Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

MP-WP Genesis

Friday, April 13th, 2018

If you'd like to use Mircea Popescu's modified Wordpress (as used on Trilema, here, and many blogs of the Republic), I've made a V genesis to be maintained in perpetuity, with patches shortly to come.

Available files:

* mp-wp_genesis.vpatch
* mp-wp_genesis.vpatch.hanbot.sig

Mosey over to the about page if you need my pubkey.

Many thanks to mod6 for his indispensible Vtron, phf for his vpatcher and tools, spyked for his patches of same, asciilifeform for V in general, diana_coman for her help getting started with gnat, and of course Mr. P for the eponymous codebase and support.

Sede Atlantico

Tuesday, March 6th, 2018

The University of Costa Rica has a handful of satellite campuses scattered here and there around this dimunition of a country, and for some reason figures that its compound in Turrialba has something to do with the ocean several hours' drive to its east. Overlooking the egregious decision to name it "Sede Atlantico" rather than its rightful "Sede Queso" ((Turrialba is Costa Rica's cheese mecca, a place where the cows and the coffee bushes do equally well.)), I ventured forth on the two-hour journey to audit a class or two and see if there was any wasted talent hanging about.

It's a pleasant drive; the landscape shifts from the gray roughness of San Jose to the technicolor hovels of Hatillos, the city's pseudo-squattage, soon yielding completely to the overgrown jungle-forest-desert pastiche of the rural valleys.

On arriving at the campus, I found it rather remarkably empty for a monday mid-morning. In fact, there were many more cleaning women than students about, so I snapped a few shots of the freshly-painted, freshly-waxed hallways and looked for coffee.

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There wasn't any coffee to be found, however, the cafeteria being full of peeling wooden planks and chairparts. I asked what bipeds I could find, and was pointed towards a soda across the street. Coffee just isn't as enjoyable at a plastic table occupied by squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard, you know? So I walked a few kilometers until I found a somewhat more passable joint that had mediocre cafe con leche and fantasia de higos, a sort of parlor-game dish where you excavate poor, helpless figs from ice cream that's nowhere near up to par.

With the walk back I'd killed a little time, and went back to campus.

Which, as you've probably guessed...

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Well, maybe people don't hangabout here, all business, I guess? Let's go to class.

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Here's Room 4, which both online and right outside its door professes to be holding a class from 1 to about 4pm. At ten minutes to 1, it was empty. At 1 exactly, idem. Fifteen minutes later? I don't think PC0305-901 is doing so well.

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I tried out a few more rooms that were supposed to be holding classes. They were similarly well-attended.

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I went to the administration and asked them why their online schedule, as well as those posted outside the classrooms, were incorrect. The attendant mula, visibly perturbed to be wrested from digging through her purse for god knows what and called to some sort of duty, disappeared for a few minutes and re-emerged with the certainty that the schedules were correct. "So why isn't anyone in any of your classrooms?" "They're there, it's 1:30!" "I was just down that hall, none of these rooms have anyone in there." "We have new classes starting next week!" "Okay, but what about these?" "They're in session." "So why is nobody there?" "There must be!"

I decided to quit the carousel and check out Turrialba itself. The dozen or so girls I managed to find milling around the bus-stops and chop-suey stations near campus had either admitted there was nothing to do on the weekend around there, or else had said the place to go was a disco called Latinos. Naturally, I wanted to see this item.

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What, you can't spot it? This is the happening spot in all of Turrialba, folks! Have you no eye for excitement?

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How about now? Nobody said you can't have a great disco on the balcony of the local social security building!

On a brighter note, the thing downstairs had decent beet-juice.

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In addition, of course, to a screen-for-the-sake-of-having-a-screen ("Activate Windows!") and advertisements for a "workshop on Mayan Mysticism" and "caldosas", which is, I shit you not, ceviche thrown into a bag of corn chips.

The town's main square held the day's real gem, with a certain elusive bird from other excursions somehow choosing this spot to laze about and croon in almost full view.

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Here he is mid-gargle. It sounds about like Roman candles look, if that does anything for you.

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Anyone know who he is?

A cheesy pit-stop on the way back ends this foray:

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Until next time I feel like being delighted and disillusioned in nearly equal amounts, bon fromage.

