MongoDB
The MongoDB downloads page does not provide any command-line friendly links or instructions to download their product. Luckily there was this: Install MongoDB on Linux which has a command-line friendly approach to download the latest version of MongoDB. Perfect.

$ curl -O http://downloads.mongodb.org/linux/mongodb-linux-x86_64-2.6.4.tgz
$ tar zxvf mongodb-linux-x86_64-2.6.4.tgz
$ cp -R mongodb-linux-x86_64-2.6.4/ ~/mongodb
$ echo 'export PATH=$HOME/mongodb/bin:$PATH' >> ~/.bashrc
$ . ~/.bashrc
$ sudo mkdir -p /data/db
$ sudo chown -R bttf:bttf /data  #we will be running mongod under 'bttf' user

The instructions are pretty straightforward. I created a ‘mongodb’ directory in my home folder, and created ‘/data/db’ that mongod will be using to store its data, with the correct file permissions.

Node
Before we get started with building our API with Express, we are going to need to install node.

I prefer installing node locally via one of these methods. Doing this will avoid a mess of permission problems you may encounter when using globally installed node modules, especially when modules require global installation. Global installs go into a directory in your home folder (which should be included in your path) and you will not have to use sudo –ever–. This saves keystrokes and is also a safer way to operate in Linux.

(You can ignore the curl request to npmjs.org; npm is now included with node.)

Express
I am going to use the Express Application Generator. With it you can run ‘express [dir name]‘ and it will scaffold out an express app. You will need to navigate into the directory and run ‘npm install’.

The first thing we want to do is install mongoose, which basically acts as our ORM for accessing our mongo database from our Express app.

npm install -S mongoose

http://emberjs.com/api/data/classes/DS.RESTSerializer.html#property_primaryKey

Ember – Creating new records and storing them, etc …

http://discuss.emberjs.com/t/why-does-store-createrecord-create-a-record-immediately/3161/5

Ember – Attaching multiple routes to a single controller

http://discuss.emberjs.com/t/is-it-possible-for-many-routes-to-share-the-same-controller/2160

Ember – Make sure API returns JSON for POST requests as well…

http://discuss.emberjs.com/t/what-should-an-api-compatible-rest-server-return/779

http://stackoverflow.com/questions/18671265/duplicate-null-id-records-in-ember-data

“… and thus, we have our answer, X is equal to the square root of y plus b,” I finished writing the mathematical expression on the chalkboard, dropped the chalk, and turned to take a look at the classroom, for most of which had sunk into an empty, absent-minded stare.

“That will conclude today’s lesson, see you all Thursday. Remember to bring in your pamphlets on that day.” The class shuffled out, and I readied myself to leave the auditorium. It was a Tuesday, which meant I had the rest of the day to spare after my single morning class. It became a routine of mine to stop by the campus Starbucks after these Tuesday classes to grab a coffee and spend time working on proofs. I proceeded to leave the auditorium towards the coffee shop.

It was a brisk morning and the sky was bare with only wisps of clouds. The sun shone brightly but it was not hot; it was mid-November, so the cold had crept in by now to maintain a steady presence day to day. Crowds of students were out, passing by one another, some in a rush, some not, and light chatter was heard sparingly all around.

I made my way through the sparse crowds until I reached Starbucks where I had gotten in line to wait for my coffee. The line was out the door. I stood there for not more than five minutes when I was approached by a young woman.

“Dr. Guggenheimer?” I took a good look at the woman. She looked to be as old as 25 perhaps; must have been a grad student. I didn’t recognize her. She was plain but attractive.

“Yes… Can I help you?”

“Hi, you probably don’t know me. I’ve read your work in Annals and I am a big fan of yours. I recognized you from your staff photo; I couldn’t help but do a little research myself. I hope you don’t mind.” Charming and polite; she must need something from me. I wonder what. A recommendation letter? A credit in my next proof? I kept my guard up.

“No no, that’s quite alright. What works have you read about exactly?” I wanted to test her intellect.

She astounded me with the brevity yet conciseness of her descriptions when she spoke of my work and her interests in it. We must have held conversation in line for almost 20 minutes, and then another 30 minutes after I got my coffee. The time flew by and all the while my guard slowly came down. And then I did it.

