Friday, January 1, 2021

Daisywriter

Growing up, my dad had an old daisy wheel printer hooked up to our computers.  (We had various Commodore hardware; we did not get a PC until 1996, and I'm not sure the Amiga 500 was really decommissioned until the early 2000s.)

The daisy wheel was like a typewriter on a circle.  There were cast metal heads with the letters, numbers, and punctuation on them.  The wheel was spun to position, and then what was essentially an electric hammer punched the letter against the ribbon and the paper.  Then the whole wheel/ribbon/hammer carriage moved to the next position, and the cycle repeated.

This was loud; like a typewriter, amplified by the casing and low-frequency vibrations carried through the furniture.  No printing could be done if anyone in the house had gone to bed, or was napping.

It was also huge. It could have printed on legal paper in landscape mode.

Because of the mechanical similarity to typewriters, the actual print output looked like it was really typewritten.  Teachers would compliment me for my effort on that, and I'd say, "Oh, my dad has a printer that does that."

Nowadays, people send a command language like PostScript, PCL, or even actual PDF to the printer, and it draws on the page.  Everything is graphics; text becomes curves.  But the Daisywriter simply took ASCII in from the parallel port, and printed it out.

Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Containers over systemd

“Systemd will solve all your problems,” they said.

Having used a number of systemd’s security features to configure a service, I am beginning to suspect everyone uses containers because container runtimes are trying to be secure already.

It's possible to improve the security of a service with systemd, of course.  I’ve worked hard at it.  But in the end, over half the *.service file is consumed with “trying to build my own container out of systemd directives.”  ProtectHome, ProtectSystem, ProtectKernelTunables, Protect This, Protect That, blah blah blah.  The process starts from insecure by default, and then asks me to layer on every individual protection.  This is exactly the sort of thing Linux zealots used to yell at Microsoft about.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But I digress.  I ended up with an excessively long systemd service configuration file, and to apply that to any other service, there’s no option besides copying and pasting those directives.  With every release of systemd, I have to comb the man pages again to see what else is available now, and carefully apply that to every service file.  It’s not easy to tell whether the security posture is up-to-date when the policy is so verbose.

Whereas a container has an isolated filesystem (its image) already, so whole classes of configuration (ProtectHome, ProtectSystem, TemporaryFileSystem) become irrelevant.  On top of that, container runtimes start with a more limited set of privileges by default, instead of handing out CAP_SYS_ADMIN and leaving it up to the administrator to carefully disable it.  Escaping from the container runtime is considered a vulnerability; escaping from a poorly-secured systemd service is considered user error.

This is all orthogonal to “containers are interop”, but I think both forces are feeding the containerization craze.  I’m left with the feeling again that systemd should have been the “obvious correct choice,” except they decided usability didn’t matter.

Sunday, December 13, 2020

The world is turning upside-down (2006)

Editor's Note: this is a post from my old Serendipity weblog, "Pawprints of the Mind," which was originally posted nearly 14 years ago, on 2006-12-29. Since then, I can't help but notice that social media created itself on a Pull model—follow who you want—and then replaced it with algorithms to Push into that stream. The text below is reproduced verbatim from the original post.

In the beginning, Push dominated.

A company built a product, and it was Pushed to market. Long ago, newspapers pushed by paper boys on the street carried advertisements. Direct-mail catalogs, pushed through the postal service, were nothing but one long and comprehensive advertisement for the company who created it. The rise of radio and television, both one-way broadcast media, allowed advertisements to be pushed to millions at a time, quickly and easily. Movies and music are produced and pushed, and the producers hope they break even.

After a company pushed their product, they spent plenty of money watching what happened to the sales. Was it going to explode or tank? Was the initial 10,000 piece production run going to be liquidated, or was another run ten times the size waiting in the wings? There was no way to sense demand except to Push supply and watch what happened.

Inevitably, Push was brought to the new media: the Internet. Building on the ideas of direct mail, email lists formed. Spam happened. Spam filters happened. Better spam filters happened. But those may be only a temporary solution.

As Pushing got cheaper, more was pushed, until users fled the deluge. Too much yang leaves people wanting yin. Onto this stage stepped Pull.

Nobody knew it was Pull yet. It called itself RSS or reddit, and it was about users coming and getting it. No more HTML-heavy, graphic-packed email stuffed into their Inbox every other day to make up for the poor quality of the site's search capabilities. No more "Insert-Brand-Here Loyalty Updates". No more subscriptions, passwords, bounce processing, and unsubscribing. No more spam, because the provider no longer needs to know where to send anything; they just wait for users to come and get it.

Pull is about user control. Pull is about saying "I want that" and not having some gatekeeper in the way, trying to extract monopoly rents. This is what scares the recording industry; their value as gatekeepers is plunging as alternative ways of connecting bands and fans arise.

