Friday, December 15, 2006
Monday, December 04, 2006
The Coup survives bus accident
Woah, Tricia and I just saw the show on December 1st..!
Pitchfork: Mr. Lif, The Coup Survive Bus Accident
On December 2, the tour bus carrying Mr. Lif, the Coup, DJ Big Wiz, and other members of their touring entourage crashed and caught on fire. Everyone survived, but the tour is not scheduled to continue.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Thanksgiving
The Wii: fun!
The Thanksgiving: filling!
The Seattle: cold and wet!
The Zelda: fun!
The DVD player: broken!
The Nintendo DS-lite: neglected!
This post: exclamatory!
Monday, November 20, 2006
Wii-pocalypse
The Wii-pocalypse occurred on Sunday, and I was thankfully able to secure my ticket to the rapture.
We camped out at Target on Saturday night, and were 56th in line for 81 Wiis. We got there around 2:30AM and Tricia slept comfortably in my 20-degree rated sleeping bag with a pad, while I suffered some minor CBD (Cold-Butt Disorder) from sitting in my folding chair.
They handed out tickets for the people in line around 7AM and started letting people in to buy them in groups of 10 at 8AM. Finally we made our purchases and got home by 9:30AM. So, it was 7-hours wait in the cold, but so far from the scant hours I've played Zelda and Wii Sports, it was well worth it.
Oh, did I mention that my girlfriend is frickin' awesome to camp out with me?!
The coolest thing to happen during the whole ordeal was right at the end:
They passed out tickets at about 7AM, and then most people woke themselves up and de-camped, moving their gear back to their cars and taking breaks to get food and stuff. A few latecomers arrived occasionally, but at the news that there were no tickets, they all headed back home.
At around 7:45, this SUV speeds up, and a bright eyed kid jumps out and runs up to the line.
"Is this the line for the Wii?!" he says, breathless, stuttering in excitement. "Is this... are you waiting for the Nintendo Wii?"
"Yeah," someone tells him, "But they already passed out the tickets."
"Oh." You can see he doesn't really know what this means. "But, is that the end of the line?"
"Yes, but do you have a ticket?"
"No..." You can see in his eyes that his worst fear has come true: he didn't get there in time. "But, maybe I'll just wait... because... I don't know."
"Well, they already passed all the tickets out."
"Oh." Finally it sinks in and he realizes it's all for naught.
"You could try going and asking if there are any extra, but there were 81 tickets and they passed them all out."
"Ok." He turns, face drooping, and begins to run towards the front, still hoping that if he hurries, maybe, just maybe he can still get it.
Suddenly, a woman says, "Hey Kid."
"Hey Kid."
He turns and she holds out a ticket.
"Here's a ticket."
"Really?" He says, and it's like Charlie found the Golden Ticket. "You don't need it?"
"No," the woman says, "I already have one. I'm just waiting to buy some games."
The kid grabs the ticket and runs full tilt to the end of the line.
A while later he comes back with his Mom, who thanks the woman and makes sure she really doesn't need the ticket.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Stikkit
Stikkit.com seems like a cool way to save notes, random thoughts, lists, todos and calendar items.
I made up a note about what I liked and didn't like about it here: stikkit
Update:
Since apparently you can't have public notes on stikkit, here is the content of what I wrote:
Cool things about stikkit
- wiki-like
- uses Markdown
- tries to be smart about categorizing notes automatically
- easy web/2.0 interface
- has email interface for adding notes
- rss feed for calendar items
- sharing, history, and commenting
Not cool things about stikkit
- Not fully wiki-ish - e.g. it's annoying to link to another note
- no rich-text editing interface
- handling of Markdown isn't 100% correct - e.g. multi-level lists, and links in lists don't work
- No non-email stikkit one-liner to add a note (e.g. the Google calendar quick add firefox plugin, or a way to do a firefox keyword bookmark)
- doesn't integrate with google calendar/ical
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
FoxiPod Universal Binary
FoxiPod now is a Universal binary. All of you intel-mac owners please enjoy. You can download it directly by clicking here: FoxiPod.zip (88k)
FoxiPod lets you download mp3 files from the web directly to iTunes or your iPod with one click, without all of the hassle of saving the mp3 file, then dragging it to iTunes, then copying it to your iPod. It requires that you have either Firefox + the GreaseMonkey extension, or Safari + the CreamMonkey extension.
