So, this being a third rate excuse for second class country, you can never tell when daylight saving time starts and finishes. I know it seems absurd, but here in Israel, DST is a political issue, and is completely dependent on the coalition the current government has created. That's why your humble servant has to wake up one morning, and then be surprised as he reads the first news page of the day that tonight is the night. At 0200 it will be 0300. I was supposed to remember, every one told me that in the fall they said that "winter time" will last until March 31. Next year we're expecting different dates, by the way. We just had elections, and hopefully we'll have a new government in the next few weeks (these things take time, you know). This means that coalition-building negotiations will determine the length and width of our daylight saving time.
On lighter news:
Funny thing happened on the road tonight. It has been a very long day (going on shorter since the clock jumps ahead) and I turned my radio on loud and started singing (and banging my head a little bit) to the rock on the radio. I've mentioned before that I tend to sing at the top of my lungs along to a good song. Well, this singing (and severe head bobbing) caught the attention of the woman standing next to me at the gridlock. At first she seemed horrified, and as she realized I was happily singing she started laughing and gave me a thumb up!
Cool!
Also, today:
I got my new scanner!
This is the reason why it is now 0132 at nigh....oh, shit, it's 0232 at night!...and I'm still up after such a long day. So far, I am ecstatic with it. It's great. So now, I'm pressing on. So many new applications, so many new modes.
Com'on! Just one more picture and I'm off to sleep...
Maybe a couple more...
We'll see...
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Ode to Bureaucracy
I built a house.
I acctually bought a house as part of a larger project, and they built the project-house customized to my requirements. At first there was just a mound of dirt among many mounds of dirt. Then it was a flat field of dirt with little metal poles with red and yellow streamers. Eventually there was a house among a whole neighborhood of houses.
Along the way, the hardest thing to deal with was the bureaucracy that you have to go through. Luckily, there was a minimal amount that I had to personally complete, since the whole project had a management that took care of most things. But still, some did not escape me, and I had to deal with it myself.
Today is another step: I'm getting hooked to the fixed electrical connection. Up until now (almost a year) I was connected via a temporary connection, which is different only in the cost of kilowatt/hour (more then doubled for a temporery connection). And since I have no choice in the electrical service provider, I am at the mercy of the electrical company bureaucracy, which told me that the technicians will be here in the morning. "Morning", for those who do not speak the language of union-backed clecks, stands for "7am to somewhere between 12 to 12:30pm".
(NOTE: I'm sure where my fingers stumbled, but the blog published itself on me mid-writting - I'm editing the "original" post from here).
So I'm sitting here, waiting. Waiting for the ulmighty electrical comapany technician to do two minutes worth of inspection and fifteen minutes worth of work. I'm looking outside, and it looks like it might rain. Electrical work is always posponed in rain, it must be understood.
But that's just the latest. I had a building permit delay, I had inhabiting permit delays, water connections, suage connection, and garbage collection problems. All to do with the almighty-clerks of government operated services (local, regional, and state governmet).
So I wrote a little ode to bureaucracy and all the wonderful, kind, and useful people who work there (like italic, bold, and underline, and like the different kind of fonts, we need a to create a way to mark sarcasm in writting: "Font Sarcastic", or maybe: "Sarcastic Blue" - blue always strikes me as a sarcastic-sounding color).
So this is it:
The single to come out April 19th from Sony Music International.
I acctually bought a house as part of a larger project, and they built the project-house customized to my requirements. At first there was just a mound of dirt among many mounds of dirt. Then it was a flat field of dirt with little metal poles with red and yellow streamers. Eventually there was a house among a whole neighborhood of houses.
Along the way, the hardest thing to deal with was the bureaucracy that you have to go through. Luckily, there was a minimal amount that I had to personally complete, since the whole project had a management that took care of most things. But still, some did not escape me, and I had to deal with it myself.
Today is another step: I'm getting hooked to the fixed electrical connection. Up until now (almost a year) I was connected via a temporary connection, which is different only in the cost of kilowatt/hour (more then doubled for a temporery connection). And since I have no choice in the electrical service provider, I am at the mercy of the electrical company bureaucracy, which told me that the technicians will be here in the morning. "Morning", for those who do not speak the language of union-backed clecks, stands for "7am to somewhere between 12 to 12:30pm".
(NOTE: I'm sure where my fingers stumbled, but the blog published itself on me mid-writting - I'm editing the "original" post from here).
So I'm sitting here, waiting. Waiting for the ulmighty electrical comapany technician to do two minutes worth of inspection and fifteen minutes worth of work. I'm looking outside, and it looks like it might rain. Electrical work is always posponed in rain, it must be understood.
But that's just the latest. I had a building permit delay, I had inhabiting permit delays, water connections, suage connection, and garbage collection problems. All to do with the almighty-clerks of government operated services (local, regional, and state governmet).
So I wrote a little ode to bureaucracy and all the wonderful, kind, and useful people who work there (like italic, bold, and underline, and like the different kind of fonts, we need a to create a way to mark sarcasm in writting: "Font Sarcastic", or maybe: "Sarcastic Blue" - blue always strikes me as a sarcastic-sounding color).
So this is it:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAgggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhThank, you. Thank you.
Why, God? WHY?
Grrrrrrrpppppppffffffttttt
Blrprprprprprprprprprp.....
You Sons of Bitches!!!
You Heralds of Evil Doom!
....
The single to come out April 19th from Sony Music International.
Monday, March 27, 2006
I stink, really
You what I hate? Coming home from an evening out, somewhere that's smokers roam. I come back reeking of cigarette smoke. But that's not really what I hate. What I hate is to come home and discover that I have forgotten to turn on the electric water heater.
And now I have to sit here, reeking, until the water will be hot enough to shower.
I can feel the cigarette smoke on my cloths, in my hair, on my skin. It's a part of any decent pub or pool hall (which happens to be where I'm coming from), so I'm not complaining. If I wanted to avoid the smoke I'd find somewhere else to be. It's just that I keep forgetting to turn on the friggin' water heater! And because of that I have to pass the time in my smelliness, until the water is ready!
Doesn't that just stink! Yes, it does.
SPAM MAIL UPDATE:
I got one that says: "Wanna get back in those jeans." It suddenly reminded me of a pair of jeans I'd like to get back into, but the girl decided it would be best if we didn't see each other any more...
And now I have to sit here, reeking, until the water will be hot enough to shower.
