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To the streets and the skies of Chicago. Blinking between buildings and gliding low over open water. Picking up the odd animal—or child—and dropping it down, down, down until it goes splat against the pavement, hitting so hard its limbs fly off. Causing general havoc and instilling fear into the hearts of those who walk the streets after the last rays of the sun have finally disappeared beneath the skyline.
And I tried to help capture it. Him? It? I’ll just go with it. Anyway, keyword: tried.
Morning, three days ago, I saw it, hovering above me, feeding. And by morning, I mean, morning morning, ass-crack of dawn morning. So fucking morning that I could still go to bed and get up at a semi reasonable time morning.
I was walking home from a late night out with the boys. Or morning. Whatever. Anyway, I was stumbling home, down Western Ave, the night was almost over and I could see that tinge the sky gets right before the sun rises and I stopped to look up, to admire the light gilding the skyscrapers when I saw it. A shape. A weird goddamn shape in the sky between the buildings.
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I looked around to see if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. They weren’t because I was alone, totally alone, which was odd for the area I was in. I looked back up to see that the shape had turned and seemed to be looking at me and I stared right on back, drunk, stupid.
It suddenly swooped lower, towards me, like it wanted to see me better, and I held up a hand, shading my face, trying to see it better. And I did. And I gasped.
It was a man with enormous wings and for one wild, crazy fucking moment I thought it might be an angel, a real, live goddamn angel, but then I saw the glowing red eyes and the dead thing hanging limply from the man’s right hand, blood dripping from it, splunk splunk splunk, against the windshield of the car parked on the street next to me.
And as it came closer I realized it wasn’t a man at all. It was something else, something alien, something man-like but barely. It was watching me with its beady, evil looking red eyes and was chewing, slowly, slowly, like it was savoring the taste. It lifted the thing it was holding and took another rip out of the flesh, and then I heard it, mewling down to me, a weak cry—the thing it was eating was still alive.
I turned and ran, hoping that what I saw was just an unspeakable hallucination brought on by too much beer.
Next night, I saw it again. At work this time, twenty-three stories above Chicago.
I work as a security guard for some high-tech computer company in The Loop. To be honest, I don’t even know what they do, all I know is that it pays decently and offers benefits. But there are times when I’m walking through the building late, late at night that I think to myself, maybe I don’t want to know what these people do. Maybe it’s better that way. Still, I always kept a flash drive with me, just in case I ever saw anything…incriminating, something I might want a copy of.
I was working a graveyard shift, of course, and was the only person in the building, of course. The first few hours went by like a breeze, but I was getting restless in my little room, sitting there, watching all the screens, making sure all the rooms I knew to be empty were really empty.
I sighed and turned to look away, but something caught my eye. Something not extraordinarily unusual, but enough to make me do a double take.
One of the screens was showing what looked like a static image; usually one of the lights plugged near the computers up there would throb up bright then die low again, but the image was showing just a faint light. Confused, I stood up and left to investigate.
The light was located on the twenty-third floor, so I took the elevator to the twenty-second then took the stairs the rest of the way, just in case there was something more nefarious going on and I needed to be quiet. The floor was dim when I entered, nothing unusual—my company likes to save as much energy as they can—I was just getting ready to make a sweep towards the light, when I heard it, a small, sharp noise I’ve never heard before.
Tick tick tick tick.
My heart throbbed up to my throat as I turned the corner, expecting to see something horrific. There, near the window, was a dark shape, low to the ground, vaguely man-like. Suddenly it moved and I saw it was a man, and he was holding what looked like a long stick in front of him. He reached out and turned something against his face. And suddenly I realized he was holding a sniper rifle and adjusting the sight.
Tick tick tick.
I stood by the doorway, scared still, wondering what to do, how he got in, when I heard a voice. It sounded slightly amused.
“I can hear you breathing.”
“Who are you? What are you doing in here? I’m security.”
He pushed himself up and turned towards me, the rifle held low in his hands, pointed at the ground; I unconsciously took a few steps back, afraid, then swallowed thickly and said again, “Who are you?”
He threw the rifle up onto his shoulder and stood at ease, “To you, I’m Agent 42.”
“Agent…42?”
“Or Spooky, I guess. Take your pick.”
