Water, water everywhere it isn't wanted.
Post 150! I'm sure we all remember the birth of this journal, back in November of 2004; in that year (of two months), I posted nine times. Then there was 2005: 72 posts. 2006: 36. 2007 brought you twenty-two posts, and 2008, well, 2008 set a new twelve-month record, with ten. And two of those were basically pictures. I'm sorry about that, LiveJournal, and I'm sorrier still that those subtotals probably do not add up to 149.
...oh, snap, except they do! If I can add by ones and twos, surely I can entertain the people, is what I'm thinking. Let's take a quick survey of my assets as an internet friend:1) I have pictures from England, which I've brought most of the way into order. I will be offering those photographs free to you, the viewing public. There will be no pledge drive.
2) I have a list of the 78 new books I read last year - and absolutely no intention of assaulting you with 78 reviews. However, I look forward to explaining why the list is printed on a page of return-address labels. Hang around and I will warn you away from no fewer than five books that are GODAWFUL, and recommend two or three you may not have read yet.
3) I have access to word-processing software that is not WordPad. What's more, I have a legal copy of word-processing software that is not WordPad. I have triple the RAM I had before (i.e., 1.5 gigs). I have defragmented storage. Henceforward I will be blogging at 2007 levels!
4) I can perform simple mathematical calculations.
5) I will not try to get "The Gambler" stuck in your head, no matter how deeply it burrows into my brain. In this respect you have one up on my real-life friends and coworkers, to whom I have shown no such mercy.
Not bad, not bad. Of course, it's only fair to acknowledge that some few barriers obstruct portions of the otherwise-limitless horizon as we gaze, bestly and brightestly and with the wind at our backs, across to the Promised Land of My Actually Posting:1) The plumbing in my house has achieved sentience and we do not get along.
2) My commute is twice as long since my company moved offices over to (more or less) Pill Hill. While I can't prove that I would otherwise have spent that forty minutes here, with you, you can't very easily prove I wouldn't have.
3) Sometimes, oh, I don't know, WATER COMES SPRAYING OUT OF CABINETS WITH ABSOLUTELY NO PROVOCATION. Or oozing up from the floor, even though a slab foundation should make that impossible. Life is mysterious. THE PIPES ARE ANGRY.
4) I've been trying my hand at the banjo recently, and my performance is demoralizingly poor. It really doesn't help that the nearest string on the banjo is the lowest line in tablature yet is tuned the highest. (This problem should pretty much resolve itself, though, as I will either overcome it or abandon the instrument within a few weeks.)
5) The comedy rule of threes requires me to make another comment about the water situation, but I hate to risk it, on the off chance that the plumbing knows what I'm typing.
I ask you: Does the plumbing know what I'm typing? Can this journal survive in the face of hydrophobia-induced self-censorship? Is it significant that the light on the desk just burnt out? In the all-out war of me vs. the utilities, if that turns out to exist, who (or what) will triumph? How come there's always one tall thin plumber and one short round one? Does a cat know it's going to throw up that pine needle fifteen minutes after eating it? Is British television truly more entertaining, or does it just seem that way because outside it's so very dark and cold?
And that leaves just one question: what the fuck was wrong with DH Lawrence?
Click for embiggened version.
Read that and tell me you forgive my long absence. Personally, I feel better already.
...oh, snap, except they do! If I can add by ones and twos, surely I can entertain the people, is what I'm thinking. Let's take a quick survey of my assets as an internet friend:1) I have pictures from England, which I've brought most of the way into order. I will be offering those photographs free to you, the viewing public. There will be no pledge drive.
2) I have a list of the 78 new books I read last year - and absolutely no intention of assaulting you with 78 reviews. However, I look forward to explaining why the list is printed on a page of return-address labels. Hang around and I will warn you away from no fewer than five books that are GODAWFUL, and recommend two or three you may not have read yet.
3) I have access to word-processing software that is not WordPad. What's more, I have a legal copy of word-processing software that is not WordPad. I have triple the RAM I had before (i.e., 1.5 gigs). I have defragmented storage. Henceforward I will be blogging at 2007 levels!
4) I can perform simple mathematical calculations.
5) I will not try to get "The Gambler" stuck in your head, no matter how deeply it burrows into my brain. In this respect you have one up on my real-life friends and coworkers, to whom I have shown no such mercy.
Not bad, not bad. Of course, it's only fair to acknowledge that some few barriers obstruct portions of the otherwise-limitless horizon as we gaze, bestly and brightestly and with the wind at our backs, across to the Promised Land of My Actually Posting:1) The plumbing in my house has achieved sentience and we do not get along.
2) My commute is twice as long since my company moved offices over to (more or less) Pill Hill. While I can't prove that I would otherwise have spent that forty minutes here, with you, you can't very easily prove I wouldn't have.
3) Sometimes, oh, I don't know, WATER COMES SPRAYING OUT OF CABINETS WITH ABSOLUTELY NO PROVOCATION. Or oozing up from the floor, even though a slab foundation should make that impossible. Life is mysterious. THE PIPES ARE ANGRY.
4) I've been trying my hand at the banjo recently, and my performance is demoralizingly poor. It really doesn't help that the nearest string on the banjo is the lowest line in tablature yet is tuned the highest. (This problem should pretty much resolve itself, though, as I will either overcome it or abandon the instrument within a few weeks.)
5) The comedy rule of threes requires me to make another comment about the water situation, but I hate to risk it, on the off chance that the plumbing knows what I'm typing.
I ask you: Does the plumbing know what I'm typing? Can this journal survive in the face of hydrophobia-induced self-censorship? Is it significant that the light on the desk just burnt out? In the all-out war of me vs. the utilities, if that turns out to exist, who (or what) will triumph? How come there's always one tall thin plumber and one short round one? Does a cat know it's going to throw up that pine needle fifteen minutes after eating it? Is British television truly more entertaining, or does it just seem that way because outside it's so very dark and cold?
And that leaves just one question: what the fuck was wrong with DH Lawrence?
Click for embiggened version.
Read that and tell me you forgive my long absence. Personally, I feel better already.