I can feel the cigarette smoke on my cloths, in my hair, on my skin. It's a part of any decent pub or pool hall (which happens to be where I'm coming from), so I'm not complaining. If I wanted to avoid the smoke I'd find somewhere else to be. It's just that I keep forgetting to turn on the friggin' water heater! And because of that I have to pass the time in my smelliness, until the water is ready!
Doesn't that just stink! Yes, it does.
SPAM MAIL UPDATE:
I got one that says: "Wanna get back in those jeans." It suddenly reminded me of a pair of jeans I'd like to get back into, but the girl decided it would be best if we didn't see each other any more...
Sorry, I'm Sore
OK, so after not moving my lazy ass for almost ten years, I recently bought an elliptical-crosstrainer. It all started when I had to climb three flight of stairs when the elevator went out in a building I was in. I got to the top out of breath, and the next morning I could feel, just a little bit, the quadriceps in my legs.
There was that risk of my newly purchased exercising machine becoming another very expensive cloth-stand, but so far I've been good. Really, I have. I've been rolling on it almost every day for the past month. These sort of commitments are usually beyond me, but so-far so-good.
But I've been running on Zero. My lungs and heart protested dearly when other parts of my body demanded they start working harder. Like any good worker that got used to the easy life, really. It's not their fault, but they are paying the cost of my couch-potato attitude.
Anyway, in my vanity I said to myself last night that "I can do better! I'm not that much out of shape!"
It turns out I am. Not really a couch-potato, but apparently some other larger, mushier vegetable. Like a rotting squash, or something.
I moved the resistance level to Two (out of Fifteen, so it's not as impressive as it sounds, although it wasn't impressive to begin with). This meant two things. First, my legs had to work harder; the second is that my arms had to start working too.
Now I can barely lift them.
I'm exaggerating, of course, it's not that bad. I can lift them to the keyboard well enough. It's just that I'm sore at places I haven't felt in ages: shoulders, triceps, etc.
Good health had better be worth it, or else I swear I'll...
...probably do nothing, I'm too lazy...
There was that risk of my newly purchased exercising machine becoming another very expensive cloth-stand, but so far I've been good. Really, I have. I've been rolling on it almost every day for the past month. These sort of commitments are usually beyond me, but so-far so-good.
But I've been running on Zero. My lungs and heart protested dearly when other parts of my body demanded they start working harder. Like any good worker that got used to the easy life, really. It's not their fault, but they are paying the cost of my couch-potato attitude.
Anyway, in my vanity I said to myself last night that "I can do better! I'm not that much out of shape!"
It turns out I am. Not really a couch-potato, but apparently some other larger, mushier vegetable. Like a rotting squash, or something.
I moved the resistance level to Two (out of Fifteen, so it's not as impressive as it sounds, although it wasn't impressive to begin with). This meant two things. First, my legs had to work harder; the second is that my arms had to start working too.
Now I can barely lift them.
I'm exaggerating, of course, it's not that bad. I can lift them to the keyboard well enough. It's just that I'm sore at places I haven't felt in ages: shoulders, triceps, etc.
Good health had better be worth it, or else I swear I'll...
...probably do nothing, I'm too lazy...
Saturday, March 25, 2006
Acid Flashbacks
I am a very "multi-media" kind of person. By that I mean that images and sounds are what get burnt into my memory. I can remember a face, but a name is a near impossibility. The keys to many of my memories are particular music or views I had at the time.
I file away into the deep bowls of my memory tones of audio-visual experiences which usually accumulate dust. Then, all of a sudden, something would trigger an avalanche of memories and emotions.
I can't tell what exactly it was, but "Turn Around" popped into my head the other. "Turn Around" is a song from the 1992 "They Might Be Giants" album "Apollo 18." I'm not a big TMBG fan, but my roommate at University was. We must have heard this album a million times. Whether from the original cassette tape or the best-of compilation he made for himself. On that compilation tape he also had Monty Python stuff, which suddenly reminded me that I used to have a tape like that.
Anyway, the fallout of memories can rolling out, and again, I felt sad. Sad for all the time that went by. Sad for the people and tapes I've lost.
Sad for all the money I'll have to spend right now to retrieve all this music!
The music industry is going to make a killing from my nostalgia. Don't you hate that?
I file away into the deep bowls of my memory tones of audio-visual experiences which usually accumulate dust. Then, all of a sudden, something would trigger an avalanche of memories and emotions.
I can't tell what exactly it was, but "Turn Around" popped into my head the other. "Turn Around" is a song from the 1992 "They Might Be Giants" album "Apollo 18." I'm not a big TMBG fan, but my roommate at University was. We must have heard this album a million times. Whether from the original cassette tape or the best-of compilation he made for himself. On that compilation tape he also had Monty Python stuff, which suddenly reminded me that I used to have a tape like that.
Anyway, the fallout of memories can rolling out, and again, I felt sad. Sad for all the time that went by. Sad for the people and tapes I've lost.
Sad for all the money I'll have to spend right now to retrieve all this music!
The music industry is going to make a killing from my nostalgia. Don't you hate that?
Why Bother?
A man's ego is a fragile thing, I will admit. But not as fragile as it will appear to be. Now, why do women feel like they have to explain themselves? Why do they feel the need to say "it's not you, it's me...".
No. It is me. If I was different, if I was someone else then we would go on, not split up. It is ME you don't like ("that way") and it is ME you don't see a future with.
Oh, it's me alright.
And that's OK.
I would like to sat that I accept the fact that I will not impress everyone. It's fair enough. If everyone walked around being impressed with everyone else, we would waste our time being impressed with each other. It would make a happier world probably, but we could get nothing done. Attraction is different for everyone, and it's not automatically reciprocal.
So why do women feel they need to tell me "you're a real nice guy, the nicest I've met in a long time." Just should just say "I don't think it's going to work" and end it at that. It makes me feel worst, not better. Would it make a difference if I was any less nice?
I don't need a compliment to soften the breaking news that someone thinks that it's not going to work out.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe.
I hate being a nice guy.
No. It is me. If I was different, if I was someone else then we would go on, not split up. It is ME you don't like ("that way") and it is ME you don't see a future with.
Oh, it's me alright.
And that's OK.
I would like to sat that I accept the fact that I will not impress everyone. It's fair enough. If everyone walked around being impressed with everyone else, we would waste our time being impressed with each other. It would make a happier world probably, but we could get nothing done. Attraction is different for everyone, and it's not automatically reciprocal.