“Agent Spooky…42…um, okay,” I looked him up and down again. He was wearing a balaclava, bulbous spectacles, and light tactical gear, all black, all ridiculous. Printed on the balaclava was the bottom half of a skull, except the teeth were different, longer, like a vampire’s. Slung across his back was some sort of axe, its blade glinted in the dim light; an array of weaponry and rope hung from his belt—including a grappling hook, carabiners, and what looked like sticky bombs—but none of those things grabbed my attention, it was what was hanging from his right hip that struck me. “Um, is that a scabbard?”
He looked down at it, his face totally obscured by the specs and the balaclava, and sighed. “Empty. Miss it.”
“Miss it?”
“The heft of it. The absurdity.”
“Uh…uh, yeah, look I don’t know what you’re snorting, but you’re on private property, and I’m going to have to call the police if you don’t leave. Now.”
The guy laughed and, despite it being muffled by the balaclava, it sounded real and hearty. “After the shit MKUltra did? Yeah, I’m not into drugs.” He thought for a moment, “Besides alcohol, of course. And caffeine. And maybe the occasional, uh, jazz cigarette, you know, for the night terrors and the flashbacks…”
I squinted at him, wholly consumed by confusion, until the thought of my job caught up with me again and I shined my flashlight in his face making him grunt and turn away. “Who are you really and what are you doing here?”
“I’m really a super secret agent guy and I’m here for that.” Still shielding his eyes, he pointed at me and for a split second I panicked before realizing he was actually pointing straight behind me at the windows.
Tink tink tink.
I turned around, slowly, expecting to see something fucked up—and I did. It was the Mothman, he was holding the severed head of what looked like a human child. He blinked, his red eyes boring into my soul, and, as I watched, he tapped the head against the window again, the mouth gaped open and the teeth hit the glass. A fleck of red tinged drool dripped out and slithered down the surface.
Tink tink tink.
“Confident son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.” I tore my eyes away from it and looked back at the man. He was kneeling now, the rifle leaning against the desk beside him, his spectacles on the floor next to his feet. He shrugged off the axe and set it down, gently, then pulled off his balaclava, shoved it into a pocket, and ran a hand through his wood colored hair. He stood up, grabbed the rifle and said, “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Up. Don’t worry, he’ll follow. He hates me.” The man smiled winningly, then turned towards the elevator.
“Should we use the stairs? You know, just in case?”
“Fuck the stairs.”
We stood in an awkward silence as the elevator slowly made its way up and up, towards the top level, where the ceiling was vaulted and there was room enough for battle. The man was checking the rifle, sliding parts in and out, popping bullets from his belt into his pocket for what I assume would be easier access.
“So,” he said still looking at his rifle, making me start a little. “Any ideas?”
“What?”
“I need to catch him, keep him alive.”
“We could, um, we could, build some sort of catapult and launch a missile at it? Except instead of a missile, maybe we could use a net?”
The man snorted and muttered, “Catapult,” under his breath.
“What?”
“Oh, I was just laughing at your suggestion of using a catapult. Clearly the superior missile launching system would be a trebuchet.”
“Aren’t they, like, the same thing?”
The man looked at me dumbfounded, like he might openly slap me or something, and his mouth fluttered a bit as if he was about to burst out in an endless diatribe; instead he just shook his head and muttered, “Not worth it, it’s not worth it.”
“Um, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. It’s a good idea. But there’s not enough time or material.”
“So…what then?”
The man sighed, long and heavy, then said, “Bait.”
We arrived on the thirty-third floor and stepped out expecting chaos, but the Mothman wasn’t there; the man didn’t seem too bothered, and muttered something under his breath I didn’t quite catch. He pulled out a Gerber knife and then pulled up his pant leg and then looked at me, smiling. “Care to donate your shirt?”
“Um…”
“I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Uh, sure, okay. Can I ask you a question first?”
“Shoot.”
“What the fuck is going on, what the fuck is that thing?”
“That’s three questions, but I’m feeling generous. That thing is the Mothman and we are going to catch him so he stops eating everything.”
“Oh.” Then, with nothing left to say, with most of my logic suspended, I lifted off my shirt and the man took it, then pulled his balaclava out, reached down with the knife and made a superficial cut on his calf, soaking up as much blood into the cloth as he could. He ripped a piece of his pant leg off and bandaged the wound.
Job finished, he looked up and smiled at my expression. “Moths,” he said, wadding up the blood-soaked balaclava and shirt, “are stupid. Mothman, is basically just a giant moth. More moth than man. So, pretty stupid. All he really does is fly at people, stare at them, hover. And I guess murder and eat the occasional animal and, uh, toddler. Oh, and there was that one time when people thought he made a bridge collapse, but nope; just bad infrastructure and good timing on his part. I honestly don’t know how he escaped. I’m thinking he didn’t, that someone allowed him to escape…”
“Escape?”