Blinks Abroad

Monday, February 12th, 2018

I had a dream this morning that I was back in college, and that the vast majority of students had decided the organization was no good, to be replaced with a daily process in which you'd line up at a reception table, fill out forms for a while, grab a stack of other people's paper assignments to be completed by yourself, then move on to a new table with a big vat of lemon blueberry pudding and piles of plastic containers, at which point you'd ladle out some of the stuff (yes, on top of the writing assignments), grab some plastic, and write down how many portions for redistribution you were going to produce that day once the papers were written. And I felt guilty, because I wrote four, but took five containers, intending to secret away a scoop of sludge for myself.

I have no idea, really, but I was glad for having woken up, once I did. In fact, it's rather difficult not to feel serene and relieved on waking to my life, awash as it is these days in resplendent natural beauty and adventuresome delights. In part, I think it's Costa Rica itself --well, it and its marked differences from Buenos Aires, where a mere walk by the riverside could barely, and often not really, be had. There's also likely something to be said for the distance in years, in paradigm, and in practice from those college days, even if the real thing was a little less blatantly insane (it was certainly less puddinged). But those are reflections for another day. For now, there's wilderness, that space sufficiently unmolested by humans to make being one in it feel better.

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Taking in the view after a thirty minute climb behind a rickety truck full of Nicaraguan date-palm-jacks.

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The jungle path, as curated by some worthy, quiet folks on the mountaintop.

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Hello from as close to Pepperland as probably exists.

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Rounding a corner, an odd call was heard. I pointed the camera at the branches, oh hope beyond hope...

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...of finally seeing a wild toucan, and there he was.

Once back, duty required that I journey on to Bogota, to be carouseled from a to b and back in a certain diplomatic chariot.

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No such luxury on the way in, however. Boingo wifi presents: flight schedule eggog, Panama edition! No tiene precio, kay?

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I don't know what kind of dental procedures require generators-cum-soft-serve apparatus, and I don't want to find out.

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Colombia's coffee did not disappoint. Neither did the lulada, a sort of persimmon-ade.

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Bogota's most beautiful building, the Farshad rug store. I was going to use it as misdirection for a game of 'guess where I am', but the thing was too true and good for such trickery.

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This, for the record, was the most dangerous the city ever got.

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For Dad, another piece of the Stanford diaspora.

And here our journey ends, brief interval between delicious propulsions. Until next time, may your papers be your own, and your pudding non-communal.

Unsystematized Exploration, Tropical Ed. No. Whichever

Wednesday, January 17th, 2018

I got a parking ticket today, the first traffic-y citation-y article I've ever earned. It was won adjacent the Torre Mercedes (a squat psuedo-tower a block away from the ~1.2x tall "Tallest Building in Costa Rica" housing a monstrous 70s fascism-style stairway/fountain/grim reflection point, plus a few regional business headquarters), for the infraction of not having paid the unstated parking fee to the not-present-while-parking parking attendant. The damage comes to 7800 colones, or about $16, or about twice as much as the actual parking fee would've likely been. Alternatively, the cost of a goodly amount of local bacon for the pits, now on strike 'til the next lamb stew is made.

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It might not be much of a parking ticket, but it's mine.

Other recent finds include the Templo de Servicios Sanitarios, an apparent hangout amongst the peaecekeepers:

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The world's bearingest papayaness tree, in someone's front yard:

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And that most venerable of university institutions, Tesis Kike:

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Here's one for Stan:

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And what looks to be some sort of Trinque refueling station:

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And if the locals ain't got whatcha want, why, you can always hire one to do some rearrangin':

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With a lopped-off limb and a life of utter decrepitude:

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How is a clever young man to make his way? Why, by matriculating in the general direction of that Windows 7 cake shop what they got o'er in Barrio Mexico.

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The real puzzler is, what'd be best carried in the following conveyance?

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Acquariums? Christmas lights? Or perhaps a new product line from

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I'll leave these things to the philosophers; meanwhile, it's time to load the Illegal Parker again and head to fairer margins:

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The Trilema Article Database, a toollet.

