Filters & Servers
I got a “tech support” last night, notifying me that the site was running perilously close to its limits for the amount of space it’s taking up. Not in sheer volume, but in the number of files I’m responsible for.
I noted that the kitty cam wasn’t uploading yesterday, and the hit counter was acting fried, as in, it was too busy to count traffic.
I poked through layers and layers of code and found no problems, and I couldn’t isolate difficulty on my end, even though I suspected I’d tweaked something once too often.
That’s strange, I checked the statistics about a week ago, and I was at about half-capacity. No big deal. Where did all the volume, sheer numbers, come from?
The bane of electronic existence – spam.
Deal is, I’ve got two layers of filters now, and suddenly, my mail is a lot more manageable. I’m happy. The problem is, the server stores all that spam, and saves it, and eventually the bulk size and sheer numbers eat up space.
I kept tracing the problem back to the server, so I broke down and called tech support. Validated that I was correct in my assumption.
“We’re working on it…”
As I plowed through the trash, in something like 3K messages, I found one e-mail that might have been missed. 1 in 3,000. I like those numbers.
Frankly, when dealing with this kind of scourge? I’ll take the occasional miss just to have peace of mind.
Nap guidelines
Sleep on it.
Which, I suppose, was what I was supposed to do. I was on time to meet a client in the late afternoon; however, the communications got screwed up some where – imagine that with computers, cell phones and a vast array of digital detritus – and I was staring at an empty plate and chart that went unexplained, while racking my brain trying to remember where I remembered a face from.
A tiny (petite) Scorpio. Left over contact from the apartment days, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name – there was something unusual about her name –
We swapped notes, but I was getting settled into that happy state that comes from a decent cup of coffee and a (vegan-esque) meal in a local dive. On the long walk home, I finally remembered the Scorpio riff – the Avengers.
Strange times, in the dark of the moon. The lake’s surface was still, and I flipped an albino plastic into the water, just once, not really reaching the river’s channel but trying, just one last time while the moon’s phase was supposedly perfect. No luck.
I’m sure the fish don’t think highly of an Aquarius Moon Phase, either, new or otherwise.
