sacred adj.
Reserved for the exclusive use of something (an extension of
the standard meaning). Often means that anyone may look at the
sacred object, but clobbering it will screw whatever it is sacred
to. The comment "Register 7 is sacred to the interrupt handler"
appearing in a program would be interpreted by a hacker to mean
that if any other part of the program changes the
contents of register 7, dire consequences are likely to
ensue.
Node:saga, Next:sagan, Previous:sacred, Up:= S
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saga n.
[WPI] A cuspy but bogus raving story about N random broken
people.
Here is a classic example of the saga form, as told by Guy L.
Steele:
Jon L. White (login name JONL) and I (GLS) were
office mates at MIT for many years. One April, we both flew from
Boston to California for a week on research business, to consult
face-to-face with some people at Stanford, particularly our
mutual friend Richard P. Gabriel (RPG; see gabriel).
RPG picked us up at the San Francisco airport and drove us
back to Palo Alto (going logical
south on route 101, parallel to El Camino Bignum). Palo Alto is
adjacent to Stanford University and about 40 miles south of San
Francisco. We ate at The Good Earth, a `health food' restaurant,
very popular, the sort whose milkshakes all contain honey and
protein powder. JONL ordered such a shake -- the waitress claimed
the flavor of the day was "lalaberry". I still have no idea what
that might be, but it became a running joke. It was the color of
raspberry, and JONL said it tasted rather bitter. I ate a better
tostada there than I have ever had in a Mexican restaurant.
After this we went to the local Uncle Gaylord's Old Fashioned
Ice Cream Parlor. They make ice cream fresh daily, in a variety
of intriguing flavors. It's a chain, and they have a slogan: "If
you don't live near an Uncle Gaylord's -- MOVE!" Also, Uncle
Gaylord (a real person) wages a constant battle to force big-name
ice cream makers to print their ingredients on the package (like
air and plastic and other non-natural garbage). JONL and I had
first discovered Uncle Gaylord's the previous August, when we had
flown to a computer-science conference in Berkeley, California,
the first time either of us had been on the West Coast. When not
in the conference sessions, we had spent our time wandering the
length of Telegraph Avenue, which (like Harvard Square in
Cambridge) was lined with picturesque street vendors and
interesting little shops. On that street we discovered Uncle
Gaylord's Berkeley store. The ice cream there was very good.
During that August visit JONL went absolutely bananas (so to
speak) over one particular flavor, ginger honey.
Therefore, after eating at The Good Earth -- indeed, after
every lunch and dinner and before bed during our April visit -- a
trip to Uncle Gaylord's (the one in Palo Alto) was mandatory. We
had arrived on a Wednesday, and by Thursday evening we had been
there at least four times. Each time, JONL would get ginger honey
ice cream, and proclaim to all bystanders that "Ginger was the
spice that drove the Europeans mad! That's why they sought a
route to the East! They used it to preserve their otherwise
off-taste meat." After the third or fourth repetition RPG and I
were getting a little tired of this spiel, and began to
paraphrase him: "Wow! Ginger! The spice that makes rotten meat
taste good!" "Say! Why don't we find some dog that's been run
over and sat in the sun for a week and put some ginger
on it for dinner?!" "Right! With a lalaberry shake!" And so on.
This failed to faze JONL; he took it in good humor, as long as we
kept returning to Uncle Gaylord's. He loves ginger honey ice
cream.
Now RPG and his then-wife KBT (Kathy Tracy) were putting us up
(putting up with us?) in their home for our visit, so to thank
them JONL and I took them out to a nice French restaurant of
their choosing. I unadventurously chose the filet mignon, and KBT
had _je ne sais quoi du jour_, but RPG and JONL had
_lapin_ (rabbit). (Waitress: "_Oui_, we have fresh
rabbit, fresh today." RPG: "Well, JONL, I guess we won't need any
ginger!")
We finished the meal late, about 11 P.M., which
is 2 A.M Boston time, so JONL and I were rather
droopy. But it wasn't yet midnight. Off to Uncle Gaylord's!