Sunday, December 6, 2020

Can Micropayments Even Work? (2007)

Editor's Note: this is a post from my old Serendipity weblog, "Pawprints of the Mind," which was originally posted over 13 years ago, on 2007-05-13. The text below is reproduced verbatim from the original post.

(This is not entirely academic, as a current goal of my day job essentially amounts to implementing a micropayment system.)

I am beginning to believe that the fundamental problem behind micropayments as a viable option for widespread payment is that credit cards are effectively already micropayments. We're just spoiled by cash. Physical currency is limited by reality. There's not a limitless supply to steal, nor can it be readily created. Undetectable counterfeits cannot be manufactured by poking a few bits inside a computer. Rather, it's difficult to produce high-enough quality counterfeits, which is why good counterfeits only come in $100 notes. The run-of-the-mill counterfeiters are stuck trying to figure out how to make a passable $20 out of card stock or ordinary paper, because anything bigger is subject to too much scrutiny for their materials. (Even then, a local supermarket tests all those, pushing the bar down to $10.)

In essence, I suspect the cost of doing business with a credit card company is mostly the cost of implementing imaginary money securely. The more credit processing costs, the fewer shops join in, and the less of the currency marketshare the creditor ends up with. On the other hand, the services can't be priced so low as to be unprofitable. Not to mention, the more that people use their cards, the more interest the creditor can collect at little extra cost, as all the billing and accounting framework was already in place for that cardholder anyway. Charging less makes economic sense for them, even if they were a monopoly.

A credit card company ends up shaving a few percent off transactions made through them. Micropayments want to be the same thing, only smaller: shave a few percent off penny-sized transactions and make up for it by volume. But the micropayment competes with the credit gateways, if one of the main ways of getting money into the system is to purchase microcurrency on a credit card. Inside the system, the shaving has to be high enough to make up for the transaction cost of the microcurrency being bought and sold, as well as the real costs of doing the transaction and turning a profit.

And if micropayments are essentially equivalent to real currency, then they're also equivalently desirable for fraud, stealing, and counterfeiting: something the large creditors are spending plenty of money on for the best and brightest to counteract. This brings up another point: micropayments probably won't have the same amount of consumer trust as credit cards, because personal liability is legally limited to $50 on the cards. This is not the case for micropayments, which is going to make people not want to have too many of them at one time. That in turn limits the total amount of microcurrency that can be circulated, and restricts the market for higher-priced microsales.

Is it possible to best Visa and MasterCard at their own game?

Sunday, November 29, 2020

Discontinuous Complexity (2007)

Editor's Note: this is a post from my old Serendipity weblog, "Pawprints of the Mind," which was originally posted over 13 years ago, on 2007-10-24. Notably, this was written before I knew about jQuery, which improved on Prototype, eclipsed it entirely, and has since fallen out of fashion. The text below is reproduced verbatim from the original post.

When a system gets sufficiently large, changes become surprisingly difficult. It's as if a gremlin gets into the system, and then perfectly reasonable estimates end up being only halfway to the mark. Or less. This annoys managers, who made a bad decision because the estimate turned out bad, and it annoys engineers because they know their estimate was sensible. Why does this happen?

Slowing Down

I think the key factor is that the system exceeds the size of an individual developer's working memory. In the same way that virtual memory is a lot slower than real memory, development slows down considerably when it exceeds the mind. Tracking work on paper is not instantaneous, and the average developers' choice is to just forget stuff instead. Not that anyone can know when they've forgotten something, or else it wouldn't be forgotten.

The problem with the just-forget method is that it makes coding a lot more time-consuming. You end up writing the same thing, several times, each time accounting for a new layer of information which was forgotten, but later rediscovered. After so much work, you think the code must be beautiful and perfect, until you run it. Another layer of forgotten information becomes apparent, but this time, it has to be painstakingly rediscovered through debugging. There could be several more debug cycles, and if you're unlucky, they can trigger another redesign.

Paper is no panacea either; besides its slowness, it seems to be impossible to track all your thoughts, or sort the relevant from irrelevant. There's nothing like getting halfway through a paper design and then realizing one key detail was missing, and a fresh design cycle must begin. If you're unlucky, there's still a key detail missing.

This overflow is what makes the change so abrupt. There's a sudden, discontinuous jump downward in speed because the system passes a critical point where it's too big to track. Normal development activity has to be rerouted to deal with all the work that has to be done to make "small" changes to the code, and it becomes a huge drain on speed, productivity, and morale. It's no fun to work obviously beyond our capabilities, and the loss of productivity means the speed of accomplishments (and their associated rewards) diminishes as well.

Anticipation

If development must slow when an application reaches a certain size, is there something we can do to stop it from becoming so large in the first place? Could we see this complexity barrier coming, and try to avoid it?

