March 27, 2020

Stupid Terminal Tricks covid-19: day 15 | US: GA | info | act

I spent this morning tweaking my terminals on my MacBook Pro and my Pi. First, some key authentication with ssh. In day-to-day use, this makes life much easier, and it’s safer for the system as you can dispense with passwords. Currently, I maintain four external servers. Most of the time they just run, and two are hosted, so security patches are run by Namecheap. I set all up with key authentication. It took an hour, but it’s time well spent.

Next, some bash tweaks. This included mainly adding aliases. Again, this is a big time-saver in daily use, and it}s very easy to set up.

I’m having a great time with this server administration. I used to know a lot more when I maintained a server for the department. I know I still need to set up an automated backup system for my new webserver, especially since I have clients on there.

Speaking of new webservers, I think I might use a one-page template at grlucas.com and put my cv there. I’m not really pleased with the way it’s set up here, but I could use this site to detail entries. I found a pretty cool one-page résumé template that would take me some time to put my cv into, but it might be worth it. I’m not sure about the colors, but I bet I could easily change them.

Sonnet 7 continues the you-gotta-have-kids theme, though the situation has changed. The sun becomes the metaphor for time’s progress: everyone admires the rising star as it progresses toward its zenith, but as it makes its way toward evening, people search for newer stars. So while you’re still in “thy noon,” you better do what you need to, dude.

Sonnet 7
By: William Shakespeare • Read by: Patrick Stewart

Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, 5
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day, 10
The eyes, ’fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon
Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son.

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