So why do women feel they need to tell me "you're a real nice guy, the nicest I've met in a long time." Just should just say "I don't think it's going to work" and end it at that. It makes me feel worst, not better. Would it make a difference if I was any less nice?
I don't need a compliment to soften the breaking news that someone thinks that it's not going to work out.
Do I sound bitter? Maybe.
I hate being a nice guy.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Pulitzer winning talent
So, I know where the most talented writers in the world work. It's not in great newspapers, and they don't get published by conventional means. You can't find them by even the most exhaustive search in Google.
They live in little basements, and fine apartments, I can't tell. They are people you might see everyday, or people you will never notice.
They are the Spam Mail Writers!
Yes indeed.
It used to be outright commercials. Now it's messages from friends, telling me it's an answer to something I was looking for last night, or something they saw on the last Dateline.
I try to stay off as many mailing lists as I can, by publishing my address to as few places as I can, but sometimes it is inevitable (I've posted my address in Blogger, for example, and anyone can scrape it directly off the site very simply). But still, I get dozens of offers every day to help me lose my weight, to help me stay ready for 36 hours straight (no pun...or yeah, pun intended), help me increase my length, my girth, help me earn a million dollars, find nymphomaniacs, or simply become smarter than I've ever been before.
Sometimes, out of curiosity, I read these messages. They are very creative. I can almost believe Hagran is a long lost friend I have forgotten about, and there he is, reaching from the depth of my past, trying to help me with a problem I didn't even know I had.
Bring tears to your eyes...
Or is it just me trying to poke them with a pencil? Maybe that's it...
I mean, just think of the names they come up with!
I suggest a competition. The best e-mail messages will win prices. We can have a whole awards show! In Hollywood! (because we all know how classy Hollywood is). We can bring all the writers in, we can have the directors (the people who actually send them), the technical staff (the people who write the software to send them), and the producers (the people who pay to have them sent, and then make the money from saps who pay). We can have them all in one building for a glorious night of recognition.
Then, maybe, we can just bomb the place to the ground.
They live in little basements, and fine apartments, I can't tell. They are people you might see everyday, or people you will never notice.
They are the Spam Mail Writers!
Yes indeed.
It used to be outright commercials. Now it's messages from friends, telling me it's an answer to something I was looking for last night, or something they saw on the last Dateline.
I try to stay off as many mailing lists as I can, by publishing my address to as few places as I can, but sometimes it is inevitable (I've posted my address in Blogger, for example, and anyone can scrape it directly off the site very simply). But still, I get dozens of offers every day to help me lose my weight, to help me stay ready for 36 hours straight (no pun...or yeah, pun intended), help me increase my length, my girth, help me earn a million dollars, find nymphomaniacs, or simply become smarter than I've ever been before.
Sometimes, out of curiosity, I read these messages. They are very creative. I can almost believe Hagran is a long lost friend I have forgotten about, and there he is, reaching from the depth of my past, trying to help me with a problem I didn't even know I had.
Bring tears to your eyes...
Or is it just me trying to poke them with a pencil? Maybe that's it...
I mean, just think of the names they come up with!
I suggest a competition. The best e-mail messages will win prices. We can have a whole awards show! In Hollywood! (because we all know how classy Hollywood is). We can bring all the writers in, we can have the directors (the people who actually send them), the technical staff (the people who write the software to send them), and the producers (the people who pay to have them sent, and then make the money from saps who pay). We can have them all in one building for a glorious night of recognition.
Then, maybe, we can just bomb the place to the ground.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Somewhere else
I need to go somewhere else. It's only because I can't stay here anymore.
I have developed a three layer system, for the people at work.
1) People I love
2) People I hate
3) People I hate to hate
It's because of the group 3 people that I have got to find me a new place to work at. It's people I hate, but they are not really worth my hate. And hate that. I hate that I hate them, because I should have no emotions about them. They should be air. A flash of color in the hallway. A whisper in the dining room. Instead, I actually invest valuable emotional energy hating these people.
I keep telling myself that I don't care anymore, but the reality is that I care. A lot. Too much. Otherwise I wouldn't hate now, would I?
The group 1 people is why I stay. The group 3 people is why I have to go. Group 2 people, well, they exist everywhere, so they don't factor in.
And then there is the promise to finish this project.
Which I hate.
Which bores me.
Which I am completely uninterested in, and absolutely intimidated by it.
Mostly because I have no idea what I'm doing. Not really.
I feel sometimes that I have a mountain to climb. Not a problem, I've climbed many mountains before. Except this time, the foot of the mountain stands at the top of a sheer-faced cliff, with me at the bottom. There is so much I have to do and learn before I can even start climbing the mountain.
Well, today the weekend starts.
Although weekends don't make me feel any better lately.
I definitely need to go somewhere else.
I have developed a three layer system, for the people at work.
1) People I love
2) People I hate
3) People I hate to hate
It's because of the group 3 people that I have got to find me a new place to work at. It's people I hate, but they are not really worth my hate. And hate that. I hate that I hate them, because I should have no emotions about them. They should be air. A flash of color in the hallway. A whisper in the dining room. Instead, I actually invest valuable emotional energy hating these people.
I keep telling myself that I don't care anymore, but the reality is that I care. A lot. Too much. Otherwise I wouldn't hate now, would I?
The group 1 people is why I stay. The group 3 people is why I have to go. Group 2 people, well, they exist everywhere, so they don't factor in.
And then there is the promise to finish this project.
Which I hate.
Which bores me.
Which I am completely uninterested in, and absolutely intimidated by it.
Mostly because I have no idea what I'm doing. Not really.
I feel sometimes that I have a mountain to climb. Not a problem, I've climbed many mountains before. Except this time, the foot of the mountain stands at the top of a sheer-faced cliff, with me at the bottom. There is so much I have to do and learn before I can even start climbing the mountain.
Well, today the weekend starts.
Although weekends don't make me feel any better lately.
I definitely need to go somewhere else.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Music to my Heart, Melancholy
So, I admit it, I have a lot junk in my CD collection. I didn't think it was junk when I bought it, but I was sixteen when I did, so I didn't think much at all. Over the years, many of these albums stayed unused and unheard. Now, with the iPOd (which I love, I mentioned before again and again) everything is in there, and I hear everything.
Anyway, I was listening through to the list of all my albums, when suddenly, "Slave to the Grind" came up. To those unaware, "Slave to the Grind" is an album by a band called "Skid Row" which was around for about five years at the end of 80s into the first years of the 90s (with 19.. before them). They weren't that great, and they wont be invited into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they have a number of hits.