Tuesday, January 9th, 2018

In its ten+ years of life, trilema has amassed over 8,000 articles, a feat that has terrorized many, and confounded still more. The sheer number and variety of pieces can make recalling what was said where a bit of a bitch, especially if one can't remember an exact distinguishing phrase.

The Trilema Article Database is a humble attempt to meaningfully, if somewhat idiosyncratically ((I see no way out of this; while a number of objective criteria may be extracted from a given article and thereby used to search, an index will contain some interpreted data if it is to be used to match readers' memories to extant articles (that is, unless I'm the only one who doesn't think in terms of "Gee, what was that one piece with 587 words 42% of which started with t?" I guess it's possible. InformAssimilate me! ) )) index Trilema articles, making them searchable beyond Google's arguably useful options.

I first designed TADB to work as a lisp IRC bot that'd idle in #trilema, but opted to put it up on this site as a php script following two issues: 1. nobody's gonna like a bot capable of (eventually) spitting 8,000+ title/url pairs in channel, and 2. I'm a noob ((I listed it as #2 so it's less obvious. That makes it less obvious, right? RIGHT?!)) and lisp is beardy, how about we not wait forever for the echafaudage of what is, after all, an experimental and possibly even not all that desirable item. Should the thing prove useful I imagine it'll see a lot of surgery.

As of this post solely January of 2017, chosen arbitrarily, has been indexed, to allow potential users to chime in on any modifications ((Additional criteria would be especially appreciated.)) they'd like to see --obviously, any change to the indexer itself will require a re-indexing of all known articles, which prompted the minimal initial run. Anyone interested in taking on some chunk of pieces, say a month, or a year, or even a category, is welcome to join in --I find it's a great exercise in revisiting old pieces and restructuring them in one's own head, a pleasant reward for the time spent. I'll also make sql dumps of the database available to the lordship for the asking, should anyone want to use it in part or total for Mad Science.

Please give it a spin; TADB lives here.

Beachcombing, A Guide

Sunday, November 5th, 2017

Remember when poring over the shore with a metal detector was socially acceptable, despite its apparently mandatory uniform of fanny packs, boater hats, oversized sunglasses, and ringed tube-socks pulled up tight to almost, not-quite reach the cuffs of beige cargo shorts? Well I don't. I'd only seen it taking place in cartoons, which might explain the universal dress code. During the last trip to the Pacific side of Paradise I spotted an old man looking almost, not-quite the part, detector in hand, headphones over hat, sweeping the sand.

I don't get it; metal detectors don't pick up crabs, and obviously that's what you'd go to the beach to see. Crabspotting is simple. You stand in one spot and wait for the shells and rocks to start moving, then you run to the morsel in question waving your arms and yelling.

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Sometimes crabs and their assorted friends rent out a better house, which you can find by looking for signs of redecoration:

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Sadly, this particular condominium was still on the market, and hadn't taken in any squatters.

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Better results will likely be had if one is brave enough to venture into the metropolitan crabcentres.

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Or inside ex-boat flotsam barges.

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Once a good quantity of crabs have been duly perturbed, a good day of beachcombing calls for saying something prosaic about how beautiful the sunset is.

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And of course, you get bonus points for finding bananas.

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Tally it all up and I'm pretty sure I came out ahead of ol' sweepy.

Wellington Schmellington

Friday, October 27th, 2017

Pork Wellington is a dish created by a certain gourmand and which I especially appreciate for its competent obfuscation of that off-copper, sub-glottal twinge that typically assaults one attempting to finish their liver ((As part of some grand cosmic joke I'm not in on, the only working remedy for my interminable affair with anemia is weekly consumption of ~half a kilo of chicken liver, which I initally found abhorrent and by now swallow with only somewhat of a frown.)). It's pretty much a roast-in-crust, with the more common beef tenderloin swapped out for pork, and the pate made with chicken rather than goose liver, which is also deeply spiced.

Make the pastry first so it can sit in the fridge while everything else gets going. Follow a basic pate brisee method, but sift in some baking powder before you cut in the butter. Smoosh it into a disk and let it chill so it's easier to roll later.