I thought of her, and I wish I didn’t. I thought of her and myself. She was talking to me and I sort of dazed out into my imagination. And then I came to realize how out of depth I was. Maybe I should get up and leave now, I thought. This has gone far enough, I thought even more, I should tell her it was nice to talk with her and that I should get going. I have to grade papers or something, yeah, tell her that. Suddenly I came back into focus to the woman asking me a question.

“So professor, would you care to come by my apartment this evening and help me take a look at some proofs I’ve been working on?” She gave me a sidelong glance.

“Oh, well sure. I’m free this evening,” I said, smiling.

Three flights of stairs, and I was at her door wearing my navy blue cardigan holding a bottle port wine in a brown bag. I knocked three knocks and held my breath. The locks unlocked and the door opened. The first thing I saw were her white teeth.

“There you are! Look at you, you look nice!” She smiled and we hugged and greeted each other. I stepped inside of her apartment. It had wooden floors with long slim boards, and there was warm yellow light illuminating most of the dining room and kitchen. The living room had large windows exposing the black night sky.

She was in the middle of preparing dinner, so I jumped in and helped a bit. We spent an hour or two talking and making dinner, happy in each other’s company. I was enjoying myself in a way that was almost foreign to me. It had been too long since I was in a relationship, and I felt myself beginning to open up, from the inside, like a flower.

We set the table and sat down to eat. It was chicken parmigiana with spaghetti and tomato sauce. I never told her this but it was my favorite meal; just like momma used to make. We sat at the table in our post-dinner languor and engaged in conversation. Soon it became silent, and she took the opportunity to posit a question to me.

“Professor, if you knew that you were going to die… Perhaps now, perhaps tomorrow, but very soon, how would you react? Would you wish you were never told? Or would you prefer to know, so that you could make the best of your last moments?”

I chuckled and joked, “Are you planning to kill me?”

She had a murmur of a laugh and replied, “maybe,” smiling slyly.

“Well,” I sucked in a breath, focused my brow and put my mind to it seriously, “if I were to die, be it now, or tomorrow… I suppose I would want to know. That way I could settle my debts, finish my proofs in time… And say goodbye to my students,” I eyed her conspicuously.

She laughed seductively now and flung her head forward with her hand holding her wineglass on the table, and her finger on the rim. “What if I told you, you were going to die tomorrow morning? What would you do then?” She looked at me in such a way I could feel the heat emanating from my ears. My blood was hot.

“You’d have to kill me in the morning to find out,” I gave her a most cunning glance with a smirk.

“Deal,” she accepted and perked up, ready for what was next.

I arose from the table and made my way over to her. I brushed her hair away from her face, bent down and gently kissed her. She engaged me, and soon we embraced.

The hours passed, and I laid bare at her side. She curled up beside me and twiddled my chest hair. I fell asleep to a most sound sleep. Not a thought had been in my mind since we left the dinner table; my mind had found peace, and my body had found expression. All was calm in the jungle now, and the lion slept tonight.

It must have been 5 or 6 in the morning when the woman saddled on top of me, suddenly awake. From the window blinds a light blue glow was emanating; sunrise was near.

When I saw the gun, I thought to myself, what is she doing with a gun? Then when she pointed it at me like the crazy wife in Goodfellas, I couldn’t believe it. I thought it was just a joke. She wasn’t fucking serious, was she?

“You’re not going to fucking kill me are you?”

“I said I’d kill you in the morning.”

“I thought we were fucking joking!”

“Sorry babe.” She cocked the hammer. That’s an old gun, I thought, if she has to cock the hammer.

My brains splattered all over her pillows and headboard.

It started somewhere at a restaurant. I made a rendezvous with a girl, unknown by my memory, but apparently my girlfriend given the context of the situation.

We got in our car; it was an SUV, Range Rover perhaps. She was driving. It was a long trip and I remember making a remark about just how long it was taking to get to where we were headed. I joked with her and she laughed. I felt grateful and relieved in a way, to find myself with a woman who I seemingly loved, being able to engage in nonchalant conversation like we did. It was reminiscent of times I’ve had in the past, but not so much lately.

We arrived at our destination, which turned out to be a house across a bay from the Miami skyline. It was a one story home, not unlike the homes you see on A1A just north of Boynton Inlet beach in Palm Beach county.

