I just finished the nastiest debugging experience of my career–nearly 3 weeks on a single bug. After days and days of staring at code, swearing at core dumps, tailing logs, connecting to gdbserver via a multi-hop ssh tunnel from inside a secure environment, and general programmer misery, I felt like doing cartwheels when I finally figured it out, tweaked a few lines of code, and observed stability again.
Hindsight teaches me this lesson: undocumented, unhandled constraints waste enormous amounts of time and energy. If you’re interested in writing good code, you must know your limits, and you must communicate them. This especially matters when the constraints are obscure or surprising.
image credit: ericdege (Flickr)
My bug seemed simple enough at first blush: Continue reading
When I was a technical director at Symantec, I had to formally certify at the end of each quarter that I had not entered into any “side agreements” with customers.
A side agreement is any arrangement that takes place out-of-band, off-the-books, or using private channels not normally examined by accountants. In business, they are usually a bad thing; they can be used to build Enron- or Madoff-style house-of-cards revenue pipelines that are gleaming and glittery at first glance, but that are ripe for collapse because they’re full of hidden caveats and preconditions.
The former Enron towner, now owned by Chevron. Image credit: DaveWilsonPhotography (Flickr)
The problem of side agreements might not impinge on the consciousness of software engineers much, except when they grumble that sales or execs or product management is “selling the roadmap” instead of shipping features. But would you believe me if I said that engineers perpetrate their own Enron-esque side agreements all the time?
In my previous three posts, I explained why the semantics of programming languages are not as rich as they could be. I pointed out some symptoms of that deficit, and then made recommendations about bridging the gap. Finally I introduced “marks”–a feature of the
intent programming language I’m creating–and gave you a taste for how they work.
In this post, I’m going to offer more examples, so you see the breadth of their application.
Before I do, however, I can’t resist commenting a bit on the rationale for the name “marks”.
In linguistics, markedness is the idea that some values in a language’s conceptual or structural systems should be assumed, while others must be denoted explicitly through morphology, prosodics, structural adjustments, and so forth. Choices about markedness are inseparable from worldview and from imputed meaning. Two quick examples:
I’m told that in Czech, the word “prozvonit” means “to call a mobile phone and let it ring once so that the other person will call back, saving the first caller money.”
Image credit: AstridWestvang (Flickr)
How would you translate this word to someone in New Guinea who has never experienced electricity, let alone a telephone or a bill from Verizon? You wouldn’t. This is an example of a “lacuna“–a translation problem caused by semantic gaps in a target language. Lacunas occur in programming languages. You might know a few; maybe you wish C++ had python-style generators–or that Java had Haskell’s notion of pure functions–or that C supported PHP-style string interpolation. But what if I told you that semantic misalignment between any pair of programming languages is just minor details? What if I claimed that all programming languages I’ve used have numerous, pernicious, and expensive semantic gaps? That we don’t see these gaps for the same reasons that a stone-age hunter-gatherer fails to notice his inability to discuss patterns of cell phone usage? Would you think I’m crazy? Continue reading
It’s the season for coughs and sniffles, and last week I took my turn. I went to bed one night with a stuffy nose, and it got me thinking about software.
What’s the connection between sniffles and software, you ask?
Let’s talk redundancy. It’s a familiar technique in software design, but I believe we compartmentalize it too much under the special topic of “high availability”–as if only when that’s an explicit requirement do we need to pay any attention.
Redundancy can be a big deal. Image credit: ydant (Flickr)
Redundancy in nature
Mother Nature’s use of redundancy is so pervasive that we may not even realize it’s at work. We could learn a thing or two from how she weaves it–seamlessly, consistently, tenaciously–into the tapestry of life.
Redundancy had everything to do with the fact that I didn’t asphyxiate as I slept with a cold. People have more than one sinus, so sleeping with a few of them plugged up isn’t life-threatening. If nose breathing isn’t an option, we can always open our mouths. We have two lungs, not one–and each consists of huge numbers of alveoli that does part of the work of exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide. Continue reading