The Pain of Kubernetes

Whither Kaspersky

A short time after the government officially banned Kaspersky Antivirus from its computers, you might start seeing a full scale advertising reputation-saving binge from Kaspersky itself. So far they're touting their award as best antivirus in a recent test, their employees doing a lot of volunteer work, and the great smell of vodka.

This is a brilliant shot on the part of any of Kaspersky's enemies, as there is a claim of spying on government data, followed by immediate denial and Kaspersky himself offering to show his program's source code to prove data is not kept by their antivirus (the government did not take up his offer). So even if Mr. Kaspersky is correct, the accusation has produced enough doubt to stop people from using it. As I said, brilliant.

• I like Rolos.

Bathe in my milk?

The sad part is that Social Justice Warriors will get her shut down because the service is men-only.

• if you have a Lenovo laptop and want to install *Ubuntu 17.10, don't do this yet. There's a bug which will corrupt the BIOS. There is a bigger problem than corruption: 17.10 came out two months ago.

Crowdsourcing. Crowdsourcing. I haven't ever said that til now, but I have an excuse.  Say it with me: Crowdsourcing. Crowdsourcing is another buzzword, but this time it's based upon something real and good. There's an app called Gas Buddy. It gives you the price of gas at many different places. It does so because people put in the prices. Crowdsourcing is when the People do the work.

Another fine example of Crowdsourcing is junk phone number verification. Forgive me if this is old news - I'm just getting around to typing this. We've all signed up on the No Call List, right? The list tells ethical companies and marketers (an oxymoron if I've ever heard one) not to call you. Ever. If they do, they can be sued for approximately $500. Of course we don't answer the phone if we don't know who's calling, so we take down the number and enter it into our favorite search engine (which is duckduckgo.com). This will produce a bunch of results, telling you, via Crowdsourcing, who the number belongs to and what happens when they call. It's inevitably junk calls. The only links you don't want to click are the ones that lead to commercial phone research companies, who want to charge you to look up the owner of the number. Then you go to your app place and download a call blocker, if your phone doesn't already have one.

Another trick these bastards use is spoofing. They disguise their number. Some of them disguise it with the first three digits of your phone number. If your number is 213-555-1234, their number would come up as 213-555-3852 or similar, to make you think it's a local or related number.

Your homework is to try this out. And for extra credit, use Crowdsourcing in casual conversation this week.

I find it handy to simply never answer the phone, even when I know who's calling.

• in the Might As Well Live In A Cave department: it turns out that even apps that request no permissions can gather information they don't need. Tests were run, that exposed some minor holes in android. Remember dial phones?

Here's something you can do to end the year right: delete your Google information. Also some helpful Q&A from duckduckgo.

• "To deter identity thieves," Faceyspaces has introduced facial recognition. It's so accurate that it can identify you in photos in which you are not tagged. Faceyspaces: the front page of the NSA. Do you realize what a great thing Zuckerberg is doing by taking a load off the NSA? Or he's owned by the NSA - pick one. We are a nation of morons.
• In other facial recognition news, Windows' Hello Face recognition has been fooled by a picture. 
• We have one system that's a giant facial recognition database and one operating system that can't recognize you.

The Holidays

It was a festive time, it felt like a really long time. And this was just half a day.
We have a family tradition I like to follow: Mrs. lefty goes and makes merry, while I stay home to keep the dog company. Unfortunately it rarely works this way.

For his part, Marshall really does have to stay home because he doesn't like dogs. We think it's just denial; if he sees dogs, he has to face the reality that he is one. Everywhere we visit has dogs, so it doesn't work well for him. One house had a full grown St. Bernard. Have you ever seen a full grown St. Bernard? You can pretty much saddle him up and give rides (to the adults). He was very friendly, and wanted nothing more than to play with the boxer, who we call Licky Dog, because she'll jump in your lap and kiss you to death (kinda like our vice president). She loves everybody, and despite her medium size, is all heavy muscle.

As I type, Marshall is on guard, protecting the house from invaders only he can see, barking like a mad dog. As far as I know, the medicines don't produce hallucinations, but the house is a pretty crazy place.

Failing once again to stick to Dog Duties, I wanted to visit the in-laws, who venture three hours to see the family. They live in the Valley That Time Forgot, where the only sign of civilization is the huge new Walmart, only an hour away. Mom-in-Law is absolutely thrilled because she comes to visit and has a choice of three supermarkets and actual restaurants. And nary a pickup truck with a gun rack.

So the idea was to go Christmas eve and spend some time with them. When I say 'idea,' I mean if I fail to go visit, it will be used as a rather large weapon sometime later on down the road. YOU DON'T EVER SEE MY PARENTS. Get the idea? It's not that I don't like them - they're very nice people.. it's more that I'm working diligently on my agoraphobia certificate, where I don't leave the house, except for that damn pesky work. Plus if I went on the eve, I wouldn't have to deal with the barrage of family that would descend on the house on Christmas itself. This was an absolutely brilliant idea.

