I Do Just Run On 9 January 1999

La. Another mindless weekend day, hurray, the Chinese food is on its way. Szechuan Beef tonight. I haven't the slightest idea what it is. As long as it doesn't have any of those miniature corn cob things. They creep me out, not natural. "We have no desire for your blasphemous food, spaceman!" Sorry, space opera head. Just finished Glory by Alfred Coppel, all about free-loving sailors on sail-driven starships and nasty priggish Afrikaaner colonists. I've been picking it up and putting it back for a few months now, because the cover text made it sound even more stupid than I could take, which is rather a lot. I finally found it in the used section, and it turns out to be pretty good after all. Should know by now, me, SF publishers do their packaging in an alternate reality. Was very concerned for a few days because I was sending mail to Marie and not getting any replies. Turns out to have been because the mail was bouncing thanks to some half-witted tinkering with the sendmail configuration file I had done. Duh. I suppose some day I'll have to break down and buy the O'Reilly book about that, instead of just poking things to see what happens. Thoughts of school are starting to rise again, a sure sign that Round-Numbered Birthday Syndrome is beginning to surge. Gosh, I want to do something with my life! Yeah right. I don't think a Certificate of Mastery in Internet Design or whatever is going to unlock that golden path, fella. As if I even knew, really, what I wished that golden path to contain. There's always work for someone who has a clue - that's all I'm doing now, really - but how long for me, particularly? When do I become expensive or actuarially contraindicated? We're resetting the expiration dates on our cookies to the next great Computer Armaggeddon Date, 2034 or so when UNIX date values will overflow. End of the epoch, literally I believe. I'll be in my seventies then, good god. I need to find some good taped versions of Shakespeare. I've been trying to reread Twelfth Night but I'm just not getting the meter right in my head. I remember listening to a taped version of King Lear in some class once, Gielgud I think. Right as the scene on the heath began, this huge thunderstorm started right outside the classroom. Amazing. Ah, typing, what would I do without it? Talk to myself more on the bus, I guess.

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.