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Next make the pate. Dump about a kilo of fresh chicken liver into a big pot of boiling water and get ready to lose some of your enthusiasm about eating this thing later on (don't worry, it'll come back). Sorting through your livers to discard any gallbladders that might've gotten in there before this point is a good idea. A few drops of whatever vinegar you have on hand will help tame the smell and aid coagulation in the pot.

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Keep it roiling for half an hour, then drain the stuff and dump it into a bowl with your spice mixture, which should contain around ten grams of allspice berries with black and white peppercorns to taste, finely ground. Mash these up with a fork, adding a pat of butter now and then to achieve a thick, clumpy velvet sort of texture. Remove any whitish membrane threads you find during this procedure. Once you're happy with the texture, add a few spoonfulls of fermented dairy --I used plain yogurt and some splashes of kefir, though sour cream would also work. This'll make the pate easily spreadable, a paste rather than a stucco.

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Now it's time to sear your steak; heat a pan to suparhot with some butter, and brown the tenderloin on all sides, giving the whole thing no more than two minutes or so, then transfer it to a plate to cut the heat.

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Your components now prepared, you can proceed to roll out the dough; try to make a shape that more or less echoes that of the tenderloin. Spread about half of the pate on the dough, leaving a goodly margin as below, then plop the seared tenderloin on top. Slather on the rest of the pate ((Depending on the "about" of your kilo of liver and the size of your tenderloin, you might end up with too much pate --you don't want to go thicker than about a third of an inch. If you end up with extra, put it in a glass jar in the fridge and enjoy with tomorrow's toast or whatever, tell your sister you've discovered a fabulous "hair masque" she just has to try.)). At this point you'd typically spangle the log ((Masturbatory euphemism not intended.)) with sliced mushrooms, but I opted to make a bechamel of dried porcinis instead. A sprinkling of fresh thyme leaves works well, too.

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Anyway, wrap the thing up like any other package, taking care not to get much of any overlap of the dough, else it'll end up too thick in places. Seal on top or along the sides, brush with an eggwash, slash a few holes, and stick it in the oven around 190C for about 50 minutes.

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Pork Wellington is best eaten with his dearest friends in tow: Sir Worchestershire, Herr Rottkohl, and Madamme Bordeaux.

A Compendium of Possibly Helpful Stuffs for Erecting Mircea Popescu's WordPress with Nearly Free Speech Hosting

Wednesday, October 25th, 2017

I'm not a fan of acronyms that don't spell out something naughty, but alas, they're a necessary evil, and you'll likely encounter ((For instance, in the logs, where asciilifeform's most recent accolade of the host in question caught me in a moment of hostlessness.)) the items titled above as MP-WP and NFS.

The former's something to use because it hails from an era ((2007, nearly pleistocene!)) when WordPress may not have been completely and utterly retarded, but merely something of a doofus, which inadequacies and bad habits were seen to by a sane man who then put it through the wringer for a decade. There's not going to be any "feature" that outweighs the boss' usage and say-so, and you're probably not in a position to identify what features are good or bad, or which methods are reasonable or batshit anyway. As for NFS, it's worth checking out as much as for asciilifeform's lack of problems with them year in and year out as for their lack of the usual Disneyland backend. They also accept Bitcoin, which is nice, though via BitPay, which is monstrously retarded.

So then, let's compendiate.

*NFS lives here. You can start futzing with stuff right away with a trial account and pay once you're satisfied all your desired pegs have holes (or the other way around, no judgment). The trial's good for a week, after which your account will be disabled and you'll have to make a deposit to get your reins back.

*MP-WP via shinohai lives here.

*NFS doesn't use CPanel or the like, but you'll find database setup under the mysql tab (start a "process" first, then you can create a db).

*To install MP-WP via SSH, open a bash terminal, and enter ssh your-username@ssh-hostname (both of these are given under the sites tab at NFS). Grab the tar.gz above with wget, tar -zxvf it, and get everything out of the "blog" directory and into the root ((/home/public/ by default, ftr)) with mv blog/* ./ and rmdir ./blog/, unless you've got other plans for your site. Get all yer db information correctly assembled in wp-config.php using nano.

