This is that post where you want to post but don't have posty coherence
I upgraded from Ubuntu 9 point something last night to Ubuntu 10 point whatever. I'm tentatively regretting it, since I actually lost some functionality.
I rode to work yesterday morning at the tail end of a storm, and one of my streets was blocked by a fallen tree. I'd show you a picture, but one of the functions I lost in upgrading my Linux operating system was photo processing.
This morning the sun was out. The Coast Guard had two lovely, semaphore-festooned cutters (ditto photo processing problem) tied up at Waterfront Park for Rose Festival, one of my least favorite things about Portland.
Rose Festival (accent on the second syllable of the phrase, by the way--"Rose Festival"--it's how you tell the natives from the n00bs) is an archaic, century-old city-pride thing with an upper-class garden-club ladies' rose-growing competition at its heart, a beauty pageant and a big parade where its brain should be, and a big ugly carnival in its armpit.
Navy and Coast Guard ships come up the river ("to spawn" as the wags say), and when I was 22 and the streets were filled with sailors, well, hello sailor. Nowadays? Not so much.
So anyway, Rose Festival ruins Waterfront Park, which comprises about half of my bike commute, for the first two weeks of June, and is forcing me onto the streets of downtown Portland, which has actually been kind of fun and routine-busting.
And besides, it's been pouring for weeks, and the park is a mud pit, and hardly anyone's going to the carnival, which, while not very good for the purveyors of carnivality, is a very hopeful sign that maybe they'll just stop coming here. That would be cool.
I rode to work yesterday morning at the tail end of a storm, and one of my streets was blocked by a fallen tree. I'd show you a picture, but one of the functions I lost in upgrading my Linux operating system was photo processing.
This morning the sun was out. The Coast Guard had two lovely, semaphore-festooned cutters (ditto photo processing problem) tied up at Waterfront Park for Rose Festival, one of my least favorite things about Portland.
Rose Festival (accent on the second syllable of the phrase, by the way--"Rose Festival"--it's how you tell the natives from the n00bs) is an archaic, century-old city-pride thing with an upper-class garden-club ladies' rose-growing competition at its heart, a beauty pageant and a big parade where its brain should be, and a big ugly carnival in its armpit.
Navy and Coast Guard ships come up the river ("to spawn" as the wags say), and when I was 22 and the streets were filled with sailors, well, hello sailor. Nowadays? Not so much.
So anyway, Rose Festival ruins Waterfront Park, which comprises about half of my bike commute, for the first two weeks of June, and is forcing me onto the streets of downtown Portland, which has actually been kind of fun and routine-busting.
And besides, it's been pouring for weeks, and the park is a mud pit, and hardly anyone's going to the carnival, which, while not very good for the purveyors of carnivality, is a very hopeful sign that maybe they'll just stop coming here. That would be cool.