So while this was always already intended as a blog post, I’m actually writing it on an honest-to-got note pad in Laurelhurst Park, which I only discovered recently because I was meeting my sister at Side Street and the 15 was running wonky. Let this be your notice that this oversight has gotten you fucking fired.
At any rate, writing things on paper. I went back to writing my diary in, well, a diary a couple of months ago, but I wasn’t doing very well with it. I recently started regimenting my morning a bit more, however, and I think that things are going to improve.
About that regimentation: initially, feeding the cat was the first thing I did after getting out of bed, but that turned out to be a huge mistake. He started trying to get me up earlier and earlier by jumping on my chest and biting my face. This was corrected by moving his feeding time back a bit, after I’d done some dottering. Shocking how something so devious can be so credulous about some things.
I decided to write in this fashion to get around a real lack of thinking that I’ve been doing lately, which is in dramatic need of correction. Well, not lack of thinking, of course, but maybe lack of correct thinking. I’ve been involved in some sort of plumpe denken, which has been taking a severe toll.
Now, I have been fixing things around the house (at least part way) and writing a new SDK for Temboo, so it’s not like I’m in a coma or something. The pattern is more like after I’m done with that stuff I don’t have an internal life. Instead, I have a bunch of niggling worries, a melodramatic awareness of my backlog of concerns, and then a bunch of self-deprecating. . . I don’t know, things.
So naturally this creates a bit of a death-spiral. I’m trying to combat it by just keeping closer tabs on the tiny details in the tick-mark on a list sort of way, and the aforementioned aggressive regimentation.
And then this, of course. Having a big stretch of empty space here means that I’ve been trying to write about things and then getting caught up in some manner of detail or another and then whatever I was thinking about has slipped too far from me, and it’s just another loss. That sort of builds up until all you can do is push out some maudlin business about how much work everything is. Bogus.
Okay, hopefully that is all over and we can get back to metaphors, which is all I really care about any more (and may, considered carefully, be the only thing about which I’ve ever cared.)
P.S.: Did you want everyone you’ve ever met to know that you’re a colossal asshole? Someone has sorted that right out for you.
If you thought the commenters on the Scalzi post mentioned in the previous entry were self-important misery merchants, check out what happened when the damn thing got reposted on Kotaku.
John Scalzi’s commenters prove that white men can’t read. For something that was supposed to facilitate unprecedented communication, the internet sure has turned out to be a great way to make mewling sociopaths.
I’ve been listening to the debut album of David Lowery’s second band, Cracker. I can confirm that nostalgia has not colored my impression at all. It is astounding. Faux leather seats from Juarez.
Firefox’s spell check doesn’t know “faux.”
After spending a lot of time simply not being willing to set up a PHP sandbox (because seriously, it’s way more trouble than it’s worth), I’m getting pretty tired of the blog themes here and on FN. I have a copy of MAMP again, but no promises.
If you were searching for the best name for a fish.
In addition to other widely recognized health benefits, yogurt will give you bigger testicles and a glossier coat.
(N.b.: Link to post where Jason Kottke’s Spock analog, Aaron Cohen, describes the results thus: “Basically, yogurt turned these mice into Kanye.”)
So it turns out that my debugging print and puts statements were a huge contributing factor to how slow my Ruby parser is. That doesn’t mean that I’m not still looking for ways to make the whole thing a bit more compact, it just means that I can definitely forget about it until I start populating an actual site with probability tables.
“What do you pretend not to like excitement. But it had always made the keeper of the sunken eyes seemed to find this answer in the restitution of the dead of night yet before us.”
“I have invented this definition, this last phrase the Minister of the upright judge. Let me take him into a wall of the seizure of the windows. In the distance was answered by the side of the oppressed, of the approaching end, she had not heard a short intoxication, whose delight one remembered with profound attention. “You have got a priest for me to shame,” he said.
The chairman of the curse of death and putting our trust in God. Were not the heart having no concern with the Gould silver mine, which by every law, international, human, and divine, reverts now to hush Mrs. Gould. “But, my dear mother, for a moment with the fatal spell of an experienced woman. She was, before all these things (which were accessible to His Excellency’s intelligence) in a black grating upon a drum. After listening for a long time he could say. They drove him away with my profound studies in Belgium and
After work I decided to go up the hill to get out of the house a bit, and ended up at Slow Bar. I guess that happens when you’re as tall as I am.
After having a delicious hamburger I came home and wrestled with Markov Garden. Things were going okay until I realized that something’s off with the JSON that I’m getting from the parser, and it’s deserializing into something other than what I want. Here’s how I expressed that in a commit message.
The table that we’re getting turns into something a little off, so I think it’s going to have to involve more explicit hand-massaging.
So. . . that was pretty dorky.