Read more about it here!
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Decemberists live stream on Oct 30th.
NPR : Oct. 30: The Decemberists Live Online
Hear Full Concert on NPR.org From Washington, D.C.
Scott Adams speaks
This is crazy. Scott Adams, the creator of Dilbert, lost his voice. The doctors said it would never return. He got it back.
The Dilbert Blog: Good News Day
As regular readers of my blog know, I lost my voice about 18 months ago. Permanently. It’s something exotic called Spasmodic Dysphonia. Essentially a part of the brain that controls speech just shuts down in some people, usually after you strain your voice during a bout with allergies (in my case) or some other sort of normal laryngitis. It happens to people in my age bracket.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
FoxiPod works with Safari
My MP3-download-errific application FoxiPod which used to only work with Firefox now works with Safari!
View the Install Instructions, but you merely have to download and install Creammonkey which works pretty much like Greasemonkey, and you get FoxiPod working with Safari.
Sorry Windows peeps, FoxiPod only works with Macs. So go buy one. (or if you are interested in buying my old PowerBook G4, email me :)
technorati tags:foxipod, mac, safari, greasemonkey, creammonkey, mp3, download, software, freeware, free
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Paean to a titanium powerbook
This man has written a eulogy for his powerbook: my powerbook g4
I would write my own funereal ode, but my titanium powerbook is not dead yet! It lies dormant, sleeping out the last days of it's old age like a tired old dog, and my macbook pro yips like a puppy around it in circles. So I will write a paean to it.
I still love the titanium, it was the best computer I ever owned. Even better than the macbook pro (and I write this in a whisper on my mb-pro's keyboard). Not that it was superior machine, neither faster nor quieter nor particularly less groin-scorching, but it exuded coolness. It was made from Titanium!! What is used in airplanes! And it burned CDs! And it had wireless internet! And it was less than one-inch thick! And I could play quake 3 in an airport! This was a fucking sweet computer, and I owned it.
Well, I owned the shit out of that computer. And I still do. And it still runs, although the dvd drive has only about a 15% success rate at reading discs, and the single 1GHz G4 chip lopes doggedly along the sidewalk of the 8-lane highway of computing speed, and the 1 GB of RAM saturates for a java developer as rapidly as a sponge in a swimming pool. It is still a great computer.
Here's to you, powerbook!
technorati tags:powerbook, paean, titanium, computer, macintosh, quake, ode, eulogy
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
More Havasu Videos
Pete and Kristy on a jet ski:
Rodion and Samia on a jet ski:
Leah diving:
JP does a flip:
Pete and JP do airheads. "Second worst idea ever":
Martin and Chris dive:
people floating on rafts:
Brief clip of the boat:
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Lake Havasu
The trip to Lake Havasu this weekend was a blast. We were trying to quantify how much fun it was into Fun Units (FUs), but still we failed to completely assess a total number. We also discovered that for every FU particle expended, there would later be a number of opposing particles emitted, since it is the nature of...well, Nature, to keep things in balance. Thus we had a number of unforseen difficulties in both piloting the houseboat we had rented, and in driving three cars successfully back to San Diego. However, in the end, the ratio of FU units to Un-Fun Units (UFUs) exceeded 1.0, so we feel like we came out ahead. Eat that, Nature.
"It's The Heat, Buddy."
After driving for about 6 hours on Thursday night we got to Lake Havasu City and parked at Denny's to the first rays of Friday's rising sun. We stepped out of the vehicles into what felt like some witch's oven, quickly preheating to the optimum baking temperature of 110 degrees F.
Note that, although extremely satsifying, the Denny's Extreme Grand Slam breakfast did seem a little less-than-extreme in some respects, since it was not served overarm at 70mph by the waitress, nor was it served directly into the face, which is what I expected. And the syrup was a little tepid.
After leaving Denny's we made the first trip of what would seem to be a relentless cavalcade of trips to Walgreens, mostly to purchase ice, mostly to keep our keg of precious C-minus at a temperature somewhat below the sublimation point of titanium.
"Man, we go through ice quick," Mark remarked to the liquor counter guy, and wiped a bead of sweat from his nose, his camel expiring beneath him with a piteous bellow.
