1 November 2001
3:36 PM: I feel like time is moving forwards and backwards around me, sometimes at the same... um, time. Need a better word for that. What day is it? When is tomorrow, or did we already have tomorrow? I'm remembering why I started writing things down here. When I go senile, will I know? Will I turn the paper strip blue or pink?
Good News: it was not anthrax. They don't tell us what it really was, though. Dang it. I'm still betting on weaponized parmesan.
Bad News: Somebody is threatening to get a little too extreme in their pro-ferry campaign. I do love these kinds of announcements, though. "We have received credible evidence that bad things might happen here or somewhere else at some time in the future. Maybe. Unless saying this makes them reschedule. Should you stay in your house and live off delivered Chinese food and boiled water? Hey, that's up to you."
3:44 PM: More evidence that Slate really wants to be the Economist when it grows up: "Ramadan Night’s All Right for Fighting". OK. Heh. I admit it.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
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The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.