The unbearable dampness of shoes.

I've been crabby lately.

And I'm not very good at it. It's like I've had no practice or something.

If I was more astrologically inclined, I'd say that it was because my rising sign was Cancer. And you know, cancer cells are made of little clams. Well, they're shaped like clams? They hook and pinch like them? Really, why the frell is this sign called Cancer? I should google it, but boy, then I'd be that bit more astrologically inclined.

Maybe I Was Just Cold...
The other day I was walking to work in the fog. A chilly fog, but it put me in a pleasant mood. I like being slightly cold: if I could pick any temperature for my outdoor environment, it would be 15 celsius, and indoors about 18; I generate alot of heat, which makes me a wise choice to snuggle up to (in winter I say that I am half-malamute). Normally I do not notice anything on my half hour walk to work. I've walked it hundreds of times, over the last decade, I know every leaf, I know where all the different birds are, ya da ya do; in addition, i'm walking at 8 in the morning, and I am not a morning person. I'm just no good at waking up.
Well, it was about 3 degrees out, and I was wearing shorts, a t-shirt, shoes but no socks, and a fleece vest. This definitely woke me up (I really hate that "ennervated" means the opposite of what it sounds like it should mean. I ascertain that my co-worker just learned the word, as he uses it about twice a week), and I actually paid attention to things. Do you remember the fog? Well, it evoked all these memories of childhood fog, or rather, the mood of being in fog when I was young. I love this sort of thing, when childhood states of mind are grafted on to current experiences.* I felt small and isolated, like I was alone on a soundstage. Plus everything seemed strange, unknown, like something does when you have had no experience with it. I didn't feel like I was outdoors, but rather in some impossibly huge indoor space. There was a black cat sitting (no, do not say "on the shadow of a gatepost", because it was...) on a doorstep, and he spooked me a little. Weird, because I love cats, and one of my favourite ones is black with orange eyes and I call her Ghost.
I shivered. looked to my right, and saw a big fluffy grey tabby looking at me from behind a picture window, and she wanted outside (I am randomly assigning these cats sexes, but for some bizarro land reason I feel like I am 100% correct). I laughed a bit, out loud, which I hope the fog swallowed up, or maybe it carried all spooky through the vapour, becoming distorted with the weird echoes of water, and frightened a small child blocks away. I laughed, for I thought that the cat, if outside, would probably just be sitting on her step, not six feet away, sitting beside those shoes, looking just as bored as the black cat did, and not be all imaginatively longing as she was.
This thought ended my childhood mood grafting experience, but as that mood left it said "shoes", which echoed in my head for a few blocks.
shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes,...

*My favourite? One day, in the morning while walking (hmmm), I saw colours as I did when I was ten. Everthing was more vibrant, more there, but lacked nuance, epsecially of shade, but also of detail: it was like being in primary colour land. Plus, I also felt like I was ten. Boy did I have energy. Everything was just so immediate and vital. After about 15 minutes this slowly faded.


Remember My Crabbiness?
The echo of the childhood mood lasted until about noon, at which point I became the crabby person that I have been lately. Irritable, not nearly as jokey as I like to be. I take things too seriously, realize too late the opportunities for playful banter, become massively enraged when some asshat broke the photocopier (trying to "fix" it, when all it needed was new toner. fuckhead. grrr. wasted half an hour of my time undoing what he did, getting toner all over everything. guess this still means i'm a bit peaved). I definitely needed that martini at lunch, and Amanda was a perk me up. Work brought me down again.
I feel dull these last few days. Like i'm wrapped in plastic. My affect wires intermittently short, giving me slo-mