is a blog by Brendan
I got four Hellboys, two Supermans, a tombstone, a whoopee cushion and Graeter’s Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream Cake. I had a gonzo adventure with my friends and we drove off a cliff. I ate two orders of the best ribs in the universe. I won eighteen zillion games of Crimson Skies.
I have to invent a final project from thin air tonight and turn it in tomorrow, but I had a very good birthday.
I cleaned a lot of plates in Berkeley, pumped a lot of pain in the EFF offices. But I never saw the good side of the city… until I played Illuminati with Leonard, Seth and Zack while Sumana danced to songs about shell accounts.
Actually I saw several very neat sides of the city, including BART (which beats the tar out of TARC, I’m afraid, leaving it with one measly C) and Salon Central. I missed out on the party at City Hall, but I sure heard a lot about it. The weather was gorgeous, and I made new friends (Jacob from Alaska is three, and he and I played hide-and-seek from O’Hare to Louisville).
Recent excursions into Powellian hyperbole notwithstanding, I had a freaking great time in California, thanks entirely to my kind and generous hosts. Even though I’ve been up for about 30 hours trying to grab the tail end of all the work I missed, I don’t regret a thing, and I can’t wait to go back. Maria and I spent a good chunk of yesterday (when I should have been, um, grabbing the aforementioned work-tail) making the first real arrangements for this summer’s Calicomicon journey. The Five Lords of the Texas Eagle will sow terror and reap, um, comic books!
Leonard just called to tell me he’s leaving Little Rock for Louisville, putting him at my apartment some time late tonight. When he leaves on the next leg of his road trip back to San Francisco, I’ll be riding with him, skipping out of work and school for a week to hit Far Points West and fly home a week from today.
As linked in the link above (metalinked?), Leonard has titled this expedition “As Long As I’m Here,” but for me personally it’s Captain Spacedork’s “Conquer the Rest of America” Adventure (I was going to make it “Actually Goes West of the Mississippi,” but then I’d just be lying). I get to meet several luminaries from the NewsBruiser User Galaxy of Stars, including Sumana the Cogent, Frances the Bold, and even the famous Atticus Matkin. I also get to do some recon work in anticipation of my return trip this summer.
I’m really looking forward to the trip, and I’m glad Leonard extended me the invitation, especially in light of the fact that he’s still going to have to do all the driving. I’m sure we’ll both be updating from the road when we can. And Mom, don’t worry, I’m packing all clean underpants.
A mystery begins today. Or does it? Well, it seems like it probably does.
The band was okay–nice people, just the Motown they usually picked to play was not slow enough to slow dance and not fast enough to fast dance. They did get everybody out on the floor, though, for “Brown-Eyed Girl.” My mom’s song.
I saw Ben McBrayer, whom I’ve been meaning to write, and a million people whose names I didn’t know I remembered. I was terrified I’d read my Corinthians too fast, but a lot of people complimented me on that, and on how much I look like my dad. Instead of best man and maid of honor, they had Best Moms–my grandmother Virginia and my new grandmother Betty Jo. Father Pat started to prompt them, but they already knew the vows by heart.
Maria was kind enough to drive down from Louisville to get me last night, and I’ve spent Thanksgiving with her family today; Ian’s at Noah’s and Caitlan is at our family farm. This week was the only chance they’ll have for a break together before Christmas. I don’t know how they managed to pull this whole thing off in six weeks, but it was…
About halfway through the service, one of the light bulbs right above the front row chose November 26th as its day to expire. Nobody noticed: my mother and stepfather were glowing.
Well heck. While I was busy nonblogging, I managed to completely miss the two-year anniversary of this journal (this past Tuesday). This is why sometimes there will be things that say “2 Years Ago” over on the right.
Yeah, that’s basically it.
I highly recommend John Allison’s Girlspy, which I just got in the maaail to-day. And it’s great! There’s popes in it.
And so is my weblog! It’s missing about a month of entries right now, partly because for a while I didn’t write anything, and partly because this is restored from an old archive (the only one I have here at work). I’ll get the rest when I get home tonight.
Anyway. Welcome to xorph.com, where there’s content again now!
