The new network card, while far superior, is not supported by the latest release of NetBSD. To get the driver, I needed to install a “snapshot”, a version of the system built from the current development branch. To install it, I needed only two floppy disks — but no matter how I tried the FTP transfer, the disk images turned out invalid. One of them somehow obtained an extra sector, too large to be written to a floppy. Weird. I finally downloaded and wrote the disk images from Mike's laptop, the only other machine in the office with a floppy drive. During the install, of course, several of the sets from the FTP site were corrupted on download, and I had to retry several times until they all succeeded.

Mike, his interest perhaps piqued by my last-ditch attempt with his laptop, began to get involved in my saga of network weirdness. His laptop also was unable to use SSH in our configuration. He tried something which I couldn't, for lack of hardware: dialing into a PPP server with his modem and connecting that way. It worked. There is something fishy somewhere between our network and the Internet, and it doesn't seem to be our LinkSys router. It appears to be something outside of our administrative control. Status on the office DSL line: no word whatsoever. Time to get on it.

I was flipping rubber bands at the ceiling, waiting for NetBSD to finish installing over the network, when I overheard Amit ask Kendra to run an errand. I was tired of flagellating my head against hard objects, and being made more sleepy by the inching progress bar, and I jumped at the chance to do something simple, understandable, and achieveable. A tape measure was needed, and by Thor, I was going to go get it. So I did. And, curious how close I was to Faneuil Hall, I walked there. It was a beautiful day and I sat down on a bench for a moment before walking back. Or so I thought — because two benches away, by total chance, Anja had just sat down too. I talked with her for a few minutes and then we walked back toward my office. Or so I thought — because I stopped at a yummy ice cream shop on the way and got a raspberry-lime “Rickey” (who knows) and some maple walnut ice cream. Wowsers.

Post Office Square is lovely. It should be moved closer to Jolt Office Building. One day, or so say the signs, there will be botanical gardens across from South Station. That'll be the day. Or, at least, a day.

I eventually got back to the office and delivered the emergency tape measure. And NetBSD finished installing. And SSH didn't work.

Anja and I met up with Josh Adams's brother Ike at Landsdowne Street near Fenway Park and had dinner and played some pool at the huge-ass Jillian's. In conversation, Ike is nearly indistinguishable from Josh. The only way to be sure would be to mention something about computers; Josh hates talking about them, and Ike is a programmer. All the while, the Sox got their arses wiped by the Yankees, 22-1. And the Lakers, coached by the great white Zen master Phil Jackson, won the NBA championship.

I got to grow up watching his Bulls win it six times. I got to watch Michael Jordan. I watched him against the Lakers floating at the basket with the ball in his right hand, his path on the right blocked, switching the ball in midair to his left hand, and finishing the layup on the way down. For all the legendary dunks and shots and moves, this is the reel of highlight film Michael Jordan left in my mind. You should watch it sometime.