For all of those warehouse queries that never seem to complete before the heat death of the universe, there’s often a faster version. Sometimes this is due to a fundamental misunderstanding of how queries work, or how Postgres specifically functions. The trick is knowing when to back away slowly from an ugly but efficient query, and when to inject a flurry of predicates to fully illustrate the original intent of the query so the planner makes better decisions. When partitions are involved, this can be quite an adventure.
When it comes to putting Postgres through its paces, we often turn to benchmarks to absolutely bury it under a torrent of oppressive activity. It’s a great way to obtain maximum performance metrics and also observe how Postgres reacts and breaks down under such pressure. But these kinds of tests aren’t really practical, are they? After all, many such simulated workloads are nothing but bragging rights measured against previous Postgres releases, or for hardware comparisons. But while functionality beyond defaults is often overlooked, tools like
pgbench are actually critical to the development process.
There seem to be quite a few popular Postgres conferences peppering the globe these days. This year, Simon Riggs of 2ndQuadrant gave the sponsored keynote at Postgres Open. I’m not entirely sure it was intentional since it wasn’t the title of his presentation, but he uttered the words “working together to make Postgres better for everyone” at one point. The phrase “Working Together” really stood out, because that’s a significant part of what makes Postgres so great. It resonated acutely with the impetus behind the [intlink id='pgcon-2014-unconference-a-community']Unconference track[/intlink] that remains a regular fixture at PGCon.
There’s a bit of loneliness in the world, I think.
But not the kind we’ve all come to recognize. Not the feeling that we are alone, unknowable, or otherwise separated from our peers. It’s something I never expected to encounter, and yet that’s exactly what makes it so penetrating. It’s a kind of emotional nostalgia, and the realization that the novelty of life itself is fleeting. I used to wonder what adults thought to themselves as they watched us play and grow, forever discovering, always surprised and delighted or perturbed. Now that it’s been about 20 years since I graduated from high school, I think I know.