being among the top stories on Hacker News and Lobsters, as well as the many shares across the Fediverse.
RAM usage? Active, around 450 MB. Then there is cache, ARC, and so on. But in practice, zero swap in use after days of uptime.
39 jails running, 39 snac instances, nginx serving the homepage, and HAProxy. HAProxy caching enabled. ZFS snapshots every 15 minutes, backups via zfs send and receive every hour. The same hourly schedule applies to the recalculation of cities, countries, and followers for the homepage.
All of this on a 4 euro per month FreeBSD VM.
If anyone has doubts about the quality and efficiency of FreeBSD, this is the data to show.
#FediMeteo #FreeBSD #RunBSD #IT #SysAdmin
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Time series graph showing CPU usage percentage over roughly 24 hours. The x axis represents time from about 13:00 to 12:00 the next day, and the y axis shows CPU usage from 0 to 100 percent. CPU usage fluctuates mostly between 15 and 35 percent, with periodic rises during daytime and early morning hours. Several short spikes reach around 45 to 55 percent, and one brief peak climbs to about 60 percent. Usage drops to lower levels, around 10 to 20 percent, during late evening and early morning periods. Overall, the graph shows moderate, variable CPU load with occasional sharp peaks.
How conservative empathy works:
#Conservatism #Conservatives #MeganMcCain #Maternity #Hypocrisy #USPolitcs
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Emily Peck posted the following:
Meghan McCain had a baby and
now realizes that the US needs paid
maternity leave, she explains on The
View. She says personal experience
helped open her eyes.
Andi Zeisler replied:
The conservative ethos distilled: It's
not a problem unless it happens to
me, and when it does happen to me |
am absolutely outraged that other
people let it happen to me.
Two Fediverse clients I like are Elk and Phanpy, but both had the same issue: the inability to filter "replies" and "boosts" from the timeline. For me this is essential. I can't keep up with my timeline, and if I also see replies to posts unrelated to what I follow, it just becomes chaos. So I tried to implement these filters and opened a PR.
The Elk developers have already merged it into the main branch, so we should soon see the two hide options appear in Elk. Hopefully the same will happen in Phanpy as well, because this greatly improves the experience on two excellent Fediverse tools, which are also compatible with snac.
https://github.com/elk-zone/elk/pull/3482
#Trump #Memes #Immigration #ICE #USPolitcs
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Mohamad Safa posted:
No immigrant has taken your job.
You were laid off by a capitalist
who required cheap labor and took
advantage of that immigrant to
increase his profits, and nothing
makes him happier than to hear you
blame the immigrant and not him.
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it's a motivation poster titled
SAD ENDING
it features a cheerful person saying: "this is a happy life."
The subtitle says: "Now your worth is measured in gigabytes of RAM"
@angel we definitely do. I'm lucky enough to be able to go and see it from time to time (even if last time has been in August). So the next time I'll watch the sea, I'll dedicate it to you. Meanwhile, I'm sending you this photo, from November 2024
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Large sunlit cumulus clouds glow orange and pink at sunset above an agitated sea. A small "pedalò" boat rests on the dark sandy shore in the foreground, while a few birds fly across the sky.
Those of you near The Sea, you'll know that I envy you. Please, give my regards to the one I love, I will be there, who knows when.
they are idiots...
you can copy and paste the text from some of the epstein files to unredact it...
absolute idiots...
The Gray Teacher
On a gray winter morning, memory drifts back to an old classroom, a stern teacher, and the thin line between mist and humidity.
OMG I love Merriam-Webster.
https://www.merriam-webster.com/wordplay/word-of-the-year
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2025 Word of the Year: Slop
Plus 'gerrymander’, "touch grass’, ‘performative’, and other
words that defined the year
Slop
Merriam-Webster's human editors have chosen slop as the 2025 Word of
the Year. We define slop as “digital content of low quality that is
produced usually in quantity by means of artificial intelligence.” All that
stuff dumped on our screens, captured in just four letters: the English
language came through again.
The flood of slop in 2025 included absurd videos, off-kilter advertising
images, cheesy propaganda, fake news that looks pretty real, junky Al-
written books, “workslop” reports that waste coworkers’ time... and lots
of talking cats. People found it annoying, and people ate it up.