I'm not sure such a thing is possible. Stopping development to go through a shrink phase when the critical point is approaching would require us to be able to see that point before it arrives. The problem is that complexity is easier to manage as it builds up slowly. It's not until some amount of forgetting has happened that we are confronted with the full complexity.

Also, the tendency to break a system down into components or subsystems, and assign separate people to those systems, allows the complexity of the system as a whole to run far ahead of the individual subsystems. By the time we realize the subsystems are out of hand, the whole is practically tangled beyond repair. Besides, your manager probably doesn't want to spend time repairing it even if it wasn't that big.

Familiar Conclusions

No matter what angle I try to approach improving my programming skill from, I keep arriving at the same basic conclusion: that the best systems involve some sort of core, controlled by a separate scripting or extension language. The oldest success of this approach that I know of in common use today is Emacs, which embeds a Lisp dialect for scripting. Having actually made a script for Vim, I have to say that using a ready-made language beats hacking together your own across a handful of major revisions of your program.

I've really begun to see the wisdom in Steve Yegge's viewpoint that HTML is the assembly language of the Web. With SGML languages, document and markup are mixed together, and most of the HTML template you coded up is basically structural support for the actual template data. Even in a template-oriented language like PHP or Smarty™ built on top of HTML, you're forever writing looping code and individual table cells. With a higher-level markup language, you could conceivably just ask for a table, and have it worry about all the exact row/cell markup.

The other major option to reduce the complexity of Web applications, which has apparently been enthusiastically received already, is to put libraries into the languages we have to make them more concise for the actual programming we do. One obvious effort on that front is Prototype, which smooths over (most) browser incompatibilities and adds a number of convenient ways to interact with the Javascript environment. Prototype-based scripts are barely recognizable to the average JS programmer. At what point does a library become an embedded language, if that's even a useful distinction?

In the end, understandable programs come from small, isolated parts. Pushing all variables in the known universe into a template one-by-one is not as simple as providing an interface that lets the template find out whatever it needs to know. Laying out HTML by hand is not as concise as sending a cleaner language through an HTML generator. (And no, XML is not the answer.) Libraries can help, but sometimes, nothing but a language will do.

Wednesday, November 25, 2020

Where is 'localhost'? (Docker networking)

Building up to the devproxy2 release, I set things up to test in Docker, using a known version of Go.  Nothing worked for quite some time.

Core problem: localhost inside the container is not the host network.  I had to configure it to listen on all addresses (by asking Go to connect to ":8080" without a host address), per this other Stack Overflow answer. If I had thought to check the exact error message client side (curl: empty reply from server), I could have solved this one first, not last.

Once I fixed the core problem, everything started working, and I didn’t go back and test the other things I had tried.  So everything else is only a potential problem.

Potential problem: localhost inside the container is not the host network.  I configured it to connect to host.docker.internal instead, per this Stack Overflow answer.  This is the same as the core problem, but in the other direction.

Potential problem: according to my notes, the default network bridge in Docker doesn’t have Internet access. Creating a user-defined bridge solves this.  Furthermore, using Docker Compose automatically creates a user-defined bridge for the stack.  By the time I solved the core problem, I was already using Docker Compose for the networking feature.

Sunday, November 22, 2020

Obvious (2009)

Editor's Note: this is a post from my old Serendipity weblog, "Pawprints of the Mind," which was originally posted almost 12 years ago, on 2009-04-28. The text below is reproduced verbatim from the original post.

When things like Amazon's 1-click patent come to light, suddenly there's a mob of Slashdotters decrying the idea as 'obvious'. My thoughts on the rsync protocol were the same: knowing that there was a program to transfer changed parts of files over the network, I turned my mind to figuring out how the changed parts could be detected. Later I came across a description of the actual rsync protocol, and it was indeed fairly close to my idea for it. Therefore rsync is obvious.

Or is it? The solution may be relatively obvious, but the problem itself was not something that ever crossed my mind before running into the program that solves it. The invisibility of the problem ends up hiding the solution as well.

Apple seems to be actively searching for non-obvious problems: the ones people don't even think of as problems until the iWhatever comes out and redefines the entire market for whatevers. The iPod's clickwheel seems innovative until you realize it's basically a mousewheel. An analog interface to digital systems. Apple only put that kind of interface on because they happened to see that purely binary controls on existing MP3 players were fairly primitive. Once the iPod was released, nobody wanted to admit to being blind to the problems Apple tackled, so their chosen solution (undoubtedly one of many obvious possibilities) was hailed as pure genius.

It seems that the magic is not in who you are, it's in what you choose to think about. If you've never asked, "How quick can we make it for customers to order?" then you'll never end up with 1-click shopping.