*Your new digs will likely be decked with php "errors" in the form of warnings about deprecation and various other superficial complaints. If, like me, you give no shits about these, stick the following into wp-config.php:


ini_set('display_errors', 'Off');
ini_set('error_reporting', E_ALL );
define('WP_DEBUG', false);
define('WP_DEBUG_DISPLAY', false);

*MP-WP is themeless. If you want a theme other than the two that come standard with a new WP installation, you'll have to find one that's about as old as MP-WP itself unless you feel like some Seriously Escalated Futzing. If you see a theme you like, go to its page, scroll down to "Browse the Code", click on the Development Log, and see if there's a suitably wrinkled version there. The vast majority'll only go back a few months to a year, whereas you want nine years or more. For what it's worth, I did try activating theme versions in the 6 - 8 year old range, all of which failed immediately (typically via 'theme is broken, reverting to default').

*At some point you'll probably want to upload something like a style sheet or who knows what. I'd never uploaded via SSH before but found it's a lot less annoying than using the typical graphical interface drag-and-drop. Open a new bash terminal, cd to the directory where the file(s) you want to upload are located, and use scp to get it done:


scp local/dir/with/item/to/upload your-username@ssh-hostname:path/to/directory/where/stuff/should/go

You'll need to specify the full path, /home/public and all.

*I attempted to import a full mysql dump of my previous site, which fundamentally broke shit to the degree of wiping the contents of all pages. Importing individual tables of interest however proved unproblematic; if you're like me and pretty much just want your posts and comments, extracting these from a dump is as easy as


sed -n -e '/DROP TABLE.*`name_of_table_you_want`/,/UNLOCK TABLES/p' existing-mysql-dump.sql > solitary-table.sql

and then you can compress these and import them into the corresponding tables in your new database.

*Trilema's spiffy footnotes don't ship with MP-WP, for some reason. The plugin's called WP-Footnotes by Simon Elvery, and you can grab it here --a cursory search of WordPress' plugin directory didn't turn it up, I imagine for sins against modernity merde. Grab it, rename it to footnotes.php, copy it into your wp-content/plugins directory and activate it in the "plugins" section of WordPress' admin.

That's about it, enjoy your downgrade. If you run into any problems not covered here, please pop into #trilema and moan.

Edit October 25th: Comments ended up needing a little tweak; all comments other than admin resulted in a complaint about the author and email fields being required despite having been filled out. This was likely due to my messing around with themes, but should you run into this, make sure the $suffix line in your wp-comments-post.php matches that of the line starting with php? $suffix = in the comments.php file within your theme directory (mind that only the line in comments.php gets wrapped in the php tags).

Argentina Comicon Bombon.

Tuesday, December 13th, 2016

The taxi pulls away from the straight lines of the city as it approaches the riverside, newly-built spirals of asphalt leading it towards a cluster of squat concrete buildings festooned in pennants and printed plastic banners. A stoplight on red curbs our progress, but not my sense that the event to come will suck. In fact, it's strengthened by a flock of what look like misplaced midwestern soccer moms crossing the road wearing batman t-shirts and hugging giant buckets of popcorn. They swivel to look purposefully at nothing, shoveling in the pochoclo with plump hands terminating in meticulous and retina-burning manicures.

"I guess this must be it."

And it was, even if it was less of an "it" than anything else ever managed to be. But before we go in I suppose it'd only be fair to hand out a little context; there's not all that much to go around outside the temples of half-assery and sleepy congregations that make up this city. You see, everyone in Buenos Aires is an artist. They know it just as they know they're proud, and hungry, and worthy (of what? well, what've you got, and what do the neighbors have? that + 1, hoy es el dia!). It's not limited to the young, to the female, to the left, to the anything. Are there artists in Miami and/or Italy ((Miami is to Buenos Aires what Barcelona is to Romania, which in turn is something akin to what a statue is to a pigeon. It's the mutually-agreed upon congregation spot away from the rookery, the somehow-logical destination for donating some of your filth and strutting around atop it so the other animals can see your swank. Alternatively, everyone being "Italian", it's right and good to do or be something if the thing is celebrated there. Which is how Buenos Aires ended up thinking it has great pizza despite its actual culinary preferences resulting in a sort of oil sponge decorated with julienned nonsense.))? Yes? Does saying you're an artist cost money? No? Dale, entonces somos artistas. This being something of a worldwide delusion (although perhaps not quite to the degree), you'll be familiar with the artifacts of the fallout: unbelievably shitty murals everywhere, idem rinkydink "workshops" selling objectionable curios with reeeally long "titles", and a service industry rife with workers who don't think they should have to be there.

