And there was Ultraboard, and Ultraboard said, "Let there be pain and misery and all manner of foul things, and let the database be corrupt, for I am the World and My will be done." And there was Bec, and Bec said, "It's...gone." And there was much screaming and crying and tearing of hair, and many long distance screaming and crying volleys and mad typing rants, and there was shell access and empty storage space and despair. And Bec said, "Let us pray to the DreamHost, that it may grant us salvation in our darkest hour, for there is naught to be saved from nothing." And the DreamHost was silent, and there was a great stillness, broken only by the tears of the antlered turtle horse. Yet hope was not entirely lost, for the prophecy was not long in coming.
And lo, DreamHost spake unto its servants in great tablets of silicon, and it said, "Let there be daily backups." And there was Bec, and Bec said, "Please, great DreamHost, do not back up our empty space!" And there was Amy, and Amy said, "Let no ice cream go uneaten until this problem is resolved, ye, even should my body sprout hives or cover zipcodes." And there was Adam, and Adam said, "OMG!" And there was Ians, and Ians said, "It can't be that bad," upon which the Antlered Wrath righteously descended, for the writ of IFC tolerates no heretics.
And DreamHost did send one of its elect, St. Brian, to aid its servants in this their darkest hour, and he did confer upon the TechPriestess Bec the candles and matches whereof the altar had before been decorated, and spake St. Brian, "I've restored all your old files in a directory called restored." And Bec did sacrifice hours and bandwidth in thanks to the DreamHost and vowed that the light would shine again.
And there was Bec, and Bec said, "Let there be Ultraboard whining on the floor and begging for forgiveness with superbly repaired configuration files." And there was Amy, and Amy said, "The posts shall return! I will it! *cough*" And there was Adam, and Adam said, "My stomach says it will be ok." And there was Ians, and Ians said, "so there is a lig ht at theend of the tunel, yes? 15 is a *LOT*."
And there was another great silence as the final transfer began, and when it completed, the altar was bright and brilliant once again. So it has been completed this day, so let it be written, that these heroes did battle with the darkness and came away victorious, and data has cheated the Great Format once again.
Sorry I missed you, sweetness... ended up playing pool with Jorry and Captain Fairweather for a goodly number of hours. But rest assured that I thought about you-- okay, so mostly about horseback riding and how I like pirates and I wished that I'd bought myself a pair of pirate socks too-- and I shall make up for my absence anon, when you may tie me to my chair and demand that I play Starcraft with you, or command me to entertain you while you are in the agonizing throes of boredom at work... or some such thing. *grin*