"It's the heat, buddy," the guy responded, his voice gruff and smug, certain that he had just divulged to us the secret behind a great mystery. He then danced a whimsical jig and doffed his cap, spittle spattering the counter top, which was littered with crayons and what looked like an attempt to do a paint-by-number painting, only every number was painted brown, and the paint had not stayed in the lines at all.
We then caravaned out to the marina where we acquired our houseboat.
The Houseboat
Unnamed, or at least named in such a benign and boring way that I have completely forgotten what the name was, the houseboat served its job as both a house and a boat pretty well. This is different from a boathouse, which is not a boat, and much less of a house, and make sure you didn't rent one of those by mistake.
The first thing to do on a houseboat, of course, is to inflate any inflatable items you may be carrying.
Secondly, do the opposite of doff your hat, which I don't know the verb for. Oh yeah, "put on". So put on your nautical hat, and any other nautical items you have with you.
Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, proceed to chillax. You will do much of this, so get good at it. It helps to consume some alcoholic beverages for this step. Here are some examples of how to do this:
Oh yeah, and if you have a hot-tub on board, make sure it can also serve as a cold-tub.
Fourthly, leap gracefully into the water as hard as you can.
Then, cook up some food, drink some more beer, pump up some music, and try to pretend it's not 110 degrees out. Keep pretending.
If you didn't nab one of the beds, fall asleep in the kitchenette. Have a good dream about it not being 110 degrees.
Day 2
Day 2 should be just like day 1. Perhaps a little more extreme.
UFUs
Then, just as the weekend is coming to a close, and everything has gone so well, proceed to have a breakdown in Needles, the hottest place on Earth not considered part of the Sun. Then have to spend one more night in Lake Havasu and rent the last one-way car rental in Arizona in order to get home. Then, if you are Mark, have to drive back out to Barstow and get your car towed. Then if you are me, come home to find a plump little parking ticket dangling from your windshield wiper, like a bureaucratic dingleberry. Then find out that the "damage" cost for the non-working houseboat engine are $500.
Hopefully, if you follow these instructions, you too will have a good time. Enjoy!
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Events
I step out of an airplane in Caracas in 1971. The breeze plucks and grasps like an elephant's trunk; a hot humid breath huffing into my ears and into my hair. I clunk down the metal stairs and onto the tarmac. There is no one here to greet me, so I start to walk over to the terminal building with the other passengers. They are mostly businessmen, their necks beginning to sweat under tight collars, their foreheads shiny beneath glistening coiffures that jump around in the wind. One man with no sunglasses holds his newspaper up against the sun, and glances at me, his mouth open to gasp, walking quickly, his other hand clutching a leather briefcase. A small boy hangs off of the arm of a rumpled woman who drags the child like another piece of baggage. A man with a blue suit is obviously an American G-man. We all walk over to the building, crossing the shimmering black lake of heat without wasting breath to speak. Men with large ear protectors drive carts or trudge towards the airplane on foot, disregarding us, their faces dark and unreadable behind silver sunglasses, their mouths all open in the hot sun, intent as lions.
The glass doors creak open and lukewarm air sloshes out. The air conditioning is flaky, and as we walk it gets hotter and hotter until it is hotter than it was on the tarmac outside. We wade through dense, unbreathable air; faded dusty chairs and the smells of other people's sweat and exhaled cigarettes. A man hits me in the face with a handful of cigars and runs by and I stumble over rows and rows of legs, children and mothers and dead bodies (?). (They are bags.) When I get back to my feet finally I walk quickly to catch up to the group; I have no idea where to go, and I don't want to lose sight of the others. A bird flutters near the high sky light and escapes through a hole, drifts upward until it is invisible.
I go to Kansas in 1983. It is another hot day, muggy. The blue sky stuggles to hold back a high dark cloud, so high and dense it is like a new continent disgorged from space. But eventually the cloud looms overhead, and the scent of rain drifts in with a cool wash of air, and then the hand of the cloud reaches down with a tickle and tiny drops fall so cool that they feel like cigarette burns.
I am giggling as I enter a diner. I sit near the window so I can watch the rain. I order soymilk and a donut. Lemon meringue pie remains are splattered on the counter top, in yellow and brown dollops, as if a child had eviscerated one with a series of wallops. The lady behind the counter grins at me and wipes it up, her big bosoms stiff as tree stumps. I am alone here except for a man behind a raised newspaper, one disfigured hand clutching at the newsprint. I lean over slowly until I can see his face behind the paper, and he grins back at me with a child-like pucker of mirth. No soymilk, only cow milk, which I slurp as I eat.
