This is for a couple special friends today.

The War on Terror, As viewed from the Bourne shell.

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This is from the photo-gallery software I’ve been using. Unbeknownst to me, it lacks something in its linking.

Today, I was much cooler. Yay for cooling off and its improvement on my temperament.

`mkdir -p ~/rpm/{SPECS,SOURCES,BUILD,RPMS,SRPMS}

mkdir ~/rpm/{SPECS,SOURCES}/CVS

echo ‘:pserver:cvs@cvs.pld-linux.org:/cvsroot’ > ~/rpm/SPECS/CVS/Root

echo ‘:pserver:cvs@cvs.pld-linux.org:/cvsroot’ > ~/rpm/SOURCES/CVS/Root

touch ~/rpm/{SPECS,SOURCES}/CVS/Entries

echo ‘SPECS’ > ~/rpm/SPECS/CVS/Repository

echo ‘SOURCES’ > ~/rpm/SOURCES/CVS/Repository

poldek -i cvs rpm-build

cd ~/rpm/SPECS

cvs up builder

./builder yourpackagename`

If you want the whole SPECS tree, run cvs up in the SPECS directory, and it’ll download the ten thousand-odd spec files.

If you make changes, run the ./adapter script on the spec to check for sylistic glitches. Make sure that adapter is sane, though, since it can be over-aggressive. If the changes are generally useful, send the new spec (or better, a diff — one can be made with cvs diff file.spec) to the PLD developer’s list

I’ve missed my laptop. I finally opened it up (and that’s a big job, with all the screws and press-fit plastic parts), re-soldered the power connector, and it’s getting its first solid charge in months. I’m sitting on my porch, comfy and happy. Life isn’t so bad, I guess.

I started reading “Brave New World” last night during the network outage. I woke up overheated in the sun, and still can’t pry myself awake. Blah.

Mumble. Javascript can find something to suck on.

Since joining, to comment on a distant acquaintaince’s post, I’ve been marketed to incessantly with loud, flashing banner ads. I’ve been invited to join two “communities” — neither of which I know a single person involved with, nor in which have any interest. I can’t tell what’s an ad, what’s part of the site, and what’s a commercial tie-in. Overall it leaves me with absolutely zero interest in participating in any meaningful way.

A recap of my day: Work at 9:30. Never did what was originally scheduled. Finished at 18:00. Frisbee, last game with the youth corps — they go home in the morning. I’ve never played a game that intense. We played barely keeping score, though I’m sure it was tiedish, for two hours. The SYC kids took home the cup — plastic tubs covered in tinfoil, because I think they eventually nailed us, and certainly did on Monday too.

I invited a girl who played with us, whose name, I kid you not, is April May, and Paul, another player, over for dinner.

April is totally an unschooler. Training to be a massage therapist, interested in joining a conservation corps, she’s up here to help a friend (and a customer of mine) plaster the inside of their house. She and Paul and I ate the leftover curry from last night, and sat around for a surprisingly long time. Conversation started at herb lore and drifted to sexuality, tangents to BDSM, then to Anne Rice novels, tea, and natural building and solar power.

She reminds me of my cousin Meli in facial expressions just frequently enough to be unnerving.

All in all, it was a blast. I don’t have evenings like this nearly often enough. Maybe this being a young adult thing isn’t so bad.

So much for staying up late.

I really didn’t want to be up yet.

What I really want is someone to snuggle and tell me it’s okay right now though.

I spent the last four hours with a group of peace activists. We watched The Atomic Cafe. The Crane Project was there, led by an old friend of mine. We folded cranes, that will be taken along the route from ___ through the uranium mining towns (and what’s left of them), through Ridgway, to Montrose, then to Cañon City, where there is an operating uranium refinery. (Notably, the town has more cases of lung cancer than surrounding areas. Its economy is uranium refining (and cleanup), and prison labor. It’s been a superfund site twice, and has no current operating license. Not that that stops them.)

I folded twenty cranes, and helped others learn. Ari-the-teacher came out to surprise me. I used to teach classfulls of second- and third-graders how to fold cranes. The old patience and gentle demonstration came back, and I felt totally at home.

So much for going to bed early.