The point is that suddenly, after REM, Skid Row came up in the play list. A disk I haven't listened to in 12 years, give or couple of years. And it suddenly hit me, as it does sometimes, that I'm old. Almost 32, in fact. Where the hell has the time gone? "Is it all just wasted time?" ask the lyrics of the last song on "Slave to the Grind".
Well, is it? There is so much I haven't done, and so much I'll never do. So many missed opportunities. Do the opportunities I did use make up for them? How can any of us tell? How can I shake that "missed" feeling?
It's kind of a heartache that I hate to get when I'm listening to music, but I sometimes do. It starts me thinking, and I swear, if I was a little bit drunk, I'd probably start crying.
I hate feeling sorry for myself.
I hate that depressive feeling of futility that comes with it all.
I sometimes just want to get up and leave.
It's too depressing to leave the post like this, so I'll just report this: After "Skid Row" came and went, "Dire Straits" followed, with some of the most beautiful songs in the world. Now that I'm finishing this, "Calling Elvis" is playing.
I am tapping my foot and smiling.
Anyway, I was listening through to the list of all my albums, when suddenly, "Slave to the Grind" came up. To those unaware, "Slave to the Grind" is an album by a band called "Skid Row" which was around for about five years at the end of 80s into the first years of the 90s (with 19.. before them). They weren't that great, and they wont be invited into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but they have a number of hits.
The point is that suddenly, after REM, Skid Row came up in the play list. A disk I haven't listened to in 12 years, give or couple of years. And it suddenly hit me, as it does sometimes, that I'm old. Almost 32, in fact. Where the hell has the time gone? "Is it all just wasted time?" ask the lyrics of the last song on "Slave to the Grind".
Well, is it? There is so much I haven't done, and so much I'll never do. So many missed opportunities. Do the opportunities I did use make up for them? How can any of us tell? How can I shake that "missed" feeling?
It's kind of a heartache that I hate to get when I'm listening to music, but I sometimes do. It starts me thinking, and I swear, if I was a little bit drunk, I'd probably start crying.
I hate feeling sorry for myself.
I hate that depressive feeling of futility that comes with it all.
I sometimes just want to get up and leave.
It's too depressing to leave the post like this, so I'll just report this: After "Skid Row" came and went, "Dire Straits" followed, with some of the most beautiful songs in the world. Now that I'm finishing this, "Calling Elvis" is playing.
I am tapping my foot and smiling.
Monday, March 20, 2006
I Gotta Vent!!!
I had to post this now, because I'll burst if I don't vent.
I know I'm going to sound bad, no matter how PC I try to be, so I won't even try it.
As a little background it should be known that in the past fifteen years, over a million Russian Jews have immigrated to Israel. Now, there were only 5 million people in Israel when this started, so the cultural shock this immigration caused was staggering. When there are that many people which build their own communities, they find it redundant to learn the language. Then, when they come to perform a service of some sort (for example, hook up a telephone line to an alarm in our company 10 minutes ago) they have a hell of time trying to express what it is they are looking for. I have a background in telephony, so I help sometimes, and they called me to see if I can help this guy find what he's looking for. The problem was, he could not explain himself. Instead of trying, he started snapping at me, and then dismissed me as no help at all.
See, I was the problem. I was the idiot who couldn't help. I'm always been taught that if I explain something, and the explainee does not understand, it is my problem, not his. But not here. I have over ten years of experience with this stuff, and I'm the friggin' idiot who can't help anyone.
Pisses me off.
I left the room, of course, not saying a word.
It was important enough to me that he will be polite to me, that there was no way I will be impolite to him.
Now, the Israeli are rude and abrasive people. Very Mediterranean. Not that this is an excuse. Those of us who traveled abroad, and saw what it can be like to be a little cultured, weep a little about this behavior here. The Russian immigrants do to. They constantly complain about how impolite the "old" Israelis are. How they don't get the respect they deserve. I've been observing this for many years now, and I've come to a conclusion: They are as impolite, condescending, and brash as the rest of us. They're just not used to anyone talking back to them. You see, and "old" Russia, there was a definite "Class" status. Those who are educated, and those who are not. Those who work in offices, and those who work in factories. If you are a teacher (very respectable in Old Russia) and you walked into a supermarket, everyone had to be polite and kind to you. Politeness and kindness they would not show to any an all customers. If you yelled at a service-giver, he just bowed and agreed away.
Israelis are not like that. They'll talk back.
Oh, yeah, you better believe it.
It's not always good, and not always nice, but sometimes it is very deserving.
So now I have to sit here, feeling bad, and bitching like a moron, about some other moron which doesn't deserver my attention, yet has the full capacity of it.
Not I'm not just annoyed, but I hate myself a little bit.
I know I'm going to sound bad, no matter how PC I try to be, so I won't even try it.
As a little background it should be known that in the past fifteen years, over a million Russian Jews have immigrated to Israel. Now, there were only 5 million people in Israel when this started, so the cultural shock this immigration caused was staggering. When there are that many people which build their own communities, they find it redundant to learn the language. Then, when they come to perform a service of some sort (for example, hook up a telephone line to an alarm in our company 10 minutes ago) they have a hell of time trying to express what it is they are looking for. I have a background in telephony, so I help sometimes, and they called me to see if I can help this guy find what he's looking for. The problem was, he could not explain himself. Instead of trying, he started snapping at me, and then dismissed me as no help at all.
See, I was the problem. I was the idiot who couldn't help. I'm always been taught that if I explain something, and the explainee does not understand, it is my problem, not his. But not here. I have over ten years of experience with this stuff, and I'm the friggin' idiot who can't help anyone.
Pisses me off.
I left the room, of course, not saying a word.
It was important enough to me that he will be polite to me, that there was no way I will be impolite to him.
Now, the Israeli are rude and abrasive people. Very Mediterranean. Not that this is an excuse. Those of us who traveled abroad, and saw what it can be like to be a little cultured, weep a little about this behavior here. The Russian immigrants do to. They constantly complain about how impolite the "old" Israelis are. How they don't get the respect they deserve. I've been observing this for many years now, and I've come to a conclusion: They are as impolite, condescending, and brash as the rest of us. They're just not used to anyone talking back to them. You see, and "old" Russia, there was a definite "Class" status. Those who are educated, and those who are not. Those who work in offices, and those who work in factories. If you are a teacher (very respectable in Old Russia) and you walked into a supermarket, everyone had to be polite and kind to you. Politeness and kindness they would not show to any an all customers. If you yelled at a service-giver, he just bowed and agreed away.