"Olive trees don't grow very well here," the diner lady says to me, pointing with her nose out the window towards a clump of dead trees. The air conditioner fills the background with a vibrato hum, and a woman bustles in through the door, and behind her comes the noise and smell of the downpour. She is wet as a doused cat, and shakes her head and and her hair and wipes her shirt down. Then looks at me. I am effervescent and dissipate.
I am in Tenochtitlan as the drum of night thunders from a lightning strike, exhilarating the air with brash delight. Water is death, and life is a cup. Hold them up. Praise them, not the ululations of the morning prayer. A mace hits me in the face. Flashes of light; on hands and knees; dirt and grit in my palms, stone tiles, bird feathers washing away in a torrent of water. Red drops that don't stop. A neverending flood. A man stabs me in the leg with a spear, wrenches it out and stabs me again. Accrual, light heart. In the end, there is a sum or something. He stabs me again in the gut, and only blood comes out when I scream.
In the flashes of light I glimpse the knotted ropes that tie my wrists. In the flashes of lightning the entire night is shaved of its darkness to the bare white clarity of blades and bones. The rain drops are picked out like pin pricks. There is a spearhead in the gutter that points at my bonds, and I start to crawl to it, and I am grateful, so eternally grateful, when everything washes away.
In the last part I don't know where I am, and I shuffle along a dismal alleyway towards a wide market square, full of noise and color, people and animals and cloth and beads and spices and food. I slouch in the alley mouth and watch it all, my body and heart sore and wicked. My feet are angry buzzards of pain. If anyone looks at me I stare at them, and they all cringe when they smell me, and hurry away. A mother and her child: If that beggar approaches you, kick him.
And that is all. Words, words, words, and words. All that happens is the words stop.
technorati tags:rain, heat, caracas, kansas, tenochtitlan
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Ink-dark roar
An ink-dark roar emerges from the ground. A rumble that becomes the blackest sound; a noise unlike any other, that increases until it is the loudest thing ever heard. The noise is so thick that it melts the soles of shoes and shatters the pages of newspapers lying horrified on breakfast tables. People are not screaming or shouting because no one can hear them. It is electrifying for the cats. All manner of objects are destroyed; the wanted and the unwanted. It obliviates an entire day of life. All will be gone before sense returns slowly, blinking.
"Are we standing here? Are we alive? Are we back in the earth that I know? Is the reality of before a different reality than now? Or has reality never changed? Is this event an inseparable part of reality?" I'm conscious of very little now. One word has not left my mind: silence. That is all I want, but somehow even the concept is hard to grasp now, with all that is in my ears.
North Korea nuked us, I'm thinking. Did they do it? Blow the shit out of us? I expected to hear sirens. I expected trembling, agony and violence. I expected murder around every corner, I expected to gag on all the gristle that was beneath the skin. I didn't expect to laugh, and to find venom dripping from my own fangs, or to find fangs in my own mouth. I didn't expect that the taste of it was so full, so bristling with juice and flavor. I didn't expect it to be like sea water filling me up. I didn't expect to become a concrete shadow, mouth open and expecting to wail.
Oh, that is how it is.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/asia-pacific/5103394.stm
technorati tags:northkorea, nukes
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Camping
Went camping this past weekend with a group of 10 people, which was a lot of fun. I have posted a number of photos on my flickr page.
We did a six mile hike on Saturday, up to a place called Suicide Rock. We think we found the actual Suicide Rock, but I wasn't convinced, since there was a large ledge just beneath it and any attempt at suicide from that particular rock would be a unsuccessful reminder that gravity is fast and rocks are hard. Still, it looked pretty impressive:
The hike was pretty fun for me, although we didn't really bring enough water along, so it was hot and sweaty and for some people not all that fun. However, the scenery was beautiful, and the view at the top was worth all the pain and struggle.
Pete and Chris and I invented a new sport, called Stump Ball. It is pretty damn fun for sounding so boring, but you stand on a tree stump and throw the football to the other persons attempting to balance on tree stumps.
After we got back to SD, we all pigged out on sushi, and it was good. The End.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Blog has moved
If you're reading this, then things are operating correctly, the situation is nominal and Houston has pushed the big green button.
My new blog address is http://gschueler.blogspot.com, and the RSS feed is here.
I've thrown up a fabulous place holder at my website address http://greg.vario.us. I will continue to use that site for any software I write or web content I want to share, but the blog has moved.
For your enjoyment, here is a picture of a lizard:
Monday, June 19, 2006
Mog
Another music-oriented social networking site: Mog.com .
It sounds almost exactly like last.fm, but perhaps since this is more "social networking" oriented it will make the information gleaned about your listening habits and musical taste a little more useful. E.g. it would be cool to see a list of people in your physical neighborhood who like the same music that you do. Last.fm doesn't really let you coordinate your musical profile in that way.
This is a screenshot of the Mog-o-Matic software that they use to somehow determine your worth. I don't know what it's doing really, only that it seems like it is somehow making a catalog of all the music on my hard drive. Kind of scary actually... last.fm doesn't do that, they just passively index the music you listen to as you hear it.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Blogathon
Ok, this weekend, I'm going to try a 24/7 blogathon. All blogging all the time. No stopping to eat, or drink water or coffee, only to play Nintendo DS if I ever get it in the mail.
When I pass out from dehydration, you will know it because blogging will cease.
By the way, I'm just kidding. I'm going camping this weekend, so that you can have an all weekend 24/7 blog-free enjoyathon.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Flock
Been trying out Flock. It's pretty cool... I wish the blogging tool integrated the photo-uploading feature of blogger, though.
Nor does it really do a preview.
The other option is performancing, which works on Firefox.
For some reason, both of them seem to lack something though. Somehow just writing a post on blogger.com seems like a more intuitive and cleaner process.
technorati tags:blogging, flock, firefox, performancing, tools
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Testing some titles
- Greg's Space-time Cavitation (the name of my old blog).
- Greg's New-wave transendence
- Something Less Pretentious
- A Blog About Shit Nobody Cares About
- Words Upchucked Onto Your Screen
- Read These Words Or Choke on a Baby Carrot
- I am Remorseful About My Lack of Creativity
- I Hate Fucking Titles, Like I Said
- Oh God I'm Bored Trying To Think Of a Title
- Why Don't I just Use The First Thing that Comes Into my Head
- And Why Don't I just randomly Capitalize Words As I Write them
- Untitled
- Untitled Blog
- Untitled, But This Blog Is About Monkeys
- Untitled, But Please Stay and Read It, It's Not That Boring
- Monkey Fuck
- ...
Somic Youf
Music news of the world of my interest...
The new Sonic Youth album "Rather Ripped" was released today, although I admit to having had a copy of it for months now. (And what true fan did not?) The iTunes version has an exclusive track ...those bastards. There is also a live show going to be streamed from NPR's website this friday. Check it out.
And Pitchfork today has an interview with Dan Bejar of Destroyer.
The album I've been most delighted about recently is "Ships" by Danielson. Go find some tracks to download here.
Titles
I hate titles, really. I never titled many of my poems, simply because i felt like the poem itself served as the most succinct representation of itself: plus many times there was no single focus of the poem: can you call it a Beef Stew if it contains beef, barley, chicken, prosciutto, etc? Ig, no.
By "Ig", I mean hell.
However, some things, and sometimes even Blogs, need titles.
Trying to come up with a new one.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Get a mac
"It just woiks!" - www.apple.com/getamac/
And yet, with no irony, none of the ads work on Firefox...
Friday, June 09, 2006
Jokiest joke ever?
My favorite joke (select the black area to see the answer):
What's the difference between an elephant and a plum?
They're both purple, except for the elephant.
No luck found indoors
More woe and disfunction. Reading about luck... some people are lucky, some are not. They say that being aware of your surroundings, being open to opportunities, and being optimistic increases your "luck". That seems obvious. If you are the type of person who increases their chances for good things, or decreases your chances of bad things happening, your are "luckier" than someone who is not.
E.g. walking under a ladder: it's not unlucky in the superstitious sense, but it does increase your chance that something will fall on your head.
So, how to increase your chance that something good will happen: expose yourself to more opportunity. I will have to take this to heart.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Oh my multi-tempered patience
Note: to the person constantly practicing the mariachi trumpet in my apartment complex while I try to work, know that I am only a man, and men can only contain their frustration for so long before they are forced to write a righteous blogger entreaty that you will never read because you can't take your puffy cheeks away from that trumpet's brass blowhole long enough to go to a computer long enough to find your way through the entire internet before finding my lame blogspot page that nobody not even my friends know about so how would you know about it, you wouldn't. But please stop. please. stop with the ear-poop.
Woe is Omen
saw the Omen last night, but I was disappointed: the devil kills people by curious Rube-Goldbergian accidents involving roof-shingle repairmen and smoking hoboes? Lame. There was only one evil minion person in the whole movie, how disappointing. And she didn't even put up a good fight!
Lame, oh lame on you!
Luckily, I thought of a great Idea. It's called, Take your Monkey to Work Day!
It is a pretty simple idea, but I'll lay it out for ya: go to work, but bring a monkey! Hooray!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Oh awful
that zwan cover of the iron maiden classic "The Number of the Beast" is shite!
Get the real thing here.
Devil muzac
I hope the devil, if he's listening, is stewing in a giant pot of annoyance.
Check out all the devil-oriented music floating around on the blogosphere today.
I know it's also Slayer day. But you gotta wonder, if the devil truly exists and is truly made of hatred/evil/bad things, then, uh, is a successful rock and roll band designed to appeal to disaffected 80s teenagers really the mascot of the true source of evil in the world? they wore torn blue jeans, what?
There's also the good ole' "Devil went down to georgia".. plus the talented but inevitable dreary Bright Eyes.
Woe woe woe.
the sixes
Wow, I never thought it would get to today, but it did. 6/6/6. it means so much. the magic of numbers. Who knew? a calendar system based on shaky history and a decimal system, combined with a mysterious numerological superstition passed down for millenia have all culminated with such a magnificent bang on a dreary tuesday! Woop de doodle do!
woe betide motherfuckers.
Oh woe
woe is me. woe is you. i woe you one. woe.
woe?
and now I've said woe too much and now it doesn't mean a thing. the word is now too weird to think of. woe. woe. woe. your boat.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Hold on
Within seconds of publishing that last message, I realized that what I wrote was mostly crap. I'm really apologize for that, but I am crossing my fingers meaning I don't really give a shit whether it is crap and whether or not you will enjoy reading it even. Even!
Even! I think I might do a podcast too, If I can get the nuts up to do it. Most people, most guys, wouldn't hesittate to get their nuts up, but that's just me folks: you know I hesitate. Often, and regularly, particularly in groups.
Oh man, why am I writing this crap. I have shit to do. I have humor to enjoy elsewhere. I have a life to live (uh huh). I have money to spend (yah). I even have parenthetical sarcastic statements to make about what I write (you sure do, bitch). Oh god, why am I even writing this.
what if I publish this and NO ONE reads it? what do I do with it then? Cuz I'm not going to read it again. holy shit no.
About it all
I am not going to worry too much about what I write about. This allows you to read it without worrying too much about paying attention, and me to write it without worrying too much about whether it is worth being written, published, and then read later by you, who will not have to worry too much about reading it, again, as I said before.
So like I said, don't worry about paying too much attention to it all.
A robustified blog of mutilated word soup.
Hi, I would not be writing this right now, unless I really wanted to. I DO. Thus I am.
What the fuck is this shit, you wonder. this is a new blog by me. I have to tell, I'm not really sure what it is, but I thought I'd write it, just for the taste of it.
I have to pontificate for a moment on blogs, or bloginess, as i call it weirdly sometimes:
What are blogs? Blogs are usually just crap, or they can be good. Two options, crap, or good. I am writing this new blog for one reason, I have enough crap to fill TWO whole blogs, so this is the good one.
what the fuck does that even mean? Sometimes, I say things. they don't mean much, they are just pontifications on a pile of crap.
Let's re-address the issue: this blog.
This blog should allow you to get a small daily dose of the normally wacky things that come into my head. I am posting them all here. What could be better? Free food? Yes, that would be better, but take this instead.
I will write as often as I must, which may be every day, or even yearly, but is guaranteed to occur sometime while I still draw breath.
Welcome, take a deep snort of it all. Oh wait, why is it called Milking Ducks? There is no such thing as milking ducks, so the irony is, that now there is, but it is a blog. That's fucking irony, for reals.
Let's publish this shit.
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