Archives for category: Life

It’s been sev­eral months since I’ve writ­ten on here, since August of last year in fact, which equals to roughly 5 years in Inter­net time.

What have I been up to since I last mashed my fin­gers across the key­board and pub­lished some­thing of worth? Well, I was offered and accepted a posi­tion with AOL/Weblogs, Inc. as a designer for their net­work of sites. My first thought was; they pay peo­ple to design blogs? It’s become more than a dream job for me and I couldn’t be more thank­ful for the friend­ships I’ve formed and lessons learned.

There’s that, on the job end of things, and as a far as my per­sonal life is con­cerned we’re plug­ging along quite nicely. My daugh­ter Zoe just turned 4. For those of you who’ve fol­lowed this site for the 4+ years I’ve been main­tain­ing it this is a huge mile­stone. My son, Quinn, is now 2 and between the two they man­age to keep us busy, thanks in part to how often they annoy each other. We are expect­ing another child as well so there are more adven­tures to look for­ward to.

Speak­ing of which, this site, my favorite pet project has become more stag­nant than ever. You could search the archives… oh wait, no you can’t because that’s yet to be fixed, but hey, if you could you’d find plenty of posts describ­ing some sort of post-mortem. Mov­ing on from here I’ve finally decided to use Expres­sion Engine to use as the engine of this site. One rea­son for set­tling on EE is because I’ve used it spar­ingly in the past for projects and the road map of fea­ture addi­tions & inter­face enhance­ments (as show­cased at SXSW ’08) looks pretty fantastic.

The other rea­son is I had din­ner with Michael Boyink, recent hire of Ellis Labs (the team behind EE), and through his own artic­u­la­tion and excite­ment I myself became utterly con­vinced this was for me. He’s also the man behind Train-EE which is both an incred­i­ble and infor­ma­tive resource on all that is Expres­sion Engine, oh, and he offers train­ing course ware on it. How cool is that?

It’s been awhile and I real­ize that and it both­ers me, but, it’s clear to me that the pro­gres­sion of this site is to become some­thing more than a blog, but also it needs to be fun again for me.

Lately I’ve been tak­ing after­noon walks to free my mind of cre­ative restraint or to just breath in the fresh air. It’s a change that I’ve wel­comed, even if my legs don’t always thank me for it.

Instead of just tak­ing in the sights around me I’m also begin­ning to lis­ten more, pay­ing close atten­tion to the sounds of nature and the par­tial con­ver­sa­tions I pick up on while on my walk.

Since we live in a vil­lage (with a pop­u­la­tion of less than 5,000), small talk car­ries itself through the walls of homes, in meet­ing hot spots like the park or the local super­mar­ket and you’re always bound to run into some­one you know.

It’s a lot like Cheers, where every­one knows your name or at least your fam­ily name.

On my most recent stroll through the vil­lage I noticed a fel­low stand­ing on the street cor­ner in front of a Mom & Pop diner. He looked about in his 50s, but with all of his hair still intact and I kid you not, his attire con­sisted of a tank top, shorts and dress shoes. He was yelling to a friend across the street, who non­cha­lantly con­tin­ued on his way until he noticed his loud companion.

They both laughed, one teas­ing the other and I moved on. You might see this kind of thing in every­day life, to you it might even be mun­dane or commonplace.

For some­one like me who has ten­dency to extrap­o­late the small stuff, which works to my ben­e­fit and some­times just the oppo­site, these kinds of occur­rences are impor­tant for a few reasons.

One, that life really is like a play and there are pat­terns that we all rec­og­nize and become used to. There’s no spe­cial for­mula to obser­va­tion, you either pay atten­tion to details or you don’t. I’ve been informed by peo­ple that small occur­rences in life like two guys meet­ing on the street aren’t worth remem­ber­ing or men­tally archiving.

Yet, life is an expe­ri­ence. It’s more than just a few months strung into years, it’s moments and mem­o­ries and every­thing else.

