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My girlfriend is amazing:
After a long uphill battle trying to finish a huge open source project I started months ago. She noticed I was getting a little deflated.
So she donated a small amount to the donation page to lift my spirits.
She wanted to do it secretly but didn't know that it wasnt anonymous.
The little things spur us on.40
I fucking hate toxic positivity. Every fucking corporation pushes the notion that "lifE iS aWeSomE, wE cArE abOuT pEoPle" and other such bullshit, and when you point it out, they call you a bad, toxic person.
No, you don't care about your community, let alone the whole world. You're just trying to make people believe that spyware, wage slavery and being fired by a neural network is the norm. You're making money off of those who don't have a choice.
If you account all people, not just American white rich 1%, it turns out that for the vast majority of people life is either an uphill battle or straight up nightmare. People are working in shifts and have no time or emotional resource to spend on themselves. Most of the people can't afford a house or a flat. Even those who can still suffer from mental illnesses, to the point where there are more mentally challenged people than mentally healthy ones. The word "neurotypical" meaning "mentally healthy" is wrong.
You want nothing but to sell your stuff and earn more money off of Chinese and Indian factory workers who work 16-hour shifts. Maybe your life is great, but aggressively pushing this notion is a big, wet spit in the face of humanity.
Fuck you. Fuck your space rockets. Fuck your twitter accounts. Fuck your institutionalized exploitation of the weak. Fuck your products. Fuck your "open source". Fuck your "GDPR compliance". Fuck your offshores, your hedge funds and your tax evasion. Fuck your bailouts. Fuck your ships spilling tons of crude oil, fuck your factories, fuck your slave labor, fuck your anti-suicide nets in Chinese dormitories.
One day, because of you, our planet will become unlivable. You will hop into your fancy space rocket to go to that top-1% elite Mars colony. Nice job.
But I will pray for a solar flare to hit you and turn you and your fucking rocket into radioactive ash.22
An ancient legend goes that there exists sacred knowledge that enables anyone possessing it not to turn one’s career into a constant uphill battle with the management.
I sought this knowledge, I travelled the world, to no avail. Once upon a time, I climbed the Mount Fuji and met the wizard in his pagoda on the mount. I won in a CSS-golf battle with him, and he revealed the sacred truth: one need to chose companies that do business instead of constant backroom deals and dick-measuring contests.
Like Prometheus, I give this knowledge to you. An ancient scroll says that for this I’ll be chained to the mountain of PHP legacy code, and HRs will peck my brain for eternity, but I found Arachne, the queen of HRs, and exchanged the keto-diet secret for freedom.1
I realized I am a rant grifter...
Somebody makes a good rant. I respond with witty, snarky, or angry response. Then I cash in on them sweet internets points. Rant grifting.9
- I’m tired of being caught in this political bullshit and thinking about how to withdraw my money from the bank ASAP because govt can block my account to prevent me from leaving, how to let my salary make its way from Europe to me without making me a criminal for even having foreign currency, even though I pay taxes, being left without my meds because the country I was born in decided to deny the existance of my illness. At my age, I should be thinking about where do I want to go for vacation and what hair color should my next sex party fuck partner have.
- I’m tired of fighting this never-ending uphill battle with guilt upon guilt upon guilt that cripples my thinking and renders me helpless by the face of it, the constant sense of dread over me failing to even put into words what’s bothering me.
- I’m tired of seeing literally any thing associated with my childhood and having flashbacks of violence and gruesome things done to me as a child. Today, I had a full breakdown over seeing default Windows Vista wallpaper.
My anxiety always hits hard, but how hard should I hit the wall with my head next time to beat this shit out of it? sometimes I hear little bubbles inside. I left my country, but how hard should I vomit next time I eat two jars of nutella as a self-harm session for my country to leave me? I already have my eyes all red and messed up because of doing this. I can’t see straight. is it within my body? can I pull it out?11
This is the third part of my ongoing series "The Ballad of the Six Witchers and the Undocumented Java Tool".
In this part, we have the massive Battle of Sparks and Storms.
The first part is here: https://devrant.com/rants/5009817/...
The second part is here: https://devrant.com/rants/5054467/...
Over the last couple sprints and then some, The Witcher Who Writes and the Butchers of Jarfile had studied the decompiled guts of the Undocumented Java Beast and finally derived (most of) the process by which the data was transformed. They even built a model to replicate the results in small scale.
But when such process was presented to the Priests of Accounting at the Temple of Cash-Flow, chaos ensued.
This cannot be! - cried the priests - You must be wrong!
Wrong, the Witchers were not. In every single test case the Priests of Accounting threw at the Witchers, their model predicted perfectly what would be registered by the Undocumented Java Tool at the very end.
It was not the Witchers. The process was corrupted at its essence.
The Witchers reconvened at their fortress of Sprint. In the dark room of Standup, the leader of their order, wise beyond his years (and there were plenty of those), in a deep and solemn voice, there declared:
"Guys, we must not fuck this up." (actual quote)
For the leader of the witchers had just returned from a war council at the capitol of the province. There, heading a table boarding the Archpriest of Accounting, the Augur of Economics, the Marketing Spymaster and Admiral of the Fleet, was the Ciefoh Seat himself.
