I’m in a losing battle against the clock to finish a new and hopefully final (for this phase anyway) set of simulations in my research so I present them in a teleconference with my customer and NASA on Friday. I thought I was in decent shape, even after the Great Coredump of 24 September; I thought I had finally mapped out the software’s limits and knew where the line was that I couldn’t cross without giving the computer brain damage. I rebuilt my models to fit in under this brainpower threshold, set up another batch job so they could run overnight, and went home.

A couple more of the simulations made it in under the wire before one of the larger ones started running…and running…and running…from 5 a.m. Monday till almost lunchtime today, ending only when I pulled an anti-Fristian diagnosis, declared it brain-dead (just by looking at it on screen!), and ctrl-C’d the insolent bastard.

One more round of rebuilding was in order, and when everything was ready to launch, I installed and configured a new, totally frivolous package in this particular computing environment: email power. I added a few lines to the script that’s in charge of running all the simulations while I’m asleep so that the computer, affectionately known as FRANC3DMonster, would send a text message to my cell phone after each successful simulation and email the output file to me so I could check it for errors at home. I can’t afford to waste another day and a half waiting around for garbage, or for nothing at all. I tested out the new commands, and when my cellphone buzzed with an insult from the computer, I knew I was an evil genius and rode off to the Highlands for a meeting.

After my meeting, I set up at a coffeeshop and got back to work on my paper. But I found it hard to concentrate, because it had already been a few hours and the computer hadn’t called to check in. Was something wrong? Were the simulations in trouble? Did FRANC3DMonster need me? As mom would say, I got a sudden case of the “mom-jeebies.” He should have called by now!

I rode my ass all the way back across town (don’t even get me started about a bad place for a two-wheeled commuter to get a pimple) and popped back into the office at almost 11 at night. Lo! and behold, there were already two output files from the latest batch, and the computer hadn’t messaged a peep. Oh I understand, it’s so busy and all, too busy to think about calling me. That’s fine. I’ll just pedal on home and mind my own business.

Next thing you know, I’ll start trying to overfeed it. But you look so thin!



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