The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Monday, January 29, 2001

A phone to wake you by




Roll over sleep.



Pick up. “Um, hello?”

“Greetings and salutations,” my answering machine said. “This is area code … ” Grumble. Roll out of bed. Cross condo. Shut off answering machine and pick up phone.


Dead silence.


Listen to answering machine. Mark going on about an exploit in bind 8.2.2-p5. Know about that. Knew about that for several months from a cow-orker at work who couldn't locate the exploit.





“Hey Sean!” It's John, the paper millionaire of a dot com and he's entirely too chipper this early in the … afternoon. “Are you awake?”


“But it's four o'clock! What time did you get to bed?”

“Uh … ” My brain hurts. “Eight this morning?”

“You're still sleeping, aren't you? Well, give me a call later on. I know what I want to do for my next big project.” He then hung up.


I hate waking up to the phone.

Obligatory Picture

[“I am NOT a number, I am … a Q-CODE!”]

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