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Setting Up A Site Server with Jaguar
rgraham writes "James Duncan Davidson (the original author of Apache Tomcat and Apache Ant) has an article over at O'Reilly's MacDevCenter that walks you through the steps of not only getting Apache up and running on 10.2 (pretty simple, I know) but also DNS and Mail. The aricle goes along well with Alan Graham article on how to setup your own .Mac type service."
THE WOMAN IN THE RED CONVERTIBLE drove on an abandoned highway, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding a lit cigarette. Orange and red clouds of morning littered the otherwise barren horizon. Her weary eyes focused on the infinite fields of grass and wheat waving restlessly in the morning breeze.
She reached hastily for the button to retract the top, the aforementioned breeze caressing her coarse brown hair. The radio played softly.
"Let's go down the waterfall," it sang tirelessly. "Have ourselves a good time." She flicked ashes from the cigarette.
"It's nothing at all; nothing at all, nothing at all."
She threw her burning cigarette onto the road, hoping secretly that the pavement would catch fire, and then once again reached for the button. The top shut with a satisfying click. Oblivious of her destination, she depressed the accelerator to the floor, her automatic revving in response. Faster and faster she carelessly drove until the car could accelerate no further.
A small bridge loomed ahead. Much like her life, the river beneath it was perpetually stagnant. As she neared it, epiphanies inundated her mind. Everything -- what she must do -- became clear. Without hesitation, she jerked the wheel to the right, smiling in her ignorance. To this woman, the future was of no relevance. For those seconds, ignorant or not, she was alive. Then, after her brief moment of solace had passed, all was eternally still.
Devour my thoughts.
Who would want it then ?
http://saveie6.com/
yo :o
yo
yo
!!
i like the way little boys feel
nevar
goatse.cx
I wanna see a guy with a traffic cone up his ass. I need masturbatory material!
'Twas the night before Goatse, when all through the house
Not a penis was stirring, not even with mouth;
The Giver was hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Goatse soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of anal-sex danced in their heads;
And Katz in his 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a fuck in the sack.
When up in my anus there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see Katz start to splatter.
Away to the bathroom I flew like a flash,
Tore open my anus and looked at the gash.
The moon in the glass had a vibrant red glow
Gave the lustre of sunset to my nutsack below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer!
With a little old driver, so lively and quickse,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Goatse.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, TACO! now, JAMIE! now, MICHEAL and TIMMY!
On, CHRISD! on HEMOS! on, PUDGEY and CLIFFY!
To the top of the ass! fronts to the the wall!
Now pound away! pound away! pound away all!"
As faggots that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a hetero, mount the next guy,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of sex-toys, and Goatse pics too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The moaning and pawing of each little poof.
As I drew in my ass, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Goatse came with a bound.
He was dressed as a furry, from his head to his feet,
And his clothes were all tarnished with urine and shit;
A bundle of sex-toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a hooker just flapping his sack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His ass cheeks like roses, his cock like a cherry!
His cute little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his scrotum as white as the snow;
The stump of a blunt he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and was a bit smelly,
He shook, when he wanked like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him beat off himself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings with smelly big turds,
He layed a big log right under my nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a fucking great missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY GOATSE TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
on jagwyre, setting apache and PHP and sendmail all on their own is doable for the not so experienced (like me)
However, the shit hits the fan when you're trying to make php pages send mail. SO far, I've tried every walkthrough I could find, but still get errors like this (sorry for long lines):
Sep 7 12:51:19 visbak sendmail[448]: g87ApJxR000448: from=www, size=262, class=0, nrcpts=1, msgid=, relay=localhost
Sep 7 12:51:20 visbak sendmail[450]: g87ApJxR000448: to="jeroen clarysse" , ctladdr=www (70/70), delay=00:00:01, xdelay=00:00:01, mailer=esmtp, pri=30241, relay=in.mx.skynet.be. [195.238.3.129], dsn=5.6.0, stat=Data format error
Sep 7 12:51:20 visbak sendmail[450]: g87ApJxR000448: g87ApKxQ000450: DSN: Data format error
Sep 7 12:51:20 visbak sendmail[451]: g87ApKxQ000450: SYSERR(www): openmailer: insufficient privileges to change gid, RunAsUid=70, new_gid=0, gid=70, egid=25Sep 7 12:51:20 visbak sendmail[450]: g87ApKxQ000450: to=www, delay=00:00:00, xdelay=00:00:00, mailer=local, pri=31286, dsn=4.0.0, stat=Deferred: local mailer (/usr/bin/procmail) exited with EX_TEMPFAIL
Anyone an idea ?
When will I end this grieving ? When will my future begin ?
Of course, that just completely shatters my illusions of reality* and self-importance. But thank you ever so much, for your finely thought out response.
Just the fact that you spent so much time generating a response means so much to me.
I can just envisage you now, hunched over your computer in a darkened room, sweat pouring from your brow as you punch out your extraordinary wit and vitriolic response. I bet all three of your brain cells were reeling at the strain, as your one free hand hunted for those elusive letters on the keyboard as you giggled and cackled with glee, finding one letter after another. Truly a triumph over your genetics.
And the coup de grace? The master stroke? How you utterly and impressively posted as "Anonymous Coward."
What a truly wonderful example of human evolution you are. Your mother must be proud!
* Of course, I don't really give two thirds of three fifths of a fuck what you think, so that kind of renders the whole thing null and void, no?