"What is my regret. It was cheese for me to get very good friend with one person. The people in the memory were four person. Me, Joyce, Tommy and one more girl. I want to talk with a girl at school, we did talk on the phone. but we just afric to talk at school or any place., because I learned my lesson for there. Don't scare. Be brave to talk with someone in front you." (Chen, Jeremy, January 8, 2002)
I found this on a discarded piece of paper on the ground outside of City Tow a few weeks ago. I love coming across little pieces of other people like that.
Busy couple of days. On tuesday night, Bernie and I attended a "curator's reception" at the California Academy of Sciences. I recently bought myself a membership to the museum, and one of the perks of the level that I signed up for is occasional swank events like this, with lots of free wine and snacks. It was like a science fair for grown-ups; each of the departments in the Academy had a representative at a little table, with some of their recent work or research laid out and presented. Lots of skeletons and skulls, things floating in jars, bugs on pins, rocks and minerals and fossils laid out with little labels, that sort of thing. One woman in particular was very excited about her trilobite collection. It was pretty fun - I like science. The other thing of note was that almost every single attendee was white, and over 45. Just saying.
We went to Toy Boat for ice cream afterwards, and I made myself sick on a big ol' hot fudge sundae. Mmmmm.
Last night, I went to my last motorcycle repair class at Subterranean Cycles, which is owned and operated by our old housemates, Pat and Abi. The class was three wednesday nights, three hours each, and covered pretty much anything your average motorcycle owner would want to know about taking care of their bike. I learned a lot, and that's after living with those guys and hanging out at the shop for a few years. If you own a bike in SF, I recommend it.
Of course, on the ride home, my bike died. It was sputtering and stuttering and backfiring a bit that afternoon, but I had attributed it to a low, then freshly filled gas tank, maybe some rust or sediment in the carburetor, but I stopped dead around Geary and Van Ness. No lights, no power - the battery! I had been a dumbass a few days ago and left the keys in, and the bike on, all day, so I took the battery in and put it on a trickle charger, and re-installed it. Apparently, I didn't screw one of the battery contacts down tight enough, because the nut that held the bolt in had come loose, and fallen off somewhere on the streets of the city. I cajoled a security guard into giving me a piece of masking tape, which held things together for a bit, but after stopping and starting for a while, I finally parked about ten blocks from my apartment, walked home to get the two nuts I had removed from my jacket pocket a few days earlier, walked back to the bike, screwed stuff down, and finally rode home. Well, at least I got a good walk out of it, and it wasn't anything serious. Still. Dumbass.
Okay, so maybe I was a little bit harsh in my last entry, ragging on the *shudder* bloggers. Cam had some decent reporting from SXSW today that made me think twice about it all. I still can't stand the word "blog", and its derivatives, but I do recognize the importance that the individual reporting from whereever has for the 'net at large. So, keep writing. Just don't take yourself so seriously, fer chrissake.
Speaking of writing, my man jorm has been writing a story as a journal on his livejournal. It's really good so far. It's something I'd always wanted to do, except my writing sucks. (I have tried something similar before, with a copyrighted work, under the cloak of anonymity, with varying results, but never with my own writing, and never out in the open.)
In other news, Bill Hicks is my fucking hero.
(I just discovered that my XSLT isn't doing some links correctly. Fucking busted-ass sablotron.)
I'd just like to make one thing perfectly clear here. This isn't a "blog". You have no idea how much I hate the term "weblog" - when I first heard it sometime back in 1999 or so, I was pretty sure that the people talking were confused, because they sure weren't talking about the weblogs (web server logs) that I knew about. Oh, no, they took a perfectly good technical term and decided that it was okay to make it mean, "like, my links page that I, like, update every day and write a really, like, witty sentence about, and, like, all my friends put it in their blog too, and, like, link to me and stuff".
Blog, blogging, blogger, blah. Cut it out. Stop taking yourselves so seriously, stop talking about how weblogs are some fantastic revolution, just stop talking, fer chrissake. If you're going to write, just freaking write already. Keep a list of "today's cool links" or whatever, fine. If you really have to, call yourself a "journalist", even if you're distending the term to include "people who keep journals". But, Jesus, get a goddamn grip. Yeah, I'm talking about you, dammit.
(Actually, it was this page that set me off. There are many offenders, though, and come the revolution, they'll all be up against the wall.)
Well, so much for that writing regularly thing.
I've been watching a bunch of movies lately - 70 dvds from netflix in the last 90 days. Some really good, some really bad. I'm not telling which are which.
Bernie recently had her final knee surgery, removing the hardware that held her patella together after it was smashed by a red light runner, and scraping some of the junk out that made it grind. She's mostly off the crutches now, came home from work today, and is still Resting Comfortably. I've been getting up and driving her back and forth to work - I forgot how much I hate a) driving a car in the city, b) driving in rush hour traffic, and c) waking up at a Decent Hour.
As far as work goes, I'm embroiled in yet another startup. Wacky stuff. Fun, and pay! Woot!
The little red pointer thinger on this Thinkpad is busted. It can't seem to decide whether it wants to completely freak out every time you touch it, or not work at all. Getting repair support for this thing is proving tricky, as it is "borrowed", and the whole trackpoint thing seems to scare most repair places. I'm thinking fire.
My teeth are starting to hurt again, mostly the uppers, near the back. I maintain that it has nothing to do with all the cappucino merengues. Anyway, I'm sure my dentist will be happy to see me again.
I've been playing a lot of Dance Dance Revolution lately. My shins sort of hurt.