“They caught him years ago.”
“Caught—”
A weird, high pitched song suddenly played out and I recognized it almost immediately. The man pulled out an extremely thin phone and flicked at it for a second, the light of it illuminating his face, shadowing his features.
“Galaga?”
He looked up at me, surprised, then grinned and nodded. “Best game. Just some girls in Colorado.”
“Look, man, if you need to answer a booty call or whatever—”
The man burst out laughing and said, “No, no, no. Just, uh, friends. Probably wondering where I am. This is much more important.”
“Than a threesome? Sure, man, whatever you say.”
The man, still smiling, shook his head and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a—
Tink tink tink.
He sighed, slid his phone back into his pocket, then unclipped the rope and the grappling hook from his belt and slid them onto his right shoulder. “You know, sometimes I wish they would just give me the go-ahead to fry the bastard, zap him right out of the sky, but no, they need him alive. Here,” he held out the rifle and I took it from him with shaking hands. “Sorry,” he said pulling out a pistol from his belt, “I’ll get my crew to fix it ASAP. They’re, uh, used to cleaning up after me.”
“What?”
“When the glass breaks, he’ll fly inside and try to see what this is,” he kicked the bloodied wad with his foot. “Don’t shoot him…unless you absolutely have to. Uh…you know how to shoot right?” I nodded, unable to say anything. “Good. Ready?” I nodded again.
He fired at the glass. The bullet was blindingly bright, unnaturally bright, and too loud. So loud I didn’t even hear the glass break. I squinted, unable to cover my ears since I was holding the rifle, and felt a sudden gust of wind swoop in. I opened my eyes, ready to fight, but there was nothing.
Beside me the man said in a low voice, “Wait.”
And then, after a few tense moments, there it was. The head was gone, instead it was holding two dismembered arms and swung them around as if they were some sort of sick batons or wands or something. It looked…happy. It seemed to finally notice the window was open and approached it cautiously, clearly seeing me and the man standing there waiting for it, but then it saw the bloodied wad and whooped in excitement, approaching it slowly.
Across the room, the man had started spinning and spinning the hook, holding back until the moment was just right.
“A kid? A goddamn kid, you bumbling fuck?” The man released the hook and it swung in a wide arc, right on target, and all three of us watched it—it was like it was happening in slow motion.
And then, like some mutant version of Ganon with enormous wings, the Mothman swung a dismembered arm like a bat, hitting the hook back towards the man so swiftly he had little time to react—and, also, he didn’t have a sword to hit it back with.
“Well, shit,” the man said right before the hook hit him full in the chest, flipping him over so that his head smacked against the floor, hard, knocking him out cold.
What the Mothman did next still haunts me to this day. It laughed. Voraciously. Like it had never seen anything funnier. Its face crunched up and it bared its too few, strangely pointed teeth, sticking out a bluish tongue that flopped languidly and long from its mouth. And then it said, victoriously, like a child, “Spoopy go bye-bye. Spoopy bad man.”
It laughed again, dropped the arm, and swooped low, too low.
“Hey, dude?” I said looking over the man, but he was lying prone on his stomach, his head turned away from me. “Hey, guy? Bud! Fucking Spooky McSpooks! Wake the fuck up! It’s fucking right there! What do I do?”
I felt and heard it land behind me, the gust of its wings almost blowing me off balance. I turned and saw it in its entirety. It had to be at least seven or eight feet tall, its wings were even larger than that. It had this jaundice-yellow skin that was peeling in places, leaving grotesque bloody splotches across its face. Its feet were not feet but these weird tendrils that ended in one pointed, nail-less toe. And instead of five fingers it had three, and they weren’t fingers but long, sharp claws.
“Ha ha ha,” it said, looming over me, spittle flying from its mouth. I could see bits of what looked like a child’s shirt patterned with tiny red boats stuck between its teeth. “I eat you now. I eat all of it. I never ate it before. They never let me. It taste good.”
I bumped into a desk and stopped, remembering the rifle, holding it up. The Mothman hesitated, eyeing the barrel. Then laughed again, like it knew I was too chickenshit to fire it. But I wasn’t, and the sound of it cocking ricocheted around the room.
It turned to run and bumped against the glass. Then bumped into it again and again, a scream of rage echoed up and out of it as it tried to find the way out.
“It’s mother fucking glass, you dumbfuck! You can’t go through it! And the opening is right there!” I blasted the rifle, my aim was off—I was scared, I was shirtless—but it screamed in agony, clutched its left arm, and leapt out of the open window, soaring in an ungainly sort of way into the distance.
Behind me I heard a ruffling sound and looked back to the man stirring awake.
“Bravo,” he said, sitting up, rubbing his head, then “Ouch.”
I kneeled next to him, setting the rifle down. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ve had worse. Just dazed. Probably a bit concussed too..” He shrugged, then winced. “Also, did you call me McSpooks? Or was that just a bad dream?”
I laughed, shakily, then he joined in and we laughed for a while until I remembered that we shouldn’t be laughing at all; that I had just seen a real, live monster, that this man was indicative of something else, something sinister, something shadowy, hidden, conspiratorial. I stopped laughing and cleared my throat.
Ms office product key for windows 10. “It got away.”
“Oh.” He rubbed his head.
“But, um, I realized, there’s still the tapes—the CCTV tapes—they might have caught…something…
The man thought for a moment, then opened his mouth, but before anything came out a weird thin sound cut him off. It was his phone again, but it was whistling in a strange, haunting way. He pulled it out and I caught a brief glimpse of the screen. There was a strange emblem on it—an open eye with a many pointed star as an iris. It blinked.
“Really? Now?” He said more to himself than to me, then, “Sorry, gotta run. I’ll meet you in Wicker Park tomorrow, after your shift. Bring the tape.”
Next day, I went to work ready to steal the tape for that guy, but when I got there it was gone. I soon learned that not long before I had arrived, two men dressed in black suits had walked in and demanded all CCTV tapes be released to them. They said they were with some agency, that they had the authority. Apparently, the higher ups immediately caved to their requests and relinquished them. Strange, I thought to myself, twirling the flash drive I always carried between my fingers, super strange…then again, maybe that guy sent them to retrieve it.
Despite that thought, I still made my way over to Wicker Park after my shift and stood waiting by the fountain, checking my phone every so often. After a few minutes, I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey. Have the tape?” I turned. It was the guy, he was wearing a pristine black suit.
“What?”
“The tape of the Mothbud?”
“Um…”
“Um?”
“These two guys—I think they were your coworkers?—they came and took it. Thought you may have sent them.”
“My co—fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, a glazed expression crossing his face. His eyes suddenly snapped back to reality and he said, “How long ago was that?”
I shrugged, “Hours ago.”
He looked over towards the horizon, a pinkish hue was being swallowed up into the blackness above, between, the skyscrapers; parked next to the building across the street was a sleek black Nissan GT-R NISMO, he seemed to be looking right at it. “Damn.”
“Well,” I said, but the man didn’t look over, he was still looking at the Nissan. “There’s still this. Downloaded it after you left last night, just in case. Or at least tried to.”
The man looked over, saw the flash drive and grinned, then said, “Well done.”
“There is a problem though. I checked it and it’s corrupt, but the file is there, maybe we can, I dunno, do some fancy schmancy computer wizardry with it? Clean it up?”
“Worth a shot.” He held out his hand for it, but I hesitated.
“What are you going to do with it?”
The man was silent for a beat, looking into my eyes until I looked away. Finally, he said, “You ever heard of a little thing called disclosure?”
“What you mean what those crazy conspiracy theories are ranting about all the time?”
He nodded, but said, “Oh, I wouldn’t call all of them crazy.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Between you and me, kid, I’ve seen some shit. Some bad shit. Shit that would change everything we knew about, well, everything—life, the universe, all that.”
“But…even if that were all true, and I’m definitely not saying it is, isn’t there a possibility of society…you know…losing their collective, um, shit?”
“I suppose.”
I finally, freely, dropped the flash drive into his open palm, then said, “And doesn’t the thought of that scare you?”
The man nodded, slid the flash drive into his front pocket, and then said in a tired, tired voice, “Yes. But it’s the only way.”
I have a multi-user application that keeps a centralized logfile for activity. Right now, that logging is going into text files to the tune of about 10MB-50MB / day. The text files are rotated daily by the logger, and we keep the past 4 or 5 days worth. Older than that is of no interest to us.
They're read rarely: either when developing the application for error messages, diagnostic messages, or when the application is in production to do triage on a user-reported problem or a bug.
(This is strictly an application log. Security logging is kept elsewhere.)