PSA
#unix_surrealism #veilid #hacker #poster #comic #hackedbrain
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HACKED BRAIN magazine cover
issue #3
it's a girl with horn holding an old Nokia phone with a laptop bag with SDF, merveilles and 9 stickers patches. She's wearing a sweater with port 70 (gopher).
'early signs your offspring may be a hacker'
"my x201 won't fit in that"
"I miss SUN"
refuses to use school computers
spits every time someone says 'discord'
"hyperthreading is insecure"
talk about wanting to live on a boat
"tell grandma I'm only using veilid now"
has posters of fish and the number 9 all over their room
"ed(1) is the standard editor"
"what license is it under?"
wears strange occult symbols
uses only old tech
"it's not a cult, dad"
limbs
#unix_surrealism #mono #ai #art #glenda
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On a computer.
Suddenly the computer grabs you.
"Mister Computer?"
Bitey
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"Do you remember what you were like when you were younger?" asks one crow to another as they are landing on wet snow. "Bitey" replies the second crow. "Right... but do you remember what it was like to BE you?" "What did you think about? Have you changed fundamentally? How can you really know?" The first crow is pondering. The background is a pattern of blue circles. "I guess I don't bite as much as I used to" answers the second crow. "You bite enough" says the first.
And so - what if I went back in time to my twenties?😆 Same for me. The day of my 20th birthday I was in the army, and I don't miss a thing about that day.No, thank you.
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A drawing by Ángel Ortega of a high building, severed and bleeding, showing its organic interior of bones and guts
'magnetic fields'
boost if you like your diskettes organic
#unix_surrealism #technomage #comic #fediart #mastoart #art #recursion #foss #diskette #floppy #runbsd
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Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
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Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Alt...
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Father floppy farmer carrying a box of freshly harvested floppies looks at his son, somewhat angrily.
Father: "Did you say something?"
Son, box of floppies by his feet, holding a pitchfork, looks at his father innocently.
Son: "N-no, dad..."
Son continues angrily ripping diskettes off their stalks and placing them in the box. The father begins walking away.
Son (to himself): "I hate recursive floppy farming."
Opened the window to check a noise.
Saw nothing but the void - a wall of fog.
Closed it.
I now have zero answers and new fears.
#OverUnder 046 with @stefano
He's a #Unix enthusiast, he hangs out at the #BSD cafe, and write about various systems.
If Unix tips interest you, you should definitely check him out.
Today, he shares his thoughts on #DragonFlyBSD, #AWS, #TuxedoComputers, #zsh, and #Nespresso.
#terminal #shell #opensource #coffee #blog #cloud #Tuxedo #fediverse #mastodon
There is an apocryphal saying that the women of Lemnos stopped worshiping Aphrodite because they were dreaming about a bunch of handsome men on a fancy boat that were to arrive to the island on a humid and sunny day.
Christmas Chainsaw Massacre
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4-panel-comic by War and Peas Panel 1: Santa Claus stands on the roof of a decorated house and asks the Grim Reaper, who is on the ground, "Hey! You're coming to this house, too?" Panel 2: The Grim Reaper responds, "Yeah." Panel 3: Santa Claus, still on the roof, says, "What a shame. They're getting a lot of presents." Panel 4: The Grim Reaper, holding a scroll, says, "Let me guess. One of them is a chainsaw."
Mail is crazy because it's like 99 pieces of straight up garbage and 1 that if you don't reply to you're going to jail.
> "We recommend this shoe organizer with room for 40 pairs! It fits in compact areas like a small apartment!"
Sorry but if you have _40 pairs of shoes_ living in a tiny apartment and you're buying this thing you're some form of class traitor.
Which class you're betraying depends on whether you went into debt to buy those shoes 😂
The Man of MATA pt3 - The first MATA_BOT
previously: https://analognowhere.com/techno-mage/the_man_of_mata/
#unix_surrealism #ai #mata #technomage #comic
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Mata Brother: "Will this work?"
Mata Brother 2: "Pentium-M board? It's not like we have anything better."
Mata Brother 3: "Flashing MATABIOS."
