Mercurial > pidgin.yaz
view doc/the_penguin.txt @ 16341:786edf5e2144
The core portion of the migration code. This is implemented as I described
in my e-mail a while back. If we have ~/.gaim and not ~/.purple (or we
have ~/.purple, but the "migrating" file exists, indicating an incomplete
previous migration), we copy all the files from ~/.gaim to ~/.purple and
move and symlink directories, except for plugins and icons. For icons,
we move and symlink any subdirectories, as a special case for the Album
plugin (written by me).
For this to work, it needs to be called by the UIs. Also, the icon
migration code is not included in this commit, so I highly recommend you
not test this on your main .gaim directory if you want a clean migration.
author | Richard Laager <rlaager@wiktel.com> |
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date | Mon, 23 Apr 2007 16:57:12 +0000 |
parents | eb63f9960d07 |
children |
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The Penguin by Rob Flynn <rob@marko.net> and Jeramey Crawford <jacrawf@marko.net> Once upon a term'nal dreary, while I hack'ed, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten code-- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a beeping, As of some one gently feeping, feeping using damn talk mode. "'Tis some hacker," I muttered, "beeping using damn talk mode-- Only this. I hate talk mode." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak semester, And college life wrought its terror as the school year became a bore. Eagerly I wished for privledges;--higher access I sought to borrow For my term'nal, unceasing sorrow--sorrow for a file called core-- For the rare and radiant files of .c the coders call the core-- Access Denied. Chown me more. "Open Source," did all mutter, when, with very little flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Penguin of the saintly days of yore. Quite a bit obese was he; having eaten lots of fish had he, But, by deign of Finnish programmer, he sat in the middle of my floor-- Looking upon my dusty term'nal in the middle of my floor-- Came, and sat, and nothing more. Then the tubby bird beguiling my sad code into shining, By the free and open decorum of the message that it bore, "Though thy term'nal be dusty and slow," he said, "Linux be not craven!" And thus I installed a new OS far from the proprietary shore-- The kernel code open but documentation lacking on this shore. Quoth the Penguin, "pipe grep more!" Much I marvelled this rotund fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help believing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird in the middle of his floor-- Bird or beast sitting in the middle of his cluttered floor, With such instructions as "pipe grep more." But the Penguin, sitting lonely in that cluttered floor, spoke only Those words, as if its soul in that instruction he did outpour. Nothing more did he need utter; understood did I among that clutter-- Understood his command as I could scarcely do a few moments before-- I typed as furious as was willed me, understanding just a minute before. Again the bird said "pipe grep more!" "Amazing!" said I, "Penguin we will conquor the world if you will! By the Network that interconnects us--by that Finn we both adore-- We'll take this very world by storm!" For now grasped I what he'd meant, The thing I do while searching /usr/doc/* for that wond'rous lore-- Those compendiums of plaintext documentation and descriptive lore. Quoth the Penguin, "pipe grep more!" And the Penguin, never waddling, still is sitting, still is sitting In the middle of my room and still very cluttered floor; And his eyes have all the seeming of the free beer I am drinking And the term'nal-light o'er him glowing throws his shadows on the floor; And this OS from out the shadows that is pow'ring my term'nal on the floor Shall be dominating--"Pipe grep more!"