The Wren’s Nest

Normally I’m quite conscientious about keeping up-to-date with upgrades, especially security-related ones. But in recent months my mind seemed to have been elsewhere and I let everything lapse. Oh I still read the security bulletins that went out - I just didn’t act on them. But this weekend I decided enough was enough and sat down and started updating all of my machines. All of them. I have a Mac running OS/X, a (cough) Windows XP machine and an Ubuntu machine. They all needed my attention and I made sure I gave it to them. There were innumerable software packages that had new updates/upgrades that I felt compelled to install, not counting the myriad patches from the likes of Microsoft’s “Patch Tuesday”. Backups to be done, scripts to be re-visited, drives to be analyzed and de-fragged, and yada-yada.

I sat back and thought about why some of my cron jobs weren’t executing, why Postfix was starting and a host of other imponderables and finally got everything working to my satisfaction. I don’t recommend waiting months to do this stuff; better to do it as it occurs - a lesson learned if I’ll keep to it.

After having to do several Wordpress upgrades in the space of a single week I finally decided to sit down and write a little script to help automate this mess. Why Wordpress doesn’t provide such a script is rather beyond me. This is admittedly a rather brain-damaged script but it does work. Tailor to your own needs:

#!/bin/bash
#
# Script to upgrade Wordpress.
#
# J. Wren Hunt
# July 11, 2008

# Ensure that we have full MySQL root privs before we start
clear
echo "Change the username/password in wp-config.php to root, re-edit and re-run."
exit

# 1st, go to wordpress site and get the latest version:
echo "Retrieiving latest Wordpress upgrade."
wget http://wordpress.org/latest.tar.gz

# If wordpress dir exists, blow it away
echo "Nuking any prior Wordpress directory."
sudo rm -rf wordpress

# Unpack it:
echo "Unpacking the update."
sudo tar xvfz latest.tar.gz

# Backup blog sites
echo "Backing-up blog directories."
sudo tar cfz wrenhunt.tar.gz wrenhunt

# Backup the MySQL databases too - do a tar of the dir and a dump of the db.
cd /var/lib/mysql
#
echo "Backing up the MySQL dirs."
sudo tar cfz wrenz-wordpress.tar.gz wrenz-wordpress

echo "Performing MySQL dumps."
mysqldump -uroot -pXXXXXXXXX --add-drop-database --add-drop-table --databases --compatible=mysql40 wrenz-wordpress >  wrenz-wordpress_dump.sql
gzip wrenz-wordpress_dump.sql

# Now start the upgrade

echo "Nuking Wordpress wp-includes, wp-admin dirs."
sudo rm -rf /var/www/html/wrenhunt/wp-includes
sudo rm -rf /var/www/html/wrenhunt/wp-admin

cd /var/www/html/wordpress
sudo cp -rv . ../wrenhunt

echo "Now point your browser to http://wrenhunt.com/wp-admin/upgrade.php"

The U.S. Senate  showed by vote today how spineless they are in the defense of their citizens’ rights today with their vote giving Telecoms immunity against patently unauthorized eavesdropping on U.S. Citizens.

I understand now how Churchill felt when Neville Chamberlain came back from Munich with an agreement signed by Hitler guaranteeing “Peace in our time”!

The Senate had a chance to uphold the law and do the right thing - they did neither and those who voted for this provision should be ashamed - if not tarred and feathered and run out of D.C.

Now is the time when you should begin your search for “Encrypted Mobile Phones“.

Churchill reckoned that he only had three “real-chats” with his father during his lifetime. As such he tried to emulate him as much as possible - copying his style of dress whilst he was Chancellor of the ExChequer. He always wore a polka-dotted tie and polka-dotted cufflinks.

This past Christmas Nina surprised me with a set modeled just after Winston’s. They’re lovely! I haven’t worn them yet - been waiting for just the right occasion - but I think this Thursday will be suitable as I meet Nina when she arrives on my doorstep from New York. It seems right and proper.

A good woman is like a good wine - intoxicating and beautiful, growing better with age!

[Editor's note] - This is apt to be a very long and rambling post as I have not actually set any of this stuff down in ‘print form’ before but am just extemporizing….

I’ve never considered myself very religious - although I was brought up in a household wherein Mom took us to Lutheran services most Sundays. I read and learned the Bible. I (somewhat) remember and try to obey the Ten Commandments. The “Golden Rule” (Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.) is still the biggie I guess. If you can do that you’re hitting most cylinders.

During my 30’s I never gave a second-thought to church services. I haven’t attended church since I was a teenager unless it was to a wedding, a christening, a funeral.

As I get older I question myself - do I have a spiritual side? My father had a great disdain for Catholics (”Brought Spain to a guitar and Ireland to poverty” he’d say). Like a lot of Westerners I explored Buddhism - His Holiness the Dalai Lama always appeared to be such a jovial elfin-kind-of-guy it looked like a good religion to embrace.

On my desk is a leather-bound copy of “The Confessions of Saint Augustine” which I ‘borrowed’ from my father’s library and never returned. And in the spirit of confessing - I’ve never read it either. I’m a little scared. I’m working-up the courage to tackle it.

Winston Churchill told the story of how his physicians recommended “exercise” for him during the war as he was constantly behind a desk as Prime Minister. “EXERCISE!” he exclaimed! “I get all the exercise I need by being paulbearer to my friends!”

I’m beginning to feel a little bit like him. In my twenties and thirties I flew to the weddings of my friends. Now I increasingly fly to funerals. It gives one thought.

