So, among other things, I burned the Distillers album this morning. Brody warned me not to, but I'm no longer really into buying CDs that I'm not sure I'm going to like. And, you know, this one is kind of a mixed bag. I pretty much agree with the critics -- the first few songs are pretty great, but the rest of the album is a bit of a drag, especially this fucking 15-minute feedback wank session at the end called "Death Sex." I mean, for fuck's sake. She's only 23, though, and, after all, what have I done with my life, really?
But I definitely like rock stars who call me a fucker and an asshole. You go to shows these days (well, I don't, really), and everyone's always like, "Oh, we love you guys so much, thank you so much for coming, we do all of this for you." It's so embarrassing. If you're not ready to have a combative relationship with your fans, you need to get of punk rock and become a party planner or something. You can cover Gary Glitter live and get everyone psyched for a hockey game.
Oh man, I got so much stuff done last night -- graded some worksheets for Mer, did the dishes, tidied up; I didn't even have time to play computer at all.
[Now it's Thursday]
Ugh. I feel like the crap parade. Tom was saying it was inequitable that he should be throwing up all day at work and I should be fine, but check it out, guy: I spent like 45 minutes to an hour on the toilet last night shivering and spraying out squishy Lincoln-logs of bean-flavored paste. Eugh.
Hey Dennis Miller -- if September 11th made you into some kind of reactionary psychopath, it doesn't mean you're "doing the right thing to protect your country" or "ensuring that freedom will not perish from the Earth" or whatever the crap. It means that when the going got tough, you got stupid and emotional. "Well, I guess on the farthest end of the left they'd say, 'That's our fault.'" I wonder where that leaves me? Oh yeah -- it's our fucking fault, asshole. If we can do that kind of shit in other countries for hundreds of years, they're not allowed to do it back to us? I guess the difference is we did it dressed to the nines. Can we please ship some expensive guns and stealth fighter jets over to Afghanistan or Korea or whatever so that the next time they kill 4,000 U.S. civilians it doesn't look like a 7th-grade science project that was slapped together the night before?
I was going to say something about the repulsive porcine jibbery-jubbery David Gelernter, but his awful, unusable software speaks for itself. I wonder if he likes to organize his screeds against women, gay marriage, and Arabs in a visual time-stream of system-resource-hogging floating solitaire cards. However he does it, he does it without a fucking right hand. Some people do not handle tragedy very well.
Ooh, look, they're re-releasing The Battle of Algiers. Wonder why?
In between bouts of nausea and burping, I managed last night to move OpenRPG's server-side client locking over to a more sensible model. The problem: The thread that broadcasts object updates during a game might select a large block of client objects from some table and start iterating through them; at the same time, the client listening thread might receive a command or a hangup or something from a client at the end of the other thread's list and kill and remove that client. So now the broadcast thread has a pointer to garbage and you're looking at a segfault. Solution: Include a mutex in each client and lock on it before you try to do anything to it; once you've got the lock, check the state field. If it's set to queued-for-deletion, then you know you've got a dead client and you can skip it. So who actually deletes the client? I don't know yet; whoever it is is going to have to lock on the global client list and then ping a function that removes the client from the game threads' client lists as well. Concurrency, huh? What a shit-shower.
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