Saturday, 17th o July 2004
Data Migration Day Three
When will I learn? I don't care how many times in the last five years I've had to mess with LDAP, I never learn. Why the hell don't I write shit down when I figure it out. Do I enjoy re-learning the same stupid crap over and over and over? Must be.
Okay here's the thing. I shall endeavor to remember the following:
- When upgrading an LDAP directory service, make sure to dump the data out of the running system before breaking it down.
- If I fail to do #1, please oh please dear God have made a backup of it at least. chroot into the old environment, launch the ldap server, slapcat the whole shebang and proceed to step three
- slapadd the slapcat-ed ldif file... NOT ldapadd. ldapadd is suggested in most places as the tool of choice, but slapadd is what I need. Geez, stupid fuckers. Of course who's the bigger idiot, the fool or the fool who follows him?
- Make sure to modify the slapd.conf file to change the default db from ldbm to bdm.
Pretty damn simple, eh? Not so simple when I've forgotten more of this LDAP shit than any sane person would care to remember.
While I'm at it, please oh please, remember for the next time about the dbmmange httpd password files. You've got to export the old entries, and then import them dbmmanage2 users import < old-data, modify the .htaccess files and be done with it.
Oh and a neat trick for dumping reliably an entire PosgreSQL database for an upgrade:
pg_dumpall > backup.sql
stop PostgreSQL, upgrade it, wipe the data directory, run initdb as user postgres and then psql -f backup.sql template1
Flawless. At least that part went well. The cursing was fun though.
Friday, 16th o July 2004
It's Olympic Time Again and the “Best” We Have is
Popping Out All Over
It reminds me of a scene. Picture this. There was a rising star in the business community. He had even done pretty well monetarily, well enough, in fact to have been invited to play polo at the club. Look at him, they said. He's young, so much promise. He's bright, good looking, and doing well for himself. We shall invite him to the club to play polo.
So our young businessman dedicated himself to practicing a bit of polo. He was a decent horseman, but he'd never played before. He dutifully hired a trainer and secretly practiced on the weekends hitting balls, riding, turning etc. He was sure he'd impress the crowd and the blue-bloods with his ability.
The day of the polo outing arrived and he was out in front
immediately, whacking balls, shouldering into riders, shoving,
pushing, yelling. He's going to crush them, CRUSH them and win!
WIN! WIN! He's went for that prize with everything he had, that
little white ball bouncing around in the mud. He never took his eye
off the little white ball.
At the end of the day he'd bested the field with his take no prisoners attitude, showed his metal and that he was superior stock, better than the rest, worthy of inclusion.
An older gentleman made his way to the club house to find our young friend, where he rested his hand upon his shoulder and said, “Dear boy, a polo match isn't about the polo.”
Thursday, 15th o July 2004
I installed all fresh shiny brand new super gooey-licisous software on this server today. The new OS and tools weren't the hard part, it's the migration of all the old data, the interesting easter-egg hunt of new features masquerading as error messages, and the cursing. Ahhh, it wouldn't be a software upgrade without the cursing... sigh, I'll look back fondly on this one day and remember the cursing, for it was rich indeed.
"Son, in my day, we knew what voice activation was."
It was the subtle nuanced language that only system admins knew how to speak... that and the sound of the keyboard being impact-hammered into oblivion. Pure poetry...
*sniff* brings a tear to my eye. I need a pint, I'm feeling in a bit o' a brood.
Friday, 18th o June 2004
Jaimito was such a doll today. What a sweet sweet darling little child he is. I love spending time with him.
This morning I was preparing breakfast when I cut my thumb while
sharpening a knife. I was rushing because the skillet was hot, and I
wanted to get that chorizo in there quick. Cold chorizo is a pain to cut when the knife isn't razor sharp.
There's a famous Spanish proverb:
When your blade is dull and your chorizo is cold, defeat will follow you wherever you may go.
Or maybe I shouldn't read Sun Tzu's, Art of War while drinking. Anyway, feel free to use it as a personal philosophy.
Blood went everywhere. I grabbed a paper towel and proceeded to apply pressure and hold it over my head. Jaimito looked concerned. Daddy, what's happening? Are you okay, he seemed to say?
Drat drat. I was also trying to get Jaimito's breakfast. He wasn't complaining, so I went searching for a band-aid and some super glue. Super glue makes a nice field expedient suture. I found the super glue, and was trying to wrest the top off, yield, damn you, yield! Blood started going everywhere again as I tried to work the vice-grips on the diminutive glued shut stupid, stupid!! arrgh. Geez, stupid tube. I tossed it in the trash.
Sigh, I grabbed Jaimito's plate and served it to him, poured him some juice. “Daddy, has a boo boo,” I explained. He looked concerned and a little scared, so I smiled and went to look for another tube of super glue.
I found it. The bleeding had stopped, and I patched my sliced, julian thumb. Now, I needed a band-aid. Where are those damn things?! A-ha. I found them. Scoobie-doo will have to do. Now Jaimito was getting into it. “Scoopi doo” he informed me, pointing.
Later in the day, I asked him if he wanted to kiss my boo boo to make it feel better. He looked a little apprehensive, so I explained that kisses make boo boo's feel better. “Remember when I kissed your little toes this morning when you stubbed them, little man?” He stopped and thought for a little bit. I could see the courage and bashfulness at odds right on his face. He was pondering his next move. Then he suddenly grabbed my thumb and kissed it. I gave him a big huge hug and thanked him for his cure and that my thumb felt much better, thank you. He grinned from ear to ear and buried his face in my chest, patting my shoulder.
Friday, 18th o June 2004
Jaimito, leaned his elbow on the window of his truck. It was going to be a long day. He was glad he'd gotten up at the crack of dawn, gathered up his crew and shoved off in the twinkle of new light. He'd roared out over the road in his shiny yellow dump truck, loaded with blocks. He had more blocks than he could haul in one vehicle, so he loaded the excess in a smallish VW beetle, cramming them in through the windows and hatch until there was room for only the driver. He had to get the materials to the project site, and Jaimito was a resourceful fellow. “Can't be done” was a phrase not in his vocabulary.
The road in the early morning was twisted and bumpy. He down-shifted and roared over a rump shaped mound. He smiled and let out a yip. The morning did that to you, filled you up with so much optimism that even small victories were cause for celebration. The way was filled with craggy opportunities for victory, and Jaimito passed the time pretending that each bump was a great and wondrous obstacle, fitted especially for him to conquer.
Upon arrival at the work site, Jaimito and his crew set about unloading the blocks, and staging them strategically. It became apparent immediately that there was a problem with the grading. There was a large bump where the plans required a level surface. This was not going to do.
“We're going to need to move this earth!” Jaimito exclaimed. “Let's get these things out of here.” Large pillow like rocks were quickly dispatched to lower ground. “Hmm, we still have a problem with this giant vein of protruding bedrock here,” he said aloud. Time to get the rock pulverizers.
This was fun work. Crushing rock had to be the best job on the planet. He imagined he was a large ancient elemental force and with a whoop and a holler, the rock crumbled before his hydraulics and explosives. Where others saw obstacles, Jaimito saw opportunities, and where there was drudgery, Jaimito made fun. Perhaps it was no coincidence that his crew was the most productive, the most motivated.
“Okay, men,” he exclaimed. “We're all through, go ahead and leave the vehicles and material where they are. We'll get an early start tomorrow.” And with that they headed home leaving the shiny yellow dump truck, and the yellow VW Beetle and the blocks behind in the cleared area where he had dispatched the giant rock.