But, like all absolutely brilliant ideas, it was doomed to failure.

I was awakened, sorta, way too early in the morning, when my wife barged into to tell me one of the family members had an 'episode,' wherein he could not get his wife, who was in bed, to respond to him. We looked at each other, and spontaneously intoned, "Genuine Hissy Fit<tm>," only without the <tm>. As I gratefully went back to sleep, she jumped on her white horse and sped off into the distance (she drives a Ford Distance).

I got up around the crack of noon, as is Tradition, at which time the wife let me know that everyone was fine, and it was just a Genuine Hissy Fit<tm>. I could make a lot of money by going into business, diagnosing people over the phone. Remote Medicine. The technology is fresh and ripe, but like vegetables, no one wants to eat it.

Since she was already there, she would go to see her parents without me.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. This meant I'd have to go on Christmas day. With actual PEOPLE!

In addition to working on my agoraphobia certificate, I already have an Introvert certificate. This is not a diagnosis: this just IS. By way of explanation, an extrovert is the guy at the party who drinks beers, watches sports, and talks LOUDLY with his couchmates and anyone who walks in the door. LOUDLY. No one has actually arrived at the house until the extrovert has said their name, as they come through the door.

An introvert is the person who says hello where he has to, then immediately looks for a place to hide, so no one will (heaven forbid) TALK to him. He doesn't like or talk sports, may not drink alcohol, and likes Coke, but all they have is Diet Pepsi, because only women drink soda and if women drink soda, it has to be diet (to wash down the triple fudge donuts and pound cake). Pound cake is named for the way you consume it: you pound it down. I don't like it, even though the cake also comes in chocolate.

The house is very strangely set up, with lots of rooms, in a triple split level dual range oven configuration, with a lovely sun room downstairs. This is actually a very unfortunate addition, as we haven't SEEN the sun in over three weeks. The state police have put out a BOLO (Be on the Lookout) for it, as the precipitation has caused accidents and is threatening to turn downtown into a swamp. Moreso. The room is screened in only, so you get the benefit of a comfy couch, a grill (because everyone grills indoors, don't they?) and the lovely, gray, twenty degree weather). It's everything everyone wants from a Christmas celebration. And I couldn't even hide there, as it was some sort of staging area for the dogs, who took turns getting their paws muddy in the back yard, which resembled an incredibly dirty pool. Ever see someone try to un-muddy a St. Bernard? He was having none of it.

Therefore my hiding place was a rocking chair, smack in the middle of the living room, where everybody was making inebriated chat and greetings. I somehow managed to make the spot into a lefty Zone, whereby it was borderline invisible. Either that or the family was absolutely terrified of me, which is more likely. They don't know how to deal with an introvert who doesn't like sports, and worse, is about ready to shoot the large screen tv, from which is emanating the lovely sounds of Bad Christmas Music. What kind of music is Bad Christmas Music? All of it.  I took advantage of the fact that last year, everyone was playing with their phones and not talking. Unfortunately, this year I was the only one. I went virtual shopping at Guitar Center, which is open 24/7 online, and you don't have to deal with LOUD other guitar players and little kids trying to play ridiculously complex songs that more experienced players cannot play. Like.. ahem... me.

And then it happened: a child arrived. They tell me the child was one, which they have to tell me, as I can't identify child ages because I just don't care. You wanna know how to turn an entire room full of intelligent, competent women into monosyllabic, silly, almost drooling people? Bring in a baby. The entire family appeared as if they had never seen a baby before.  I don't like children any more than I like adults, so I made all efforts to widen the Cone of Silence, so the child would not see me. Unfortunately, children, like cats, sense that you're not fond of them and come to visit, sometimes jumping in your lap. I waved at it and suggested it ride the St. Bernard, who we took to calling Horsey.

By this time, every hallway and crevice was jammed with people. Loud people. I attempted to leap under the rocking chair, but there was no room, as my wife's tolerance for noise has been shrinking to match mine.

As the two hours we were going to stay got closer to seventeen, it was time to go. This was very fortunate from a health point of view, as my head hurt like it was under a huge bell as it was being rung, and the voices were telling me to do things I would surely be arrested for.

My favorite part of the visit was when we were leaving (it's not what you think, although that's pretty amusing), several children and people started shrieking at something simultaneously, causing me to wince in pain. The hostess asked what was wrong with my eye, as I was squinting from the pain. I felt bad about telling her the truth and made some excuse about being allergic to St. Bernard drool (yeah, they drool - and they can sometimes launch it so it slimes the person halfway across room, on the couch, who hasn't seen the dog and is now wondering if they should call Ghostbusters).

After about twenty years of my wife making it clear, no one got me anything. Some people would feel sad and excluded. Like the season, I felt joyous. I wouldn't have to pretend I loved the handmade red and orange-checked sweater from Kohl's or the ADIDAS FOOTBALL sweatshirts somebody got free with the large box of Real Good Brand golf balls.  Aside from having to visit people, I did very well: only my parents got me a gift, as there is no talking to them. The dear old neighbor who Marshall has trained to feed him on command, sent over some dog treats. We feel bad that she spends so much on hot dogs, so we get her grocery store gift certificates. This also benefits her sister, who recently went through training too. People who don't live there know Marshall and ask after his health.