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So many instances of sameness, your knees'll buckle and you'll spend the rest of the day sitting on the floor in stupefaction.

Then there are results like the Argentina Comicon, which shed ...it's really an abuse of the term to call it "light", but we'll push ourselves sickeningly through; a sad little light is thrown on the mechanism at play among the "artists". They're only charged, in their minds, with convincing each other of their artistness. They've no need nor any desire to convince themselves, or to show the rest of the world who they are and what they've got. We know this, because their Comicon did not involve any artists. I don't mean they had some panel whatever which was fulla film people or something and how dare they. I mean literally the entire ((Two rooms, 2,000m2 between them, by the way.)) space had exactly zero instances of artists showing their work, attempting to sell it, talking to interested people, or otherwise participating. One room, let's call it the Popcorn Nexus, was where the local theatre conglomerate sold their butter flavoring buckets o' chum and you could sign up with your DNI ((Social security number, basically.)) to fuck with some promo-pushing gadget brought by Disney/local cable company/Sauron for thirty seconds. The other room, which I hereby dub Shuffle & Blow --no wait, that sounds like it could've been fun. Let's see...the Maze of Farts and Purchases. If you were there with me you'd be nodding your head now, I assure you. This room was nothing but tables arranged in completely disorganized rows and cul-de-sacs, naturally placed so closely together they created constant peoplejams, naturally all selling the same 5 - 10 things. You could buy: graphic novels, booklets of hentai, figurines, tshirts, or fucking katanas. No graphic novelists, no hentai inkers, no figurine painters, no tshirt designers, no katana...fuck, I'd've taken a fucking tasselknotter at that point. No artists, no "artists". Shop clerks with their shop stuff. Five to ten varieties, please ensure you stop to gawk and mill at every.single.table nevertheless.

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Deep within the Popcorn Nexus.

But soft! What light through yonder fartmaze breaks! There was an outdoor area, a doublespoken cordoned-off parkinglot, selling weenies and more popcorn, with a coupla carnival rides for kids, disco blasting. And sure, something like 1.5% of the attendance was "doing cosplay". Most of it was bought, I suspect, at the pre-comicon-con, where you purchase generic blue cotton overalls and "luigi hats" while having your esophagus mechanically widened to accept the Second and Third Comings of the Popcorn.

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The patio de gastronomia was so fuckin' opulent and luxurious I wager that truck was selling straight-up pork sausages.

"And they get away with it; if a kid from San Diego, one from Germany, a Brit, and an Argentine get together at some point and the San Diegan says 'I went to Comicon this summer', and the German and Brit chip in, 'Oh, me too!', and then the Argentine joins 'em, 'So did I! It was great!' they don't turn on him and feed the guy his beer bottle."

---

The Best Things in Eulora are Grimy

Thursday, October 20th, 2016

Well, thing. There's just one Grimy Toolkit in game so far, so far as I know, or at any rate it was only released last week. So far as I...look, intelligence in this game is about as easy to come by as talented thieves and honest politicians. Suffice it to say there was an auction for a thing the purpose and value of which were not publicly known, and I won ((For 10MN ECU, ten bitcents.)).

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Looks about as indistinct as you'd expect from a bitter husk of a tool utterly bereft of even the crudest of instructions and entirely intent on obscuring its utility from the feebly throbbing folds of its owner's tortured mind, no? And the "grimy" apellation doesn't really suggest anything other than that the kit belongs in this decidedly downcast world, home of disgusting goop, penance clogs, petrified feelings, and so forth. At first I thought it was a gold panning device. But the sea is wide, and I'd have no idea what to do once I got there; so let's stay in the relative warmth and safety of "town", that unwelcoming bald spot in the grass populated by quivering humanoid boxes, and fuck around with this thing.