Israelis are not like that. They'll talk back.
Oh, yeah, you better believe it.
It's not always good, and not always nice, but sometimes it is very deserving.
So now I have to sit here, feeling bad, and bitching like a moron, about some other moron which doesn't deserver my attention, yet has the full capacity of it.
Not I'm not just annoyed, but I hate myself a little bit.
IM Hazardous to your work
Or..."Why is IM a Dangerous Tool"
So, my dad is on his day off (once a week, he works from home; big shot CEOs can do that, I gotta come sit in my cubicle). He also had a new toy - an iPod. Since it is a technical gadget, I am instantly the technical genius concerning anything and everything about the thing. I am not, by they, a very "gadgety" person. Besides, all I do with my iPod is shove music on it, and press "Play".
My dad started ripping his entire CD collection to the iPod, which is a good thing. However, he started using his iTunes as the primary media player, which is less of a good thing, because it uses QuickTime, and, well, it's not very happy with Windows and Windows is not very happy with it. So when he plays a music CD, it sounds all squirrelly (or chipmunky, I'm not sure, I wasn't there) and crackly. So begins a whole series of IM conversations on how to best resolve this, ending with me spending thirty minutes going through the iTunes forums to find a solution. Which I did, by the way.
But that's not the point. The point is that he was trying to listen to "Call Me" by Blondie. And after the little problem was fixed, he started to sing along to song. In IM.
Yes, he sent me the song lyrics, more or less one line at a time.
"...call me..."
"...call me anytime..."
"...cover me with designer sheet..."
"...we can share the wine, call me..."
Now, every one of those makes the stupid thing pop up! I'm trying (a swear I was) to work, and I get lyric pop-ups every few seconds!
Now, I can appreciate my dad's enthusiasm, and I love it that he's so excited about this...but I gotta get SOME work done today!
So, my dad is on his day off (once a week, he works from home; big shot CEOs can do that, I gotta come sit in my cubicle). He also had a new toy - an iPod. Since it is a technical gadget, I am instantly the technical genius concerning anything and everything about the thing. I am not, by they, a very "gadgety" person. Besides, all I do with my iPod is shove music on it, and press "Play".
My dad started ripping his entire CD collection to the iPod, which is a good thing. However, he started using his iTunes as the primary media player, which is less of a good thing, because it uses QuickTime, and, well, it's not very happy with Windows and Windows is not very happy with it. So when he plays a music CD, it sounds all squirrelly (or chipmunky, I'm not sure, I wasn't there) and crackly. So begins a whole series of IM conversations on how to best resolve this, ending with me spending thirty minutes going through the iTunes forums to find a solution. Which I did, by the way.
But that's not the point. The point is that he was trying to listen to "Call Me" by Blondie. And after the little problem was fixed, he started to sing along to song. In IM.
Yes, he sent me the song lyrics, more or less one line at a time.
"...call me..."
"...call me anytime..."
"...cover me with designer sheet..."
"...we can share the wine, call me..."
Now, every one of those makes the stupid thing pop up! I'm trying (a swear I was) to work, and I get lyric pop-ups every few seconds!
Now, I can appreciate my dad's enthusiasm, and I love it that he's so excited about this...but I gotta get SOME work done today!
Avert eyes...and...blush! (right on cue)
I got my first reader comment. So aside from friends and other persons known, this is my first confirmed stranger-reader (thanks Raya). Ooooh, wow...
I have terminal shyness. It's a real affliction, that I invented. Why terminal? Well, everyone has to die of something, I thought I might as well die of something I'm good at; and that other people can laugh at.
You're asking how and why, then, I'm writing a personal blog on the internet? Well, it's kinda like walking naked through the Amazon jungle. What are the odds? I was talked into this by a friend (who has long since abandoned his own blog, and left me with the obsession of writing things down).
Honestly, I took courage from the thought that no one will read this.
So now, it's real. Before there was only a potential, but now, it's right here.
Not sure how I feel about it. I guess the risk of embarrassing my self (fear of embarrassment is the outright definition of shyness) in front people that can't see me is not too bad.
I might unleash more of my nonsense. I mean there are stories I right... Little doodles I make...
Ummm, but not right now.
Mmmmaybe later.
Like, when I'm forty.
I have terminal shyness. It's a real affliction, that I invented. Why terminal? Well, everyone has to die of something, I thought I might as well die of something I'm good at; and that other people can laugh at.
You're asking how and why, then, I'm writing a personal blog on the internet? Well, it's kinda like walking naked through the Amazon jungle. What are the odds? I was talked into this by a friend (who has long since abandoned his own blog, and left me with the obsession of writing things down).
Honestly, I took courage from the thought that no one will read this.
So now, it's real. Before there was only a potential, but now, it's right here.
Not sure how I feel about it. I guess the risk of embarrassing my self (fear of embarrassment is the outright definition of shyness) in front people that can't see me is not too bad.
I might unleash more of my nonsense. I mean there are stories I right... Little doodles I make...
Ummm, but not right now.
Mmmmaybe later.
Like, when I'm forty.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Razzfrrtzzz...shit.....rrrrgrgrgrgrrrrzzzft
I hope someone can make the image posting work. I have a post I can't post, because it requires a picture, or it will just be stupid. The stupid "Add Picture" seems to do everything but actually add a picture. I did it before, so I know it works. It goes round and round, then the little window goes blank, and .... nothing.
Shit.
I wonder where all the pictures I've sent ended up? Over the internet, only God will ever find them.
Shit.
I wonder where all the pictures I've sent ended up? Over the internet, only God will ever find them.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Ooooh...ooooh
Someone asked me to draw him a "logo". A coworker (Mehaxem -works only if you get the Cyrillic- letters-joke, the name is "Menachem") asked me to represent his "Barefoot Shoemaker" signature. This is what I drew:
It's a first draft, but it shows intent (and I'm not very talented, so the final draft will not look a whole lot better). But it's fun to know that I am at least slightly appreciated.
On a lighter note: People should have a license to live!!!
