In which we arrive at the determination that 47 is a prime number. QED.

Apparently the reason for last week's problems with tabroom was that the server wasn't up to the task. 47 tournaments were running, and, well, that was just too many. Steps have been taken, as whenever a problem occurs, and we should be free of this problem in the future. Tabroom is a victim of its own success. 47 tournaments would mean thousands of teams, and hundreds of judges, and megathousands of helicopter parents back home—you name it. These sorts of issues are not the normal issues that affect average users, like forgetting which button to press in Excel to get values vs formulas or the like. Then again, I am reminded of a problem that occurred long ago, when people weren't getting notifications on their phones. The Powers that Program claimed that this was because of some odd wrinkle in the nature of prime numbers, which has to be the worst excuse since "The snake told me to eat it." Prime numbers indeed. Like 47?

Coincidence? I don't think so.

One thing that did come to light from all of this is that there is a backup of tabroom every hour or so, and that this is available if everything goes to hell in a handbasket, with the understanding that anything you do there is subject to ruin when the next backup arrives. Something to keep in mind, though, and I've added it to the disaster plan. Personally, I'm planning on not having any disasters. Maybe that's why the stars conspired to keep my away from the Pups last weekend. Saints should not be stained with the sins of others.

Meanwhile, I've sent out the first of what I'm sure will be many Rather Large Bronx messages, telling people to start getting their rows hoed in a timely manner. One thing I'm happy about is that the Bronxwegians took my advice and eliminated nuisance fines until the very end. Most schools have to put in invoices and whatnot early, and teenagers tend to be teenagers, and the niggling burden of $10 here or there, on either end, isn't worth the bother. Most people are trying to get the job done. The ones who aren't will always find a way to annoy you, no matter how many jackets you toss down on the puddles in the street to keep their dainty feet dry. It has been ever thus.

Fees are set this weekend, which seems early to me, but then again, the tournament is three weeks away. And the demand for slots remains high, and you want real people who are really coming in there, and, I guess, now is the time.

Meanwhile, not that anyone gives a rat's patoot, but I have gotten yet more new responsibilities at the DJ. I point this out, first, because it demonstrates that if you survive long enough, they figure you know what you're doing which, as people like the Paginator would be quick to point out, isn't necessarily true with the case in point, and second, because it is another reason why I'm a little less attentive to things like blogging and whatnot as I would like to be. While this may be cause for some people to rejoice, some people can be content playing bingo and paying rent (and you've got to love that internal rhyme), so screw 'em.


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