And speaking of thought, this brings me to my next little sojourn. I was idly flipping channels last night when I came across Charlie Rose on PBS and he announced he would be interviewing Dr. Stephen Hawking. This is sorta like saying that he would be reuniting, interviewing, and having a command-performance of The Beatles! This was a big thing!

Firstly Mr. Rose prepped the audience by interviewing notable physicists on the thorny issues of quantum physics and string theory before giving us the prize of an interview with Dr. Hawking. Partly this was one of necessity as most everyone knows, Stephen Hawking suffers from ALS or “Lou Gehrig’s” disease and can only communicate using barely perceptible finger movements and a speech-articulation machine. The process is laborious and time-consuming thus necessitating the need on a 60-minute programme for pre-submitted questions.

Years and years and years and years ago my father bought for me a lifetime subscription to Scientific American. When I was a kid I couldn’t wait for the next copy to hit our doorstep. Now, I barely read it. It arrives on my doorstep unfailingly each month and I toss it in the bathroom where I’ll peruse it on occasion and that’s about all I know about string theory and 11 dimensions and quantum physics with muons, charm, and love particles.

My very first flight into South America I was as giddy as a schoolboy! We came in on some dilapidated old DC-8 out of New Orleans, ensuring that we made the departure time as there were no landing lights on the ‘airfield’ in Honduras. It was explained to us that if we were delayed we couldn’t land, as well, we couldn’t see where to land.

The view over the jungle canopy was fantastic! We came screaming-in low, I’m not sure if that was normal or if the pilots just wanted to have fun. We flew on a TAN SAHSA flight, which in “American” parlance stood for “Stay At Home Stay Alive”. Interestingly enough, these pilots have some of the highest ratings on flight simulators I later learned!

Back-in-the-day, the stewardesses (yes, I’m being gender-specific here) used to go around and spray DDT-laden bug spray on these flights to make sure we weren’t carrying any new malaria-carrying mosquitoes et. al., into the country. As if.

The pilot came out of the swinging cockpit door, looking all of “John Wayne-esque” with a long white scarf around his neck, barking in Spanish. We were a few hundred metres over the treetops. I didn’t know if he was telling us were getting ready to crash or to welcome us to our destination!

I was minding my own business, ensconced in reading a journal, my eyes downcast when I met Her. My life has not yet returned to normal. She occupies my thoughts.

I find that on days that I do not write I feel poorer than on days that I do. There is a lesson here quite. For the last few days I have not written and I have felt wretched. Writing allows one (or me) to defragment one’s mind, put the state of the day in perspective and dip a back through history.  Preferably with good music, and at night when all else is quiet save the wind in the trees outside my bedroom window.

I’m not sure if the following anecdote is truly connected with this thread, but I am reminded of the conversation that a lady took up with Dr. Johnson after he had incorrectly defined the word “pastern” as being the knee-cap of a horse.

“Ignorance madam. Sheer ignorance.”

Yes, writing can be an arduous affair.

I’ve written this story once before but due to the vagaries of computer hard drives, backups, crashes, etc., I can’t seem to find the original. So now I’m going to do my best to recreate it.

Arriving in Cuzco for the start of my archeological expedition I came in a few days early, both to acclimate myself to the altitude (13,300 ft) as well as do some general exploring. As my friends well know, I have a penchant for exploring alleys, which, might not be the smartest move in a country you’ve never been in and can’t speak the language and carrying $1000’s of dollars of camera equipment but nonetheless it’s what I do. It’s the nature of the beast.

So I’m exploring the ancient city of Cuzco (curiously enough, the only city in the world where people still live in archaeological settlements!) and I’m going down dirt-covered streets with no idea where the hell I am or even how to get back to the hotel. I know I’ll figure that out later. And my stomach rumbles. I’m hungry. I know almost zero Spanish. So I walk into this little nook-in-the-wall Mom & Pop restaurant, dirt floors and everybody looks-up as I enter. Here I am, a tall white guy wearing a traveler’s vest and cameras slung over my shoulder and then the proprietess, a middle-aged rotund lady came around and chatting animatedly escorted me to a table. All I could mumble was “Gracias” and “No habla”. She gave me a menu I couldn’t read and then reaching into my mind for the only other bits of Spanish I knew I asked for “Hugo de Naranja” (Orange Juice) and “Pollo Omelleto” (Chicken omellete).

In a few minutes she brought me both - it was by far the most exquisite meal I’ve ever had in my life! The Omellete was prepared perfectly, with just a slight burnt, crisp edge. I didn’t know what the custom on tipping was but I left a huge wad of foreign notes for her on the table as I paid my bill and she continued animatedly talking to me as I left, sated, and headed back out into the dusty streets for more exploring.

Along the way, I picked up some kids. They were interested in this ‘foreigner’. Fortunately, I had “my jacket”. My jacket was filled with innumerable goodies just for this eventuality. I gave out candy and balloons to all the kids and they all greedily took them and then quickly ran away. Except for one. Runny-nosed and barefoot, looking about 6 or 7 years old he stayed with me. I gave him a Pez dispenser shaped like a truck and showed him how it worked. The smile on his face could have melted anyone! I know it did me. It was a strange experience - I couldn’t talk to him due to my ignorance of his language and he seemed rather reticent himself.

By this time it was lunchtime and I found myself in front of a rather posh restaurant and thought nothing of going in and having a fine meal. I got a huge slab of chicken with all the fixin’s, wine, etc., for about $6.00.
I could see my little buddy outside playing with his Pez dispenser, delighted.

Then it dawned on me - if I had not been so self-absorbed I would have brought him in to this place, a place that probably he nor any of his family could probably never afford and bought him lunch. I felt like a heel. I still do.