But when they are read, they're a pain in the ass. Grepping 10MB text files is no fun even with Perl: the fields (transaction ID, user ID, etc.) in the file are useful, but just text. Messages are written sequentially, one like at a time, so interleaved activity is all mixed up when trying to follow a particular transaction or user.
I'm looking for thoughts on the topic. Anyone done application-level logging with an SQL database and liked it? Hated it?
Clinton PierceClinton Pierce11 Answers
I think that logging directly to a database is usually a bad idea, and I would avoid it.
The main reason is this: a good log will be most useful when you can use it to debug your application post-mortem, once the error has already occurred and you can't reproduce it. To be able to do that, you need to make sure that the logging itself is reliable. And to make any system reliable, a good start is to keep it simple.
So having a simple file-based log with just a few lines of code (open file, append line, close file or keep it opened, repeat..) will usually be more reliable and useful in the future, when you really need it to work.
On the other hand, logging successfully to an SQL server will require that a lot more components work correctly, and there will be a lot more possible error situations where you won't be able to log the information you need, simply because the log infrastructure itself won't be working. And something worst: a failure in the log procedure (like a database corruption or a deadlock) will probably affect the performance of the application, and then you'll have a situation where a secondary component prevents the application of performing it's primary function.
If you need to do a lot of analysis of the logs and you are not comfortable using text-based tools like grep, then keep the logs in text files, and periodically import them to an SQL database. If the SQL fails you won't loose any log information, and it won't even affect the application's ability to function. Then you can do all the data analysis in the DB.
I think those are the main reasons why I don't do logging to a database, although I have done it in the past. Hope it helps.
Ricardo ReyesRicardo ReyesWe used a Log Database at my last job, and it was great.
We had stored procedures that would spit out overviews of general system health for different metrics that I could load from a web page. We could also quickly spit out a trace for a given app over a given period, and if I wanted it was easy to get that as a text file, if you really just like grep-ing files.
To ensure the logging system does not itself become a problem, there is of course a common code framework we used among different apps that handled writing to the log table. Part of that framework included also logging to a file, in case the problem is with the database itself, and part of it involves cycling the logs. As for the space issues, the log database is on a different backup schedule, and it's really not an issue. Space (not-backed-up) is cheap.
I think that addresses most of the concerns expressed elsewhere. It's all a matter of implementation. But if I stopped here it would still be a case of 'not much worse', and that's a bad reason to go the trouble of setting up DB logging. What I liked about this is that it allowed us to do some new things that would be much harder to do with flat files.
There were four main improvements over files. The first is the system overviews I've already mentioned. The second, and imo most important, was a check to see if any app was missing messages where we would normally expect to find them. That kind of thing is near-impossible to spot in traditional file logging unless you spend a lot of time each day reviewing mind-numbing logs for apps that just tell you everything's okay 99% of the time. It's amazing how freeing the view to show missing log entries is. Most days we didn't need to look at most of the log files at all.. something that would be dangerous and irresponsible without the database.
That brings up the third improvement. We generated a single daily status e-mail, and it was the only thing we needed to review on days that everything ran normally. The e-mail included showed errors and warnings. Missing logs were re-logged as warning by the same db job that sends the e-mail, and missing the e-mail was a big deal. We could send forward a particular log message to our bug tracker with one click, right from within the daily e-mail (it was html-formatted, pulled data from a web app).
The final improvement was that if we did want to follow a specific app more closely, say after making a change, we could subscribe to an RSS feed for that specific application until we were satisfied. It's harder to do that from a text file.
Where I'm at now, we rely a lot more on third party tools and their logging abilities, and that means going back to a lot more manual review. I really miss the DB, and I'm contemplated writing a tool to read those logs and re-log them into a DB to get these abilities back.
Again, we did this with text files as a fallback, and it's the new abilities that really make the database worthwhile. If all you're gonna do is write to a DB and try to use it the same way you did the old text files, it adds unnecessary complexity and you may as well just use the old text files. It's the ability to build out the system for new features that makes it worthwhile.
Joel CoehoornJoel Coehoornyeah, we do it here, and I can't stand it. One problem we have here is if there is a problem with the db (connection, corrupted etc), all logging stops. My other big problem with it is that it's difficult to look through to trace problems. We also have problems here with the table logs taking up too much space, and having to worry about truncating them when we move databases because our logs are so large.
I think its clunky compared to log files. I find it difficult to see the 'big picture' with it being stored in the database. I'll admit I'm a log file person, I like being able to open a text file and look through (regex) it instead of using sql to try and search for something.