They had heard rumors about the Order of the Witchers' battles and operations. They wanted to know more.
It was quiet that night in the flat and cloudy plains of Cluster of Sparks and Storms. The Ciefoh Seat had ordered the thunder to stay silent, so that the forces of whole cluster would be available for the Witchers.
The cluster had solid ground for Hive and Parquet turf, and extended from the Connection River to farther than the horizon.
The Witcher Who Writes, seated high atop his war-elephant, looked at the massive battle formations behind.
The frontline were all war-elephants of Hadoop, their mahouts the Witchers themselves.
For the right flank, the Red Port of Redis had sent their best connectors - currency conversions would happen by the hundreds, instantly and always updated.
The left flank had the first and second army of Coroutine Jugglers, trained by the Witchers. Their swift catapults would be able to move data to and from the JIRA cities. No data point will be left behind.
At the center were thousands of Sparks mounting their RDD warhorses. Organized in formations designed by the Witchers and the Priestesses of Accounting, those armoured and strong units were native to this cloudy landscape. This was their home, and they were ready to defend it.
For the enemy could be seen in the horizon.
There were terabytes of data crossing the Stony Event Bridge. Hundreds of millions of datapoints, eager to flood the memory of every system and devour the processing time of every node on sight.
For the Ciefoh Seat, in his fury about the wrong calculations of the processes of the past, had ruled that the Witchers would not simply reshape the data from now on.
The Witchers were to process the entire historical ledger of transactions. And be done before the end of the month.
The metrics rumbled under the weight of terabytes of data crossing the Event Bridge. With fire in their eyes, the war-elephants in the frontline advanced.
Hundreds of data points would be impaled by their tusks and trampled by their feet, pressed into the parquet and hive grounds. But hundreds more would take their place. There were too many data points for the Hadoop war-elephants alone.
But the dawn will come.
When the night seemed darker, the Witchers heard a thunder, and the skies turned red. The Sparks were on the move.
Riding into the parquet and hive turf, impaling scores of data points with their long SIMD lances and chopping data off with their Scala swords, the Sparks burned through the enemy like fire.
The second line of the sparks would pick data off to be sent by the Coroutine Jugglers to JIRA. That would provoke even more data to cross the Event Bridge, but the third line of Sparks were ready for it - those data would be pierced by the rounds provided by the Red Port of Redis, and sent back to JIRA - for good.
They fought for six days and six nights, taking turns so that the battles would not stop. And then, silence. The day was won, all the data crushed into hive and parquet.
Short-lived was the relief. The Witchers knew that the enemy in combat is but a shadow of the troubles that approach. Politics and greed and grudge are all next in line. Are the Witchers heroes or marauders? The aftermath is to come, and I will keep you posted.4
I have the feeling that the whole software industry is not making any real progress anymore. Or at least not at that speed like for 10-20 years or so. Now one company doing something somehow innovative and everybodys copying that shit and start a feature battle. Just to have more reasons to suck you into their ecosystem and grab your wallet.4
Welcome to ROAST YOUR BOSS BATTLE part 1
I will go first.
"Your personality is a complete horror movie with a Snapchat filter in disguise."
"If you working for heaven God will personally hire you just re-fire you for eternity."
"You are wasting resources, there are approximately 5 trees that provide you oxygen, go find them and apologies."
"Your mother should swallow you instead of giving birth to you, and this world will be less of one idiot."5
NPC stereotypical dev: "I self identify as socially awkward."
NPC stereotypical dev: <Gets irrationally angry about friendly banter.>
NPC stereotypical dev: "I hate people who try to interact with me socially."
And knowing is half the battle. GI Joe!1
We should find a way to replace passwords: any password manager which I tried is inaccurate in identifying login forms and is too hard to use for non technical people older than 40 and convince people to not use some stupid name + birth year combination as their passwords is a frustrating uphill battle.13
stop thinking big and trying to fix, predict and solve every problem and accept the fact that I lost the battle so I can focus on small things instead of big ideas that would never happen
cause maybe just maybe bunch of small things can at some point shape big idea
A question to all software security specialists of devRant. Please, take it serious.
Is it fundamentally possible to restrict a SQL database like Postgres in a way that unintended SQL queries are impossible to execute? Perhaps in some kind of whitelist fashion. Is it possible to achieve the kind of security that will be just fine exposed to the outside world akin to "SQL queries in onClick handlers" scenario?
Or is this an uphill battle of never being able to moderate an infinite set of possible fraudulent queries?5
Every time a new hype thing appeared, I was annoyed, like "kids these days and their tiktoks".
But at some point in time, this pattern of mine changed completely. I don't know how it happened, I don't know when it happened, but now I experience... acute nostalgia?
I miss Elon Musk and his twitter fanbase. I miss tiktok. I feel like a time traveller who went into their past, which is our present, to experience the cultural landmarks once again, because their time here is limited, and tomorrow they will have to go back.
I miss my autism problems and mental health uphill battle. I miss avengers and thanos. I miss metaverse.
Oh, and also... I miss you.4