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Do you find yourself with a migraine from the incessant *headdesk* associated with trying to figure out why your Radiant app that works so beautifully on your dev box turns into a megaFAIL after you try to deploy it on Heroku?

/*headdesk*/

Wait… are you using any radiant extensions?

Aha! Something isn’t explicitly clear in the vast majority of documentation on Radiant extensions: when you install an extension using ./script/extension install extensionName, you’re actually installing the extension as a submodule.  There are some good reasons to install an extension as a submodule: it’s super-easy, and it provides an easy way to update your extensions when the master branch has been updated.

But there is one very good reason NOT to install extensions as submodules: at this time, Heroku doesn’t support the use of submodules.  So that means even if you’ve followed the instructions and gotten it to work in your development environment, once you deploy to Heroku, the extensions disappear.  No listing in the admin panel, no files in your extension directories, everything is broke-ass, and….  /*headdesk*/

So what to do?  Most offering advice recommend that you find a way around this by installing the extension “normally”.   But what is ‘normal?’

We’ll install the Settings plugin as an example, since it is fairly lightweight and provides some functions that would likely be useful for most installations.    Here goes:

Manual path to installation:

will download a file that looks something like

Squeegy-radiant-settings-someOtherStuff.tar.gz

Extract and rename the file and delete the tarball:

Since you’re integrating the extension into the app, you need to… uh… integrate the extension into your database.

Start your server using

and make sure that the settings tab is visible in the admin interface… if not, something didn’t go right.

Now comes the fun part:

making it work on heroku.

Cue choir of angels, and set aside the excedrin: if you check out your app’s admin interface on Heroku, it should now be blinged out with a new tab for your settings extension.

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This is for real, though… more details to come.

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Will likely be popping in throughout the day with random observations, and hopefully reports of  a job offer or two.  Were there any better place for me to find employment that takes advantage of my understanding cultural phenomena, design, and geekery, I couldn’t imagine it. Hopefully this will be the opening of a new chapter in my life that suits me far better than the last.

And hopefully, I’ll be meeting up with my Adorkable friend Kate, another brilliant and talented member of the unemployed masses.

Blogging about blogging and web 2.0 at the web2.0 expo… wow, I’m so meta.*

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As an example, in  ”Speaker,” the autobiography of former republican speaker of the house Dennis Hastert, he goes on a page-long tirade about the renaming of the county we both shared as home: Kendall County in Illinois.

According to Hastert, Kendall County was originally named Orange County in honor of the east coast origin of some early settlers, and was renamed after “that liberal Jackson Administration” refused to provide the county with a post office until it was renamed after the Postmaster General… or something like that.  Point being, Hastert points to this story of the placename as the reason he’s the staunch conservative he is today.

Power over a place can be achieved, in part, by controlling the name of the place.  The act of naming a place can be both a source and an outcome of a struggle for power, and a mechanism of social control.

During 2007, in San Jose, CA, a battle raged within the community over what name should be assigned to the Vietnamese business district: “Little Saigon,” “Vietnamese Business district,” ”New Saigon…” and after the City Council selected the name “Saigon Business District” as a compromise among the many factions who had certain names in mind, those who favored the name “Little Saigon” were so enraged that they attempted a recalled of the councilwoman who suggested the compromise.   The recall was defeated only when the City Council rescinded the name (but opted not to select a new one).

Where places were not entirely renamed, most Native American placenames in use today as the formal names of cities, rivers, and other places in the Americas have been severely bastardized - in part, due to the inability of the new arrivals to master native grammar and pronunciation- but undoubtedly illustrating the power that European colonists exerted over the newly conquered land.

So, in short, unless you’re one of those talk show conservatives bashing the West Coast liberal regime purportedly headquartered in what those of us who live here know as SF, The City, or just plain old San Francisco, give St. Francis props… don’t call it Frisco.

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Windows without walls are called GLASS WALLS.

Easily broken.

Ah Microsoft, you’re lucky.  So many metaphors, so little time.

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Related posts:

1. On Roommates…

Roommates who go in your room when you are not home, and when you come home and through the window see them picking things up in your room and smelling them? No good.

Roommates who let their friends sleep in your bed when you are out of town and you come home to find lesbian porn on your computer… not good. (Especially if it’s lesbian porn featuring very *not* hot lesbians)

Roommates who insist on keeping the temperature in the house at 56 F, lowering the temp below the dew-point so that you can see your breath while you’re lying in bed are not good (hello, mold and mildew?)

Roommates who make you feel more than uncomfortable going to your local bar because they sleep with the bartender, then stalking him for a couple of months (read: drive past the bar 3x per night and drive past his house at least 2x/day) are not good, especially when it’s the only bar in your neighborhood. Then, once things have calmed down, sleep with him again six months later, rinse, repeat… not good.

Roommates who won’t clean their crap off the dining room table when you have company coming for dinner; roommates who freak out when you suggest that you could move their crap for them, screaming ‘this is my house too, and i have every right to use the table. I can’t even understand how you could even ask that,” yet when your sewing machine and office supplies are on the table (your table), they bitch and moan for an entire evening… not good.