Initial observations: like certain items ((Pickaxes, adzes, hoes, and magic bags.)) it can be equipped in either hand. Unlike many tools ((Bandar toolkits, craft tables, worn old screens, samovars, turning wheels, and grotesque altars.)), it is not a container. That latter bit means using the thing won't be as easy as putting something else in there and pressing a magic button. But if other tools that are equipped in a hand are any guide, the Grimy Toolkit'll need some sort of written command to work, just like the mining tools are used via /explore. I was loathe to try that very same command with the new toolkit equipped given the distant memory of someone's magic bag breaking under that operation. Eulora is a harsh mistress apparently unhappy to be explored by items that don't meet very strict slag-on-a-stick criteria.

What else is there? Uselessly, /sit and /stand came to mind (I tried anyway). Eulorum has a list!. But it's mostly procedural stuff for moving around. There's gotta be a file with an actually complete list of these somewhere though, right? And the command that makes use of this new thing'll have to be in there, so let's dig ((Stuff like this really makes Eulora shine, I think; whereas pretty much every other game I've played would depend somewhat on players not digging around like this, and even attempt to penalize those that did, Eulora outright encourages it. For all I know this was actually imagined as the way to get the mystery demystified)). Going straight to dev/EuloraV(ersion) seems a safe bet since that's where juicy stuff like configure lives. Grep it for /sit, no dice, move on. I'm sure plenty of folks would've speedily deduced their way to the right file, but I've been hittin' the Crumbly Rock a lot lately as shinohai said and it took me a few minutes of diddling around in directories to find a pretty obvious suspect: cmdusers.cpp in /src/client. Lovely, alphabetized list, certainly some commands I've never seen before.

The novel ones were tried (I even proposed marriage to Heina as I moved down the list...alas, I was rebuffed). The novel ones told me pretty much nothing. Until /repair. "You do not seem to have the right equipment for this kind of work," it said, a suspiciously specific error amidst "Invalid work command"s and unresponsive spittles of syntax. If the toolkit itself isn't the right equipment for repairing though, what would be? Well sometimes crafting requires the player to wear certain items, like a Chair for the Head...so that and all other such equipment I had in stock was tried on in every permutation possible. Same error message. But there are other wearable pieces of equipment I don't have, or at least, their blueprints are around. Before commissioning the tinkerers to make me a full set of everything they knew about, I made the one thing I had the blueprint and all the ingredients for: an Early Technicolor Dreamcoat. It happens to call for 24 two-leaf clovers, which would've been a bitch if I didn't have a glut from earlier sacrificing activity. There's little I love more in Eulora than sacrificing, as it yields either hard-to-find harvestable resources or certain potions that grant skills ((This is how the mining and lumberjack skills were found this year, via imbibing The Good Hammer and A Butch Man's Buttered Scones, respectively.)), along with special tokens that go for half a million ECU each. But about that toolkit....

Once the dreamcoat was ready (it doesn't look so technicolored, which I guess is why it's the "early" version), I put it on, tried /repair again and got...a new error message! Which was slightly encouraging, even if by this point I was imagining myself stuck with the same unusable item in a year's time. "This item is already perfectly dysfunctional." I was trying it on my altar, which is the tool used for sacrifice. Mostly because wouldn't that be awesome, a way to extend the life of that rather rare ((Public records suggest I have one of three extant, with the other two belonging to Daniel P. Barron. The same fella has some blueprints to make more, but I alone have one of the key ingredients, and we haven't managed to reach any sort of arrangement, so miserly has the trade made us.)) font of unfair advantages? My altar has a healthy durability left yet though; what about another container-tool with such low durability it has no clicks left in it? Coat still on, I gave a decrepit Worn Old Screens ((A tool for shredding recipes to yield maculature, among other things.)) a try, and behold! They regained about 12k durability points.

The repairing process uses the McGuyver skill, and I've yet to determine if higher or lower ranking is ideal for durability points repaired versus Grimy Toolkit decay. I'll be holding that determination for the day when my altar is broken enough to be saved. And on that day, you'll most likely also see me gloating, for the toolkit won will recoup its costs at auction in a mere twenty clicks, not counting whatever items I might loot in bonuses. Everything from there is upside, and this in a land where upsides are usually either infinitesimal, illusionary, or both.

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