Now the French restaurant was in Redwood City, north of Palo
Alto. In leaving Redwood City, we somehow got onto route 101
going north instead of south. JONL and I wouldn't have known the
difference had RPG not mentioned it. We still knew very little of
the local geography. I did figure out, however, that we were
headed in the direction of Berkeley, and half-jokingly suggested
that we continue north and go to Uncle Gaylord's in Berkeley.
RPG said "Fine!" and we drove on for a while and talked. I was
drowsy, and JONL actually dropped off to sleep for 5 minutes.
When he awoke, RPG said, "Gee, JONL, you must have slept all the
way over the bridge!", referring to the one spanning San
Francisco Bay. Just then we came to a sign that said "University
Avenue". I mumbled something about working our way over to
Telegraph Avenue; RPG said "Right!" and maneuvered some more.
Eventually we pulled up in front of an Uncle Gaylord's.
Now, I hadn't really been paying attention because I was so
sleepy, and I didn't really understand what was happening until
RPG let me in on it a few moments later, but I was just alert
enough to notice that we had somehow come to the Palo Alto Uncle
Gaylord's after all.
JONL noticed the resemblance to the Palo Alto store, but
hadn't caught on. (The place is lit with red and yellow lights at
night, and looks much different from the way it does in
daylight.) He said, "This isn't the Uncle Gaylord's I went to in
Berkeley! It looked like a barn! But this place looks just
like the one back in Palo Alto!"
RPG deadpanned, "Well, this is the one I always come
to when I'm in Berkeley. They've got two in San Francisco, too.
Remember, they're a chain."
JONL accepted this bit of wisdom. And he was not totally
ignorant -- he knew perfectly well that University Avenue was in
Berkeley, not far from Telegraph Avenue. What he didn't know was
that there is a completely different University Avenue in Palo
Alto.
JONL went up to the counter and asked for ginger honey. The
guy at the counter asked whether JONL would like to taste it
first, evidently their standard procedure with that flavor, as
not too many people like it.
JONL said, "I'm sure I like it. Just give me a cone." The guy
behind the counter insisted that JONL try just a taste first.
"Some people think it tastes like soap." JONL insisted, "Look, I
love ginger. I eat Chinese food. I eat raw ginger roots.
I already went through this hassle with the guy back in Palo
Alto. I know I like that flavor!"
At the words "back in Palo Alto" the guy behind the counter
got a very strange look on his face, but said nothing. KBT caught
his eye and winked. Through my stupor I still hadn't quite
grasped what was going on, and thought RPG was rolling on the
floor laughing and clutching his stomach just because JONL had
launched into his spiel ("makes rotten meat a dish for princes")
for the forty-third time. At this point, RPG clued me in
fully.
RPG, KBT, and I retreated to a table, trying to stifle our
chuckles. JONL remained at the counter, talking about ice cream
with the guy b.t.c., comparing Uncle Gaylord's to other ice cream
shops and generally having a good old time.
At length the g.b.t.c. said, "How's the ginger honey?" JONL
said, "Fine! I wonder what exactly is in it?" Now Uncle Gaylord
publishes all his recipes and even teaches classes on how to make
his ice cream at home. So the g.b.t.c. got out the recipe, and he
and JONL pored over it for a while. But the g.b.t.c. could
contain his curiosity no longer, and asked again, "You really
like that stuff, huh?" JONL said, "Yeah, I've been eating it
constantly back in Palo Alto for the past two days. In fact, I
think this batch is about as good as the cones I got back in Palo
Alto!"
G.b.t.c. looked him straight in the eye and said, "You're
in Palo Alto!"
JONL turned slowly around, and saw the three of us collapse in
a fit of giggles. He clapped a hand to his forehead and
exclaimed, "I've been hacked!"
[My spies on the West Coast inform me that there is a close
relative of the raspberry found out there called an
`ollalieberry' --ESR]
[Ironic footnote: the meme about
ginger vs. rotting meat is an urban legend. It's not borne out by
an examination of medieval recipes or period purchase records for
spices, and appears full-blown in the works of Samuel Pegge, a
gourmand and notorious flake case who originated numerous food
myths. The truth seems to be that ginger was used to cover not
rot but the extreme salt taste of meat packed in brine, which was
the best method available before refrigeration. --ESR]