Pentium-M Man: "I was dust in packets. And in the lingering mist I saw rays of light of long extinguished souls. And then I met it. Towering over me."
Spirit of the Machine: "Son of the ancients! You have been chosen. From the scraps of the old world you rise."
Pentium-M Man: "Once more..."
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Pentium-M Man (narration): "I was alive."
Pentium-M Man: "No..."
Mercury: "Fuck me. It talks?"
Pentium-M Man: "Why... have you.. brought me back?"
Mata Brother: "Shhhh."
Pentium-M Man (narration): "From dust to war"
[...] To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is vulgar, immoral. Who does live beyond forty? Answer that, sincerely and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows.Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Notes from the Underground
Quien todavía esté ahí es cómplice.
Also, Spanish is my mother tongue, so I have the privilege to read Borges' words as he conceived them, without external intrusion, and is a bliss.
She then asks me where the switch is to turn it back on. I have no idea, of course.Of course, as you do computer stuff, anything regarding cables is your expertise and responsability. Been there.
Anyway, as others have already said, this story says something good about the human quality of this person that, after realising their tantrum was inappropriate, called back and apoligized. Even more so if they're going through something.
We live in a very stressing world.
Fish Alpinism
How I make digital art.
https://triapul.cz/_/1765291397
#unix_surrealism #openbsd #alpine #linux #gimp #art #foss
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artist keyboard
"Hello, I would like to meet warden Titus Riccitelli", I said. The guard was a thin, old man that looked very bored. I gave him my business card.
"Miroslav...", he read it, paused, and said "Like the car?"
"What car?"
"The Corvette."
"No. Like the boat, but with a double T."
"A boat with a double what?"
"Is warden Riccitelli on premises? I have an appointment."
After waiting for a long time and crossing a myriad of corridors and annoying check points I finally got to the warden office.
"So you are Miroslav Corbett", said the warden, a bald, sweaty man with a ridiculous mustache. "I got a message from an angry bureaucrat from the government saying that you were about to come here. You have very important friends up there."
"Oh, I don't think so."
"Do you want a drink?"
"I don't do alcohol."
He looked at me with disdain in his face.
"Listen to me, young man. We are very busy here. I'm sure you don't understand the very important job that we..."
I interrupted him.
"I'm sorry, warden Riccitelli. I'm here for a very specific thing. I'd rather not be here, believe me. I don't want to waste your time. I'm only interested in one of your inmates. Just a short interview in her cell."
"What for?"
"As it says on my business card, I document things."
"What kind of things?"
"I keep a log of out-of-place happenings, reality distortions, unexpected presences and such. The duty of my department is to document the bizarre things that happen since the Great Anomaly..."
"Oh don't talk me about the Great Fucking Anomaly."
"I don't want to talk about it neither. I just need to meet a person that is incarcerated here. I just want to talk to Desdemona Dunkelmorgen."
He looked very upset or surprised or whatever.
"What? No way", he said. "She is the most dangerous person here. She is the most dangerous person in the whole fucking world. And I won't risk my resources by putting anyone of them near that damned bitch from hell."
"Do your employees know that you call them 'resources'?"
Warden Riccitelli took a ceramic ashtray from his table and launched it onto the wall. It exploded into pieces.
"Listen to me, little bastard..."
"Mr. Riccitelli," I interrupted him in my quietest voice while browsing my papers, "I know everything. Desdemona Dunkelmorgen, aka the Queen of Deception, aka the Mistress of Disguise, aka One-Trouble-On-Two-Legs. Born in Madrid, Spain. Who would say, bearing that name? Con artist, mischievous robber, ruthless blackmailer, despicable criminal, drinks while driving. Previous warden report: 'Handle with special care. Do NOT listen to her lies. She could be anywhere, anyone. She could be me or she could be you and you will not notice.' I'm not sure to understand what this last quote means."
"Damn. Holy Christ. I won't send my men to her cell because she will trick those dickheads and everything will go to hell again. I don't want another prison break from that motherfucking vixen. I will go there with you personally."
"I'm sure that is a very intelligent decision on your part."
"Come on, let's do it once for all."
He grabbed his own copy of the keys and we went down the belly of the prison. While on our way, I asked:
"Is it true what they say about her?"