As we approached the house, the scenario changed into a Bengali dinner party. My significant other seemed to vanish from the context of the situation as we entered the party.

Before we went inside, I made a strange observation. I noticed that there were three full-size cars, convertibles, buried into the ground, with their tops down so that one could hop in and sit inside the car, albeit the vehicle was unmovable. Only one of them was occupied at the time, by people who seemed to be close relatives to the residents of the house (I didn’t recognize them).

We stepped inside and were greeted magnanimously by a whole gang of people. It was very joyous and bright inside, full of chatter and laughter. I shook hands and gave greetings all around. I proceeded to a reading room where there were several people that were closer to my age congregating and chatting. Among the crowd was my brother and a few close friends. I had intentions of making my way towards them after finishing my round of greetings with the hosts.

I was conversing with the oldest son of the hosts, when I realized that everyone else in the room had left, leaving just us two by ourselves.

“Let the young ones play,” I thought, “Us mature folks can spend our time being … mature.” As soon as I thought this, I turned to see my companion excuse himself briefly to take a phone call. It was then that I resolved to find out what happened to my younger companions.

I stepped out of the room and outside of the house to see billows of smoke. The one half-buried car that originally held passengers now had an additional one or two passengers, plus a full size hookah with one of the occupants puffing on its hose and blowing smoke in the air. “They’re having a good time,” I thought.

I proceeded to walk to the next buried car to find another group lounging and smoking hookah, but their faces were unrecognizable to me.

Then I walked over to the last car on the side of the house and there I saw the instantly recognizable back of my cousin’s head, sitting calmly in the center front seat, with another one of my close friends beside him. Behind them in the backseat were my brother and another friend of ours, fumbling around with a blunt.

“Look at my homies,” I thought to myself, laughing. It was a real funny situation to walk up on my friends who were up to their same tricks.

I walked around the car and made eye contact with everyone with a big smile on my face, unsure of how to break the laughter. My cousin and the rest saw me and instead of spouting a wisecrack like expected, they all nervously rose in their seats as to not offend for not inviting me to join them. As soon as I sensed this, I assuaged them by repeating what had come to mind earlier: “Look at my homies!” They all broke out in laughter and the dream ended with us laughing together.

Interpretation
The restaurant, the girl and the long drive in our SUV could have just been my mind’s subconscious idea of what my adult life might be like. The girl may have been my wife. The rest of the dream could be interpreted then as a view on the trajectory of my life.

The half-buried convertible cars could have represented material wealth. With all the glamour and perks of material wealth comes the weight of it as well. The cars were very nice, luxurious and comfortable. But they were immobile; stuck in the ground. The guests who were seated in them could not move much, however comfortably they may have sat.

Many of the guests, including my friends, found themselves seated in these cars enjoying hookah. This may be an indication of the paths our lives are taking. For it seems the majority of my friends are bound to enjoy material wealth, through the success they may find in their respective jobs and businesses.

I found myself in the dream above ground, walking freely, but at the same time a little bit lost; searching. I was in between conversing with an acquaintance and searching for my friends. But I found them, up to their same habits, and they allowed me to join in their company.

Material wealth has been something I have hoped to give less priority to as I get older. I’d like to think that I have always kept an aim for the spiritual, throughout life. Perhaps this dream is an example of what that life may be like; a little bit lost but free.

My memory of the dream starts hazily in a high school setting. I am dismayed by recent events that have been embarrassing and degrading to my character. What happened exactly escapes my memory. But Barton, my best friend at the time, and the other kids at school keep their distance around me, and I feel unwanted.

Somehow, I bring my beach towel to school and leave it somewhere, perhaps in the gym locker room. It somehow becomes the center of a joke amongst my friends from Greenacres, as one person comes to tell me. He was a jovial fellow, reminiscent of one of my acquaintances in high school. He tells me the story in which the beach towel led a party of people to chant my name in unison as a joke and as a showing of affection. “Schizoid! Schizoid! Schizoid!”

After this story is told, my reputation feels renewed and people begin to approach me for small-talk and conversation. Particularly a blonde girl, wearing a dress made from the same cloth as my beach towel, comes to chat with me. I find her attempt to converse with me a bit contrived but nevertheless I conduct casually with her and others.