I'm telling you, they will anyone just walk around unchecked these days. I went to shoot a little pool with a friend (another thing which I suck at, but thoroughly enjoy anyway). On the way out, I got nearly-hit twice, by the same woman! Getting out of the parking lot, she drove right into the "wrong-direction" lane. That did not phase her, as she slammed into reverse, and sped back. The only problem is that I was there, in my car. A quick horn reminder, and she stopped in time. She stood there, letting me pass. A few seconds later, we were standing side by side at the light (she was looking at me funny) and then the light turned green. Now, the road continued pretty much straight, but she felt it necessary to veer left as much as possible. Except, again, I was there, in my car. This time I was the one who had to slam on the breaks as she crossed into my lane, in the middle of the intersection. This time I let her pass, and drove behind. We met up at the next light. This time I was on her right, and the nice girl in the passenger seat looked at me, rolled down the window and screamed something offensive, which I could not hear very well ("Queens on the Stone Age" were on the radio), but which was, apparently, very funny, because all the idiots in the car were laughing. A quick flick of a finger, and they were gone as soon as it was possible.
I rocked on to the radio. These people should be shot. Not acknowledged.
It's a first draft, but it shows intent (and I'm not very talented, so the final draft will not look a whole lot better). But it's fun to know that I am at least slightly appreciated.
On a lighter note: People should have a license to live!!!
I'm telling you, they will anyone just walk around unchecked these days. I went to shoot a little pool with a friend (another thing which I suck at, but thoroughly enjoy anyway). On the way out, I got nearly-hit twice, by the same woman! Getting out of the parking lot, she drove right into the "wrong-direction" lane. That did not phase her, as she slammed into reverse, and sped back. The only problem is that I was there, in my car. A quick horn reminder, and she stopped in time. She stood there, letting me pass. A few seconds later, we were standing side by side at the light (she was looking at me funny) and then the light turned green. Now, the road continued pretty much straight, but she felt it necessary to veer left as much as possible. Except, again, I was there, in my car. This time I was the one who had to slam on the breaks as she crossed into my lane, in the middle of the intersection. This time I let her pass, and drove behind. We met up at the next light. This time I was on her right, and the nice girl in the passenger seat looked at me, rolled down the window and screamed something offensive, which I could not hear very well ("Queens on the Stone Age" were on the radio), but which was, apparently, very funny, because all the idiots in the car were laughing. A quick flick of a finger, and they were gone as soon as it was possible.
I rocked on to the radio. These people should be shot. Not acknowledged.
Bunnies-hunt conclusions
I had to post an update about the dust-bunnies hunt situation. The bottom line is, that I have been vanquished. The dust-bunnies won. Oh, I cleaned the house alright. But there was a whole nest of them under my bed, and I thought that I cleared every thing out. As part of the cleaning process, I did laundry, too (yey to clean sheets, everyone). Now, in the spreading process, you have to beat the sheets out unfold them. This causes flurries of wind to go around the room. Rattling papers, fluttering drapes, flushing out dust-bunnies from hidden corners....???
What the hell!!!
Yap. At two o'clock in the friggin' morning, little bits of lint came flying up into the air, from places unknown. They were tiny little bits, but that's all that is needed to recolonize my room. It is no time at all before they'll reach the living room, I just know it.
I'm telling you, and you just mark my words now, in two weeks I'll have to clean again. I just know it!
I wish I was still twelve and living with my mommy....
What the hell!!!
Yap. At two o'clock in the friggin' morning, little bits of lint came flying up into the air, from places unknown. They were tiny little bits, but that's all that is needed to recolonize my room. It is no time at all before they'll reach the living room, I just know it.
I'm telling you, and you just mark my words now, in two weeks I'll have to clean again. I just know it!
I wish I was still twelve and living with my mommy....
Friday, March 17, 2006
Air in Tires...Good Is
I've been meaning for a while, but I finally got some air in my tires. Sounds stupid, yes. I go by the gas station AT LEAST once a week. I can't spend another minute checking the air? NO. I'm in a hurry to go to work, or in a hurry to get home, or...um....I'll think of more excuses later.
But this morning, as I was pulling out of my drive way, the front left tire was making a weird noise. It then proceeded to screeching more or less all the way to wherever I was going. So, at last, comfort, not to mention safety, prevailed, and I pumped some in. So now I have a quite ride again, and I can forget to check the pressure for the next couple of months.
That's the problem with company cars. You just don't pay as much attention to them as you should, even though they can get you killed as easily as an owned car.
Dust-Bunnies hunt update: haven't started yet. Had to go shopping for food, and hunger out bid the floor for my attention. So I'm just going to eat something, and go right to it.
Maybe after I hook the scanner up to see what it can do....
After that I'll need a nap...so...
(no question how my house got this way in the first place, is there?)
But this morning, as I was pulling out of my drive way, the front left tire was making a weird noise. It then proceeded to screeching more or less all the way to wherever I was going. So, at last, comfort, not to mention safety, prevailed, and I pumped some in. So now I have a quite ride again, and I can forget to check the pressure for the next couple of months.
That's the problem with company cars. You just don't pay as much attention to them as you should, even though they can get you killed as easily as an owned car.
Dust-Bunnies hunt update: haven't started yet. Had to go shopping for food, and hunger out bid the floor for my attention. So I'm just going to eat something, and go right to it.
Maybe after I hook the scanner up to see what it can do....
After that I'll need a nap...so...
(no question how my house got this way in the first place, is there?)
Be wery, wery quiet!
I'm hunting dust-bunnies.
In the words of Gulu (friend, co-worker, and all around antagonist) "my dust has dust". Also "the dust got so disgusted with the dirt, it went away, leaving something worst". So, yes, I let my house get dirty. Filthy is probably the word. I have too many cups, I mentioned before, so now they are all in the sink. I can go a couple of weeks without washing anything.
disturbing, not to mention disgusting.
The problem is that dust-bunnies are hard to catch using conventional tools. They flurry and fly just above floor level, rendering your every day broom useless. Not to mention, that I suspect the broom itself may be a breeding ground for the shifty creatures.
I have been recommended something call a "vacuum-cleaner". I'm wasn't sure what it is, but I've been assured it is the latest in dust-bunnies corralling technology. I Wiki-ed it, and found that despite what the misleading name of the device, it does not send the dust and dirt into the vacuum. It all just, kinda, gathers up inside.
Just another thing to clean, I guess.
Someone should really do something about this. Stop inventing a better mouse trap, people!
This is what's important!!
In the words of Gulu (friend, co-worker, and all around antagonist) "my dust has dust". Also "the dust got so disgusted with the dirt, it went away, leaving something worst". So, yes, I let my house get dirty. Filthy is probably the word. I have too many cups, I mentioned before, so now they are all in the sink. I can go a couple of weeks without washing anything.
disturbing, not to mention disgusting.