When some­one lets you know that their child stood up for the very first time, you might be inter­ested for a moment and then together your reac­tions don’t align. For the par­ent of the child, this is mon­u­men­tal, a mile­stone in the growth and devel­op­ment of their child.

To you, even if you might be related, that same feel­ing the par­ent had isn’t what you are feel­ing because it may not be as impor­tant. We’ve got to keep track of a lot of infor­ma­tion, this may not deserve a folder in the stor­age of our minds.

I might be a spe­cial case because I can selec­tively recall things/thoughts/occurrences that hap­pened years ago. Most of these moments in time would’ve been long for­got­ten by most, but I hang onto things that might have made a dif­fer­ence to me.

Even if that means not hav­ing the same emo­tional attach­ment as the per­son who deliv­ered the mes­sage or the guy yelling at his friend across the street, it’s some­thing I cherish.

The only down­side is my short-term mem­ory leaves some­thing to be desired. Recall­ing mem­o­ries from years ago is no prob­lem (in some cases), but there are times when I remind myself of some­thing and moments later the mem­ory or reminder only par­tially remains.

Dri­ving home tonight after a deli­cious meal, my daugh­ter, spon­ta­neous as ever, looks up at me and in her best pirate expres­sion growls; “Arghh! I’m a pirate!”.

What fol­lowed was a con­ver­sa­tion between a three-year-old pirate, her par­rot Steve and me, her “Pirate Daddy”.

Zoe: Arggh! I’m a pirate. You are a pirate too.

Me: Avast, ye scurvy sea dog! Y’best walk the plank.

Zoe: Okay. Daddy, this plank is heavy. I can’t carry it.

Me: (laugh­ing) I said walk the plank, not carry it.

Zoe: I put it down here. That was so heavy, Pirate Daddy.

Me: Shiver me tim­bers! Where be your par­rot, Steve?

Zoe: He flewed away! In the sky. Argggh!

Me: Yar! Next time keep an eye on Steve. A pirate isn’t a pirate with­out his parrot.

Zoe: Hand me a map. We need to go there. (points) And where we’re there, we then go here.

For those who aren’t aware Dreamhost expe­ri­enced a secu­rity breach. Accord­ing to Dreamhost, approx­i­mately 3,500 accounts were com­pro­mised, the hack­ers tak­ing note of FTP user accounts, user names and passwords.

With this data the hack­ers, using an auto­mated script of some sort, added SEO links/inframes to every instance of index.html or php.

This is the last straw. I’ve been with Dreamhost since mid-2004 and rec­om­mended them on more than one occa­sion and even went so far as defend­ing them when oth­ers com­plained about slow ser­vice or half-baked cus­tomer sup­port, the lat­ter being some­thing I never experienced.

Not any more. It’s time to look for a new home.

Over the past two hours I’ve had to comb over my files, look­ing for any­thing that could have been stolen and to my knowl­edge some files might have been removed.

Not only that, but the pass­word I used was one of the best pass­words I’ve used in a long time and now, thanks to this, I have to piece together a franken-mash of numbers.

It’s sad because while I rep­re­sent, accord­ing to DH, only .15% of the cus­tomers whose data was changed in some way, I just wish some­thing could’ve been done to pre­vent this.

Yet, who am I to say that web host­ing is safe from this kind of thing, which appar­ently it isn’t. I sup­pose I wanted to believe that they were impen­e­tra­ble, even if that was a pre­ma­ture wish.

The cul­prits added inframes and link­age point­ing to off­shore sites dis­play­ing gar­bled infor­ma­tion; SEO tac­tics indeed.

On the bright side of things, my entries are safe, every one of them accounted for since 2004. This wasn’t an issue really con­sid­er­ing I’ve kept back­ups of my DB since the begin­ning and make it habit to do it frequently.

I’m also plan­ning on mov­ing to a new CMS and will be tak­ing the entries with me to pre­serve for the future, when robots make swiss cheese sand­wiches with George For­man machines.

Does any­one out there have any sug­ges­tions for a new host?

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