Barton meets with me in the courtyard of the school just when the day was over, and hands me the towel. I left it in the locker room apparently and he was doing me a favor by retrieving it for me. I was grateful for that, and felt fond of him at that point.

Next, we were in my backyard with Barton and a few friends. Barton was throwing the football and I stood watch, observing. I felt as though this was the same situation where the dream had started; perhaps where my indignity first fell upon me. I called out to Barton to pass me the ball, and just then our other friends retired from the field, leaving Barton alone, but insisting Barton keep throwing the ball with me.

Barton was game and so was I, so I went long and caught the pass from behind with my hands behind my back. Barton was shouting praise from behind. For the moment, it felt good to receive praise from him. It was a confirmation of his amicability towards me and I was happy to receive it.

I halted my gait suddenly when I spotted a big yellow snake to my right. I dodged it by heading left but ran into another big yellow snake in the bushes. I fell back and in my falling, my legs went up and provoked the first snake into biting my ankle. There ended the dream.

Interpretation

Barton and I grew apart when I left West Palm Beach for college after graduating high school. We made our rendezvous every so often since then. Lately, since I have moved back into town, I have consciously broke away from hanging out with him. The reasons why are perplexing to me yet still, but it involved a sense of personal dissatisfaction with our relationship.

In the beginning of my dream, I felt like a nobody. If there were “cool kids”, I was not one of them. This is a feeling I’ve had before and a feeling that I am not uncomfortable with.

The beach towel that I brought to school in my dream is my favorite towel in real life. It is colored a vibrant, deep blue with white and light blue stripes running down it longways. It has a very retro vibe to it. It’s beautiful, to me.

The beach towel, I think, signified my uniqueness of character; the novelty that I have in this world and can offer to the world. When I brought it to school, I was unknowingly bringing my uniqueness for all to see, in a way.

Before long, the beach towel earns me a new-found popularity. I am approached by people I did not notice before. One of which I distinctly remember was a blonde girl, skinny, wearing a dress made from my beach towel. She seemed to represent the sort of people who mimic what others hold in high regard. My beach towel had become a symbol of novelty and had been validated by a social circle. And here she was, wearing it.

Later on Barton fetched the towel that I left in the locker room. I could interpret this as Barton acting favorably towards me as a result of my renewed reputation. But this could also be interpreted as symbolic of a characteristic of our relationship. In a way, Barton is returning my novelty back to me. What that means in a practical sense could be varied; perhaps when my talent is spent, and I am without it, Barton may be the type to return it to me, in some rejuvenating function. In that way he is helpful to me.

It is worth mentioning that when Barton handed off the towel to me in the courtyard, in the distance was the skinny blond girl watching intently.

In the backyard, when Barton and I began to play football, I felt a great cheeriness inside me. I was happy to be validated again and consequently began to let down my guard with Barton. The manner in which I let my guard down and felt the full cheeriness within me was borderline reckless.

Then I ran into the snake, and then the other. And finally I was bitten. To me, it must mean that my over-indulgence will get the best of me; that if I do not retrain myself, reserve my emotions, that I will get bitten by the snake.

I’ve had over 5+ years of experience in the industry starting as a lowly QA analyst and working my way up to high-intensity DevOps positions at my last two companies. At home I’ve dived into Javascript on my own time and have a commanding skill with the language now, I’d say above intermediate to advanced. It is something I’d like to switch my career focus over to now.

My question is, how can a person whose resume reflects a certain set of skills, jump into a job that requires a whole different set of them? And part of me is unsure that I may be chasing ghosts here; what if being a javascript developer isn’t what I cut it out to be? Is there a way for me to “dip my toes in the water”?


What exactly are you looking for? There is a slight chance you will find a company that requires simply a 'Javascript developer', and most likely it will be a company who does not have a clue what they're doing software-wise. You will need to be more specific if you want to be with a company who is looking for good developers, who are creating real products and success. You need to hone in on a certain paradigm, be it Backbone.js, Angular.js, Ember.js ... Node.js, serverside stuff, MongoDB, ElasticSearch; technologies that are in demand.

Why not write yourself your own blogging platform to showcase your ideas, perhaps a MEAN stack? Not only will this help with showcasing your talent to prospective employers, but it will also allow you to get a feel for what it is like to be a JavaScript developer; you will "dip your toes in the water" as you said.