I like Christmas, in that I get a lot of time off work, so that I can sit around like a vegetable. I'd prefer to sit around like a puddle, or at least a fruit - something sweet - but one must go with what one has. Since Marshall's ex-cat used to have the Christmas tradition of disemboweling the tree and breaking all the one of a kind ornaments, we didn't have a tree for many years. We were going to break that tradition as Marshall's cat left us last year, but we didn't.

This is not a normal household (no, really?). The effort required to get anything done on a timely basis is frequently too much, rendering the project worrisome but invisible, hence we did not have a tree last year. When I say we didn't have a tree, we actually have two: in boxes in the shed. Getting at least one of them to the house and assembled is something close to a Christmas miracle. This year, determined to make things festive, we bought an ornament six months ago. Please hold back your excitement. It was an Eeyore ornament, per tradition, and Wife did not remember purchasing it, also per tradition.

So as of Christmas Eve, the ornament was safely tucked away, somewhere, in its box. Kind of like the tree. Most of the neighborhood has amazing light displays and houses all perked up and decked out for the holidays. Our house was still standing, for which I was grateful. The unstated bonus of not putting up a tree is that you don't have to take it down (by February or so).

• Speaking of Christmas, some nice person gave us a box of chocolates. Wanna know when you day is starting badly? She got the coconut cream, then the orange cream.
• Being the more cautious of the pair, I waited twenty four hours. Everybody was still alive, so I thought I'd take a shot. I love candy. My first dilemma was which one should I have? The map on the inside of the top promised maple cream, which sounded exactly like the candy I didn't know I needed. AAAAAAAAAh - that was disgusting. Normally my reactions are not that strong, but the taste was disgusting. If I were a food critic, I'd say something like, "It was vaguely chocolate, with hints of fruit and freshly mowed grass," but it would have more sarcasm to it.
• I figured it had to be user error - maybe I was holding the map upside down. I turned it around but there was no Chocolate Fruitgrass listed. Since it's just rude to put the half-eaten confection back, I lobbed it into the trash. It was a Christmas miracle: it went into the can! I can't hit a small city with an H-bomb.
• Alignment of the map was considered complete when something involving nuts looked like it was a little lumpy. I was going to play it safe this time, with a caramel chocolate. After all, how can you f- that up?
• I have no idea, but they did. Another foul confection from Granny's Grass Candies, Inc. I ran around the house like I was on fire, putting in anything that would fit into my mouth to kill the taste: forks, a pan of congealed bacon grease from this morning, the battery from the lawnmower, and several shot glasses, all to no avail.
• I grabbed the kitchen tongs and gingerly placed the lid back on the assortment, hoping beyond hope that nothing in that box would touch my skin. Or my house. T'was then I saw the front of the box. There was no warning label. There were no flashing lights. Not even a nuclear radiation sign. THEY WERE DIET CHOCOLATES!
• How can someone so sweet give an xmas present that even Satan himself wouldn't eat? These people are serious church people, so I figured it's relatively safe to assume they're down with the Thou Shalt Not Kill thing. If I had the balls, I'd pick up the box and see what they used to sweeten it. I'll put lots of things into my mouth, like GMOs and table legs. My wife eats cheese that smells like sweat socks that have been marinated for an entire year. But I will not eat artificial sweeteners. Aside from the fact they cause cancer, they taste horrible. I can detect one part per million.
• As against governmental regulation as I am, someone needs to put warning labels, flashing lights, and an audible alarm on these things, for the good of the public [cue Monty Python Whizzo Chocolates Assortment; Crunchy Frog].

In case you missed the news over the holiday season, employees of Microsoft  and Amazon have been caught using prostitutes who are victims of human trafficking.  So just remember, every time you use Windows or order from Amazon, you're supporting human trafficking.

No, wait, that's not it.
We have two separate discussion points that are not separated in the article.  As a libertarian and human, I have nothing against prostitution: we are sovereign over our own bodies and cannot be told what we can or can't do with them. Since the services are advertised as escort or massage (or towing), they are legal.  Unfortunately, prostitution is used as an embarrassing term to gain leverage.

The main item is human trafficking. This is beyond horrible.  Women are brought here from other countries and told they owe money or their family is threatened unless they cooperate.  Fortunately, some of this is coming into the light.

How the Microsoft and Amazon employees are supposed to know their prostitutes are victims of trafficking is beyond me (and them, apparently). I say this as a libertarian and human, even if it requires me to defend Microsoft.

The only funny part comes from the employees, who used their work email addresses to order the services. Let us think about what would happen if we ordered 'massages' on company email?  I would get a visit from my boss, stating that if I had one, I'd need to provide everybody else with one too.

* Kubernetes is an open-source system for automating deployment, scaling and management of containerized applications

Merry Xmas from lefty Claus