March 24, 2020
Run those Updates covid-19: day 12 | US: GA | info | act
Today, I ran outside again, but this time with my Orange Theory heart-rate monitor and application. After having a bit of difficulty getting it to talk to the app, I was off. I quickly discovered that getting my splat points was a bit more difficult than just maintaining my usual running pace. I needed hills or speed. I guess that’s the point. Yet, as is evident by my scores, I was able to get the necessary splat points in just under three miles. Now, if the app just worked on my watch, so I would not have to carry the damn phone.
Most of the rest of my day was working on getting my three classes in shape for the rest of the semester. World Literature was the most difficult, and I still have some components to finish. One great discovery was the amount of material on YouTube, like an excellent introduction to theater and, especially, tragedy. I figure students would rather watch an entertaining video than listen to me lecture. I’m considering making a quiz. It’ll be interesting to see how Zoom meetings will work. We might be doing it this way for a while. (I hope not.)
In update news: I created another virtual server on Google Cloud. My intention is to transfer the various Wordpress installations I manage over to that server. First, to test my LAMP install, I used
grlucas.com to get it working. I originally planned to use Caddy in place of Apache, but after struggling with installation, I gave up. (What, guys, no Debian packages?) It seemed like a great server, but best of all it had built-in SSL. Still, I’m confident that I can get everything working in the next couple of days.
Today’s sonnet from Sir Patrick. Again, another carpe diem-like poem, urging a handsome youth to marry and procreate, so he can pass along his beauty like his mother did to him.
By: William Shakespeare • Read by: Patrick Stewart
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb 5
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime; 10
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.