Roommates who yell at you for not taking out the compost that they left in a brown grocery bag in the living room… when compost is supposed to be in a green biodegradable bag in the kitchen… and not cleaning up after their dog when it gets into said compost, dragging it into roommate’s room? PITA.

Roommates who all of a sudden, decide swimming in the bay every morning at 6 am? Fine. No problem. Unless they decide that you can’t listen to music, watch TV at a reasonable volume or talk on the phone from the hours of 9 pm – 5 am, and again from 12 pm until 3 pm while they take their post-swim nap? Not good. Especially if they claim they can’t use any kind of white noise generator because it reminds them of the ‘time they spent in the hospital after being attacked by a shark.’

Roommates who bitch that your typing is too loud after they’ve gone to bed? Uhhhhh…

Roommates who say they have celiac disease, but seem entirely fine after eating pizza while drunk… until you remind them 3+ days later that they ate half your pizza while walking home, and only then do they spend the next day in bed? Annoying.

Roommates who bitch at you for your 14 lb dog walking down the hall at 10.30 at night while their dog barks and whines at 6 am when they leave for 12+ hours… not so good.

Roommates who won’t let you hire a housekeeper, for it would make the aforementioned dog ‘feel uncomfortable?’ Not good.

Roommates who have forced EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR GUESTS TO LEAVE because they pick fights over stupid things like catalog photography, the ability of tall women to have strength in their quads, or riding ones bike through golden gate park after dark, then informing you that said individual is unwelcome in your house because, according to roommate, your friends ‘insulted me in my own house?’ Not good.

Roommates who yell “SHUT UP!” at your mom when you walk in the front door the first time she comes to visit? Do I even need to say it?

I’m the first to admit that I’m probably not the best roommate ever. I’ll pick stuff up at the store for you, pay bills on time, etc., but I don’t clean up after your dog’s messes, I sometimes leave my dishes on the counter in the morning, etc.

But you know what? Roommates who demand that you move out for complaining about the above? Bat-shit nuts.

————————————————– ——————————————–

*Note: I have absolutely NOTHING against individuals suffering from BPD. With proper treatment, it is a well-manageable condition. But going off medication AMA, knowing full-well, yet ignoring the possible consequences? If that decision is made while on medication, it’s a matter of poor judgment. And NOT GOOD.

**Note: the above statements all refer to the same roommate. The one before her falsely identified himself as an architect (really a contractor) and refused to flush the toilet because he ‘hadn’t used a real toilet in 3 years…” another peed on my furniture and brought back a marine from Tijuana, kicked me out of the room and got knocked up… but those seems like small shit (pun intended) compared to this one.

Related posts:

1. On not having roommates…

Damn, that’s some good meat. The ribs are slow-smoked, not quite falling off the bone, but tender, juicy, and just a bit caramelized on top. Get the sauce on the side to fully appreciate the flavor and quality of this meat.

As for the sauce, it’s sweet and not too spicy (read: not spicy enough for me), but that really doesn’t matter, ’cause here it’s all about the meat.

The potato salad was light, providing a nice counterpoint to the density and flavor of the ribs. Be forewarned, though… if you have a celery phobia as severe as mine, you might find it laden with Satan’s favorite vegetable.

Even though I ordered the rib sandwich, the chef saw one of his friends at the counter and thought the order was for him, so I didn’t get the standard order… it came with sauce on the side, probably a couple of extra ribs and some links too.

Links aren’t exactly my cup of tea: I prefer sucking the meat off a bone to eating meat that’s ground up, then compressed inside an intestine (unless it’s bratwurst). Nah, the links weren’t bad, but they’re the only remnant of that meal still sitting in my fridge 5 days later.

In summary:
+ Great ribs, decent everything else.
+ Not a fan of the style of sauce? Get it to go with sauce on the side, take home and dip or use your favorite instead.
+ Celery is the stalk of the devil.
+ Do I need to clean out my fridge? Probably.
+ Would I take my dad here? The answer is a resounding YES. So far, some of the best ribs I’ve had in the Bay Area… but then again, there hasn’t been too much stiff competition.

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1. The best eatin’ in town…
2. The Mayor of Butchertown

I did my shopping, then placed an order for my okonomi and korokke to go.  The service was fine, the interior was stylish, but I wasn’t there for ambiance… I was there to get okonomiyaki and get out.

20 minutes from placing my order to my front door.  Two more minutes until total disillusionment set in.

Although from appearances the okonomiyaki had good proportions of seafood and cabbage, something just wasn’t right.   The pancake itself was excessively thick and after the first taste, I could tell it was  undercooked.   There was far too much okonomi sauce, and not nearly enough mayo and bonito flakes on top to compensate.  And the pancake itself had no flavor…. and I mean NO flavor at all.

The korokke were simply not good… in fact, I’d venture to say they were quite bad.  The korokke were greasy, as if they had been fried at the wrong temperature.  Both the korokke and the sauce with which they were served had a bitter, almost metallic chemical aftertaste… after a few bites I threw them away.

So, when I happen to be at 99 Ranch again, I definitely don’t plan to drop in for the okonomiyaki.  If I’m starving, there’s a chance I might try the ramen… but when I want ramen, I’m going to Katana-ya instead.

And random fact: in Japanese, Kore mazui! (これ　まずい！) means “This tastes bad.”

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