"What do they say?"
"That she looks like no other woman in the world."
He took some time to answer. "To be honest, I don't know how she looks like."
"Haven't you seen her?"
"Not personally."
Not personally, I repeated to myself. What a douchebag.
We crossed the threshold to the hyper-ultra-high security block or whatever they called it and finally got to her cell's door.
"Ok, here we are", he said, "Be extremely careful."
"I'll be."
He unlocked the gate and we entered the cell. A small, barred window almost by the ceiling. Grey and dull walls. A dirty toilet. A chair and a table, no features. And nobody to be seen.
"What the fuck...?", he yelled, "But where...?"
He searched for her like crazy while swearing like a sailor: under the table, under the bed, as if she was as small as a mouse. Then he got back at me, his face red and swollen and sweaty:
"Why are you so calm? What the hell is happening here?"
"Have you heard the adage that the highest achievement of the devil was convincing men that he doesn't exist? Well, they don't call Desdemona Dunkelmorgen the Queen of Deception for nothing. She tricked you, all of you, into believing that she was here. She made you believe that you were able to catch her. In fact, it's a little more complicated; the highest achievement of Desdemona Dunkelmorgen was convincing men that she DOES exist. She is a trick of the mind. She is a glitch, a mirage. She is something that isn't and that shouldn't be."
Warden Riccitelli dropped to the floor, crying like a child.
"Oh my. I'm finished. Everybody will laugh at me for years."
"They'll do", I said, "but don't be too mean to yourself. Everybody was mislead. These illogical issues are overwhelming. All we can do is write about how this unfaithful reality is playing with us."
He jumped up in an explosion of rage, ran to the passage and started yelling at everybody.
"What are you doing there? Do something! Find her! Nuke this fucking place from above! It's the only way to be sure!"
"I'm afraid I have to leave", I said, but he was no longer listening to me.
It was a quiet evening out there. The parking lot at Saint Boniface was almost empty. I wrote some ideas on my notebook, not completely sure that I wasn't Desdemona Dunkelmorgen after all.
EMAIL WRAPPED 2025
This year, you received too fucking much email!
Number of emails that found you well: zero
Number of emails that you printed, even though you didn't consider the environment: zero
Number of times an "out of office" autoresponder was immediately followed by the person answering your email: all of the times
Your favorite email was: none of them
Next year, you are considering: are there any countries where email is illegal, and what are their immigration laws?
This morning, as the zfs-send/receive had finished its job during the night, I performed the last sync and moved FediMeteo from the previous 4 euros/month VPS - netcup - to a 4 euros/month VPS - OVH, Milano, Italy.
Thanks to #BastilleBSD and the jail setup, it was easy peasy.
So, the weather forecasts are now broadcast from Italy and the performance has skyrocketed - while still being served by a 4 euro/month VPS.
I suspect the netcup VM had been capped by the provider - but I'll investigate.
So...Ciao, FediMeteo!
In the past few days FediMeteo seemed to be having some performance trouble. I dug into it and only found minor issues, until I realised the VM itself had fallen off a cliff. After several reboots it became clear that both bandwidth and I/O latency had dropped to absurd levels. I suspect the provider slapped a cap on it.
So I took the chance to move everything to another VM and provider, still at 4 euro per month. And starting today, forecasts will be delivered straight from Italy. The performance jump feels like going from a storm to clear skies.
FediMeteo’s mission goes on. More countries are coming (stay tuned!) and we will keep aiming to serve everything from a 4 euro VM. I do have powerful hardware available, but proving that the project can run on tiny resources is still part of the mission.
#FediMeteo #FediMeteoAnnouncements #FediMeteoServices #VM #RunBSD #FreeBSD
Del lat. ad Ephesios 'a los efesios', título de una epístola de san Pablo, por alus. a las penalidades que pasó el santo en Éfeso durante su predicación.Fuente: Palabra del día del diccionario de la lengua española (RAE)
1. 1. m. Persona o cosa ridícula, extravagante o muy fea.
Sin.:
+ esperpento, fantoche, birria, mamarracho, hazmerreír, facha, espantajo.
2. 2. m. Despropósito, disparate, extravagancia. U. m. en pl.
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