feren

As most of you know, I'm a part-time smoker. Or a full-time smoker, if something in my life (usually work) is giving me a ridiculously high level of stress. I picked up the smoking habit my first or second year in college (I don't remember which) as a natural compliment to the amount of caffeine I was drinking and the need to get a break or two during the day. It was also a means of maintaining some sort of social contact -- the office I worked in at the school isolated me from the rest of the department and pretty much anything that didn't accept ~110 volts at 12 amps. Going downstairs to the Computer Lab to grab my buddy M.C. for a smoke was a great way to maintain some human contact.

So, back to the point. I smoke. I know some folks who also smoke, or smoke part-time the same way I do. I also know lots of people who dislike or actively hate smokers because they hate the smoke or the smell of smoke that usually comes with them. Fair enough and I go out of my way to give them their space. So long as they don't hassle me I have no problem with their standpoint. However, I know a very few folks who hate smokers because so many of them are goddamn litterbugs (I personally am surprised at how few fall into this class compared to people who just don't care for the smoke). You know how there's always fifteen or twenty cigarette butts laying on the ground outside any given office door? Ever notice how they're always thrown on the ground even if the building management has been polite enough to set out an ash can or a "Cease Fire" bucket? Yeah, those smokers. I hate them too, honestly. I don't throw my cigarette butts out the window of the Expedition if I'm driving and I don't just drop them on the ground outside a building when a receptacle is available (I roll the cherry out to make certain I do not set the trash bin aflame). I try to be courteous to non-smokers around me and, by extension, I try to be courteous to the environment people live and work in. I don't think that a vast prairie of flattened, stepped-upon cigarette filters is either of those things. It's particularly maddening to me because I don't see any reason for it. If there's an ash can and you're standing three feet away from it you can damn well toss your filter into there when you're done. Yet for whatever reason the culture in this country says it's okay to be lazy and throw the filter on the ground, sooner or later it'll get cleaned up or blown/washed away by some force or another. That force might be the building's janitorial staff, or a local eco-club, or just a heavy rain. If I had to put it into words I would say the attitude is one of Hey, whatever! I can't be bothered.

So now that I've explained my position on these things, let's rewind to Thursday of this week.
( Feren and the dumbass smoker )

I'm a nice guy. Maybe I'm too nice. I host websites and user accounts and DNS and e-mail and stuff on my server for a very very low (read: practically idiotic, as it doesn't even begin to recover my operating cost) fee. In exchange, I ask that you do something very simple: don't ignore the system's warnings about password strength when you set your passwords. Today I had a user account that was cracked, as near as I can tell, by simply bruteforcing the password. Once they logged in the cracker busily tried to compromise the system with nifty little scripts and tricks. Luckily I caught them early in their efforts. Even more luckily, they didn't actually do any damage to the box or compromise the system's integrity.

Because of this I've run John the Ripper and the results proved very surprising and unpleasant. These findings, in conjunction with this event, have forced me to make the following decree: Henceforth, if you set your password to be your username, but think you are OH-SO-CLEVER by typing it in reverse (which is ridiculously simple to crack) your account will be revoked and I will consider it a default on your one-year hosting fee. Furthermore, for every crackable password of this nature that I find, I shall kill you.

Let the bodies hit the floor

Not sure if it's the microwave move from Monday night (MMFMN?) coming back to haunt me, or if I slept wrong, or if it's a little of both.... but "ow." At present the small of my back feels like there's an axe lodged in it. A large, double-bitted axe, probably something you'd expect to see a dwarf carrying in one of the "Lord of the Rings" movies. A few minutes ago I dosed up with naproxen, which will have the pleasant side effect of making my wrists behave a bit better today... but right now I'm mostly waiting for the searing agony I feel with every movement I make to become something more closely resembling a not-searing agony. I'm not greedy, I'd settle for "obnoxious pain." However, until that happens I'll be sitting stiffly here at my desk, looking for all the world like a department store mannequin.

But at least I'm a well-paid mannequin.


. o O o .
Edit 0818 1/22/04: Does anybody remember the Stephen King novel Christine? Does anybody remember how Arnie hurt his back? I'm beginning to wonder if I was out pushing my Expedition around last night and I don't even remember it...