Whoo!
Sumana recommended weeks ago that I read “In the Beginning was the Command Line,” a very long essay by Neal Stephenson about operating systems and Disney World and nuclear weapons. I’d heard of it before, and I like Stephenson a lot, although his direct-address form is so clear and dry that I spend a lot of time wondering if he’s making fun of me.
Anyway, today I got bored at work, and I read it (213k of plain text; I was very bored), and it got me all excited and I went home and dug out my reject iMac and now, a few hours of downloading later, I’m watching it brainwash itself with Yellow Dog Linux. This is way too easy. I want it to hit a snag now, so I won’t be won over.
You hear me? I won’t be won over!
I don’t know why I have such a grudge against Linux. Maybe it’s because my first experience with it was being thrown into the cold water of a bad implementation of Debian–a hacker’s imp, done by my hacker of a first professor, running chill and unfriendly in the basement that was the old Centre CS lab. (The new lab was still in the basement, it just ran Red Hat instead. I was shocked to realize Linux could do 24-bit color.)
Or maybe it’s just because I’ve been using Windows for such a long time, and I hate admitting I was wrong. Bleagh. Oh well.
The install’s 18% done, and I think I’m going to crash soon and let it run while I sleep. In the morning I should just about have a Linux box, as is only fitting for my first day of CS grad school.
The only problem now, really, is figuring out what I’m going to use it for. I’ve got my desktop publishing and image processing pretty well taken care of on this old warhorse (my PII), so I didn’t install any of that, but do I try to set up a friendly ftp server? Learn to write Xwindows apps? Run a MUD? Suggestions are welcome.
Pork-barrel entry-end tagalongs: I baked my first batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch this evening, waiting for Yellow Dog to download. And they’re GOOD! I’ve been strutting around all night thanks to that. Also, The Devil’s Dictionary does in fact have an RSS feed, and its author, a Mr. Kn____, is apparently some kind of referral-log ninja. And I owe Maria big for letting me download and burn like a gig and a half of computer-geek stuff on her shiny new laptop, since my CD burner is still dead. Thanks, Maria! Get a blog!
I had two fears come true in the last twenty-four hours. This morning, I wasn’t looking, and for the first time ever I got on the wrong bus for work. It took me another three hours just to get back to where I started. I don’t know how late I’ll be here tonight.
And last night my fish finally winged his way to The Land Where Fish Are Eternally Blessed. I don’t really know why–this was about the best his life has ever been. I’ve been changing his water regularly, feeding him once a day, and he hasn’t been moved in weeks.
When he first started acting oddly, Maria and I googled frantically for betta diseases, and checked him for all the symptoms. There was a little while when we thought he had a fungal infection, but we proved ourselves wrong. For all appearances, he was a perfectly healthy fish, except didn’t swim around–he just hovered at the top or sank to the bottom of the bowl. He was still breathing when I left for work yesterday morning, and he wasn’t when I got home.
I never liked the idea of flushing fish, so we gave him a burial, in a small cardboard box lined with paper towels. Maria suggested putting some of his things in with him, which we did: some of the red glass stones from the bottom of his bowl, and the little ceramic tank goblin.
We closed the box, said thank you and goodbye, and slid him into the trash chute. I think it came open on the way down, because it made a lot of noise, like stones hitting the walls. I was proud of this; he went out like a rock star.
He was only a fish, but since I’m a human, I ascribed to him more importance than fish usually get. He was a constant in almost-a-year of rapidly changing roommates. He was a dependent at a time when I very much needed to take care of something, as a means of being okay again myself. This was something Amanda knew, magically, empathically. In three years of gifts, he was the best she ever gave to me. I very nearly named him Hope.
I might get another betta eventually, but not until I have a bigger tank, a heater and a water filter. Some of the stuff I read while I was looking for symptoms the other night made me wonder how he lived this long at all (but then again, I’ve wondered how he lived through a lot of things).
He only started really flaring at a mirror a week and a half ago: he was learning to stand up for himself. When I had loud music on near him, he’d dance to it, out of time. He was quite a lot like me, or what I’d like to be: shy, red, beautiful, effortlessly able to forget.