The last place I worked we had log files of 100 meg plus. They're a little difficult to open, but if you have the right tool it's not that bad. We had a system to log messages too. You could quickly look at the file and determine which set of log entries belonged which process.
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kemiller2002kemiller2002We've used SQL Server centralized logging before, and as the previous posted mentioned, the biggest problem was that interrupted connectivity to the database would mean interrupted logging. I actually ended up adding a queuing routine to the logging that would try the DB first, and write to a physical file if it failed. You'd just have to add code to that routine that, on a successful log to the db, would check to see if any other entries are queued locally, and write those too.
I like having everything in a DB, as opposed to physical log files, but just because I like parsing it with reports I've written.
SqlRyanSqlRyanI think the problem you have with logging could be solved with logging to SQL, provided that you are able to split out the fields you are interested in, into different columns. You can't treat the SQL database like a text field and expect it to be better, it won't.
Once you get everything you're interested in logging to the columns you want it in, it's much easier to track the sequential actions of something by being able to isolate it by column. Like if you had an 'entry' process, you log everything normally with the text 'entry process' being put into the 'logtype' column or 'process' column. Then when you have problems with the 'entry process', a WHERE statement on that column isolates all entry processes.
we do it in our organization in large volumes with SQL Server. In my openion writing to database is better because of the search and filter capability. Performance wise 10 to 50 MB worth of data and keeping it only for 5 days, does not affect your application. Tracking transaction and users will be very easy compare to tracking it from text file since you can filter by transaction or user.
You are mentioning that the files read rarely. So, decide if is it worth putting time in development effort to develop the logging framework? Calculate your time spent on searching the logs from log files in a year vs the time it will take to code and test. If the time spending is 1 hour or more a day to search logs it is better to dump logs in to database. Which can drastically reduce time spend on solving issues.
If you spend less than an hour then you can use some text search tools like 'SRSearch', which is a great tool that I used, searches from multiple files in a folder and gives you the results in small snippts ('like google search result'), where you click to open the file with the result interested. There are other Text search tools available too. If the environment is windows, then you have Microsoft LogParser also a good tool available for free where you can query your file like a database if the file is written in a specific format.
You could log to a comma or tab delimited text format, or enable your logs to be exported to a CSV format. When you need to read from a log export your CSV file to a table on your SQL server then you can query with standard SQL statements. To automate the process you could use SQL Integration Services.
Here are some additional pros and cons and the reason why I prefer log files instead of databases:
Space is not that cheap when using VPS's. Recovering space on live database systems is often a huge hassle and you might have to shut down services while recovering space. If your logs is so important that you have to keep them for years (like we do) then this is a real problem. Remember that most databases does not recover space when you delete data as it simply re-uses the space - not much help if you are actually running out of space.
If you access the logs fequently and you have to pull daily reports from a database with one huge log table and millions and millions of records then you will impact the performance of your database services while querying the data from the database.
Log files can be created and older logs archived daily. Depending on the type of logs massive amounts of space can be recovered by archiving logs. We save around 6x the space when we compress our logs and in most cases you'll probably save much more.
Individual smaller log files can be compressed and transferred easily without impacting the server. Previously we had logs ranging in the 100's of GB's worth of data in a database. Moving such large databases between servers becomes a major hassle, especially due to the fact that you have to shut down the database server while doing so. What I'm saying is that maintenance becomes a real pain the day you have to start moving large databases around.
Writing to log files in general are a lot faster than writing to DB. Don't underestimate the speed of your operating system file IO.
Log files only suck if you don't structure your logs properly. You may have to use additional tools and you may even have to develop your own to help process them, but in the end it will be worth it.
I've been reading all the answers and they're great. But in a company I worked due to several restrictions and audit it was mandatory to log into a database. Anyway, we had several ways to log and the solution was to install a pipeline where our programmers could connect to the pipeline and log into database, file, console, or even forwarding log to a port to be consumed by another applications.This pipeline doesn't interrupt the normal process and keeping a log file at the same time you log into the database ensures you rarely lose a line.I suggest you investigate further log4net that it's great for this.
Maximiliano RiosMaximiliano RiosI could see it working well, provided you had the capability to filter what needs to be logged and when it needs to be logged. A log file (or table, such as it is) is useless if you can't find what you're looking for or contains unnecessary information.
Since your logs are read rarely, I would write them on file (better performance and reliability).
Then, if and only if you need to read them, I would import the log file in a data base (better analysis).
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Doing so, you get the advantages of both methods.
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