The problem is that dust-bunnies are hard to catch using conventional tools. They flurry and fly just above floor level, rendering your every day broom useless. Not to mention, that I suspect the broom itself may be a breeding ground for the shifty creatures.
I have been recommended something call a "vacuum-cleaner". I'm wasn't sure what it is, but I've been assured it is the latest in dust-bunnies corralling technology. I Wiki-ed it, and found that despite what the misleading name of the device, it does not send the dust and dirt into the vacuum. It all just, kinda, gathers up inside.
Just another thing to clean, I guess.
Someone should really do something about this. Stop inventing a better mouse trap, people!
This is what's important!!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Kaleeen!
So I finally got my car washed. Yey. It wasn't so much that it needed cleaning, it just that I could barely see out the window, not to mention through the side mirrors. It was probably not a great idea, because they say that this weekend is going to be a "dirty" weather. Dust from where-ever will fill the air, and then all of it will rest on my car. For good measure, the air will be humid enough and cool enough to drizzle just enough to create big ugly dust dots all over. The problem is that, however dirty the outside was, the inside was just disgusting. It was muddy in my car. Enough dirt to build a sand-castle, I swear.
Sometimes I think that somebody should pay me to get my car washed (at least refund the cost). It never fails to rain as soon as I get my car washed. Also when I have to go on reserve duty. In 10 years, it only not-rained once when I was called. Even during months when the chance of rain is low, I can guarantee 100% chance of rain while I'm in uniform. Lat year, in July, it did not, finally, rain.
But at least I got my car all nice and clean. It was a happy drive home with the smell of the cleaning and shining material in the air, and the clear, crisp view out the driver side mirror. I forgot that objects in the mirror appear!
Sometimes I think that somebody should pay me to get my car washed (at least refund the cost). It never fails to rain as soon as I get my car washed. Also when I have to go on reserve duty. In 10 years, it only not-rained once when I was called. Even during months when the chance of rain is low, I can guarantee 100% chance of rain while I'm in uniform. Lat year, in July, it did not, finally, rain.
But at least I got my car all nice and clean. It was a happy drive home with the smell of the cleaning and shining material in the air, and the clear, crisp view out the driver side mirror. I forgot that objects in the mirror appear!
Bored Again hooligan
I wake up every morning at 0700 (7am), but I don't crawl out of bed until after 0800, sometimes 0900. Why? No incentive. What's going to happen when I get up? Huh? That's right, I'm going to go to work. And I'm bored there. I have not done any real work for a weeks now! I advance in little bursts, but I really don't want to be doing what I am doing. I spend my days looking at web-comics, reading articles on random things of interest, and waste tones of time playing the Flash-game of the week somebody downloaded. When non is available, I turn to silly card games! See how desperate I am. I'm still sitting here, eating my cereal at 0848 in the morning. I wont make it to work before 0930 again.
I was drawing a little bit last night, and it's sitting right here besides me. I'd rather finish it. I swear, I wish I had more talent for this. Maybe I could have gone do something more creative.
Oooh, I forgot to pay a bill. Shit! That's why you need a job, damn-it!
Gotta go. The traffic jam's a-waitin'!
(Why does the speller always wants to replace "oooh" with Ohio? Weird, man...)
I was drawing a little bit last night, and it's sitting right here besides me. I'd rather finish it. I swear, I wish I had more talent for this. Maybe I could have gone do something more creative.
Oooh, I forgot to pay a bill. Shit! That's why you need a job, damn-it!
Gotta go. The traffic jam's a-waitin'!
(Why does the speller always wants to replace "oooh" with Ohio? Weird, man...)
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Oooops
Well, I've managed to piss of a web-comic. You see, I was trying to get some posters from the site's store (which didn't really work). I tried to contact, and at first she was very patient, but I think I got to a bit her with all my questions.
Sniff.
The sad part is that to this point I have no idea how much the posters cost and what should I add for shipping. Pretty stupid, huh?
It comes being the most confused person in the world, I think, although that's probably not true. A lot of people would candidate themselves for the title.
I guess I'll just have to draw my own art work. The problem is that it pretty much sucks. Sure, I've got my eleventh-grade, corner-of-English-grammer-text-book-stick-figure-animation, and I also drew that kickass chicken in seventh grade with a nib-pen, but nothing since.
I was walking through an art-supplies store, and saw acrylics. Maybe I should give that a shot again? I've been drawing with color-pencils and a range of color Sharpies. My good friends tell me that they're nice and that "You've got a lot talent".
A lot of American Idol contestants bring these sort of testimonials, don't they?
We then sit arround thinking "...the HELL!!"
Sniff.
The sad part is that to this point I have no idea how much the posters cost and what should I add for shipping. Pretty stupid, huh?
It comes being the most confused person in the world, I think, although that's probably not true. A lot of people would candidate themselves for the title.
I guess I'll just have to draw my own art work. The problem is that it pretty much sucks. Sure, I've got my eleventh-grade, corner-of-English-grammer-text-book-stick-figure-animation, and I also drew that kickass chicken in seventh grade with a nib-pen, but nothing since.
I was walking through an art-supplies store, and saw acrylics. Maybe I should give that a shot again? I've been drawing with color-pencils and a range of color Sharpies. My good friends tell me that they're nice and that "You've got a lot talent".
A lot of American Idol contestants bring these sort of testimonials, don't they?
We then sit arround thinking "...the HELL!!"
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Burning down the town
Tel-Mond is on fire!!!
It's a holiday today, and the kids are out of school (we still had to go to work, which sucks). So they did a little picnic in the park, and set some things on fire. Mostly meat, but it looked like they were barbecuing with wood, rather than charcoal or something. Half the town was engulfed in smoke. Thick white smoke. I was crossing the street, and the headlights from a passing car made actual visible conical beams through the thick-foggy-smoke. We usually only get that twice a year. Once on independence day which is usually a twenty-four hours meat-feasting...um...fest. The other time is a ridiculously stupid holiday which I can't even translate, which mainly celebrates a victory a couple of thousand years ago. In the immortal words of somebody, it is a great Jewish tradition to celebrate along the guidelines of "they tried to kill us all, they failed/we won, let's eat!". In any case, we celebrate by lighting great bonfires, which were used in the olden days to signal important news as these. That is the night when the sane people lock themselves up in their houses, and hope that nobody actually burns down the world. The next day, THE ENTIRE COUNTRY, and I am not exaggerating here, is covered in and smells of, smoke.
Some of the animals go wild!!!
Anyway, we got a TRIPLE treat this year. Yey for us...
It's a holiday today, and the kids are out of school (we still had to go to work, which sucks). So they did a little picnic in the park, and set some things on fire. Mostly meat, but it looked like they were barbecuing with wood, rather than charcoal or something. Half the town was engulfed in smoke. Thick white smoke. I was crossing the street, and the headlights from a passing car made actual visible conical beams through the thick-foggy-smoke. We usually only get that twice a year. Once on independence day which is usually a twenty-four hours meat-feasting...um...fest. The other time is a ridiculously stupid holiday which I can't even translate, which mainly celebrates a victory a couple of thousand years ago. In the immortal words of somebody, it is a great Jewish tradition to celebrate along the guidelines of "they tried to kill us all, they failed/we won, let's eat!". In any case, we celebrate by lighting great bonfires, which were used in the olden days to signal important news as these. That is the night when the sane people lock themselves up in their houses, and hope that nobody actually burns down the world. The next day, THE ENTIRE COUNTRY, and I am not exaggerating here, is covered in and smells of, smoke.
Some of the animals go wild!!!
Anyway, we got a TRIPLE treat this year. Yey for us...
Not an idiot
OK, so it seems I'm not a complete idiot. photos.blogger.com was just down!
So here is Sandy:
That yellow thing infront of her is a lemon which she has learned to get from the lemon tree (at my parent's house. My house still has only dirt, which she loves equaly as well, but I don't). She bites into it just a tiny little bit, and the sour taste from the skin of the lemon bursts into her mouth, so she spits it out, and shakes her head. She then jumps to attack it, but when it doesn't fight back, she bites into it again.
No one said she was the brightest pup in the litter, but she is certainly the funniest. Although, as it is with many dogs, she is smarter than she appears to be. She listens and understands everything we say, except for the words "no" and "stop" which meaning completely escapes her.
She is a great role-model, though. Most dogs are. They never feel sorry for themselves. We do this so much. Self-pity. What a drag.
Go doggies. Go!
This reminds me, for no particular reason, that I need to call the gas company to get connected.
So here is Sandy:
That yellow thing infront of her is a lemon which she has learned to get from the lemon tree (at my parent's house. My house still has only dirt, which she loves equaly as well, but I don't). She bites into it just a tiny little bit, and the sour taste from the skin of the lemon bursts into her mouth, so she spits it out, and shakes her head. She then jumps to attack it, but when it doesn't fight back, she bites into it again.
No one said she was the brightest pup in the litter, but she is certainly the funniest. Although, as it is with many dogs, she is smarter than she appears to be. She listens and understands everything we say, except for the words "no" and "stop" which meaning completely escapes her.
She is a great role-model, though. Most dogs are. They never feel sorry for themselves. We do this so much. Self-pity. What a drag.
Go doggies. Go!
This reminds me, for no particular reason, that I need to call the gas company to get connected.
Elevators
Today, the elevator in our building decided to strike. It's probably because it's a holiday today, and it resents having to work. The fact that for me to use it I have to come into work myself (which means that I am at work right now) seems to be of no comfort to it. For anybody who might worry for me, it's an elective work holiday, and usually only people with children take a day off, because they kids are out of school.
Someone today actually said they liked my ramblings (in an e-mail message that I sent to a complete stranger). I guess she was just being kind, but I'll take what I can get. Since these particular ramblings are for my own benefit, I usually criticize myself rather than cutting me some slack.
I'm probably too critical and too self-conscious to have a proper blog (the kind other people read), but never mind that.
What is the source of my rambling? Probably the fact that I spend most of my reality within my skull, rather than the outside of it. I have too many random things running in there, and they all come gushing out if I'm not being careful. It's the same thing that makes me sing at full volume to a particularly liked CD in the traffic jam on the way to work. I sometimes sing so loud, that by the time I'm parking, I suddenly realize that I made myself half deaf. There is literally that ear pressure you get after a live concert for a couple of hours. Or maybe my radio is just too loud? Probably. I don't know if you can make actually yourself deaf .
I'll just let iPod do it, like everybody else.
Anyway, I'm starting a new novellete. I have a couple of chapters and a whole idea already. Unlike previous stuff I wrote, this time I actually know how things end (it's a happy ending) so there is even a chance it will be complete. I'm working on my web-site now, and I think this will be my online-book-in-progress project I dreamed up for myself.
I just need to find a host.
Someone today actually said they liked my ramblings (in an e-mail message that I sent to a complete stranger). I guess she was just being kind, but I'll take what I can get. Since these particular ramblings are for my own benefit, I usually criticize myself rather than cutting me some slack.
I'm probably too critical and too self-conscious to have a proper blog (the kind other people read), but never mind that.
What is the source of my rambling? Probably the fact that I spend most of my reality within my skull, rather than the outside of it. I have too many random things running in there, and they all come gushing out if I'm not being careful. It's the same thing that makes me sing at full volume to a particularly liked CD in the traffic jam on the way to work. I sometimes sing so loud, that by the time I'm parking, I suddenly realize that I made myself half deaf. There is literally that ear pressure you get after a live concert for a couple of hours. Or maybe my radio is just too loud? Probably. I don't know if you can make actually yourself deaf .
I'll just let iPod do it, like everybody else.
Anyway, I'm starting a new novellete. I have a couple of chapters and a whole idea already. Unlike previous stuff I wrote, this time I actually know how things end (it's a happy ending) so there is even a chance it will be complete. I'm working on my web-site now, and I think this will be my online-book-in-progress project I dreamed up for myself.
I just need to find a host.
Monday, March 13, 2006
klickety-klick
I have nothing to say, not to mention I'm disappointed at a pair of lost blogs. I tried to post via Picasa, which failed miserably.
I wanted to post a little picture, but I guess I'm too stupid to do it.
Anyway, maybe I'll try aagain a little later.
I feel kind of depressed, because I'm getting to stupid to do a lot of things lately. Like ordering a poster form a web-site.
Rediculous.
I wanted to post a little picture, but I guess I'm too stupid to do it.
Anyway, maybe I'll try aagain a little later.
I feel kind of depressed, because I'm getting to stupid to do a lot of things lately. Like ordering a poster form a web-site.
Rediculous.
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