Wednesday, April 07, 2004

Private Investigations 

It’s a mystery to me. I’m struggling to get to grips with Mulholland Drive. Someone says David Lynch films are like crime investigations. Shit coming down all around you. Clues everywhere. You’ve got a lot of evidence to work through. Not all of it is going to be relevant.

Cue gospel choir. A soft hum.

There’s a server that keeps locking users out. You take witness statements. Lots of tall stories. Half-information. What to make of it all? So you log on. Snoop around the filesystems. Watch every move. Your client has Big Toni breathing down her neck, she needs results and now. She stands real close to you, red lip gloss, tight dress, low cut, sweat on her brow, anxious moments. There it is. Kernel parameters. The maximum number of processes per user is set too low. Oracle’s going to need more than that. But with AIX you can increase it dynamically. No downtime. No system outage. Thank you IT Support bloke. How can I ever repay you? Big Toni crushes your hand with gratitude.

Gospel choir swells. There’s an occasional wooo-yeah.

Friday evenings in - they’ll be different without you. I’ll stare. Cook. But the radio just loops round, repeating the old shows. Its eerie, too creepy. You did your best to cut through the crap, find meaning in the hiss and hum of the world. Now you’ve upped sticks. Gone and done one. We’ll have to find our own way home now.

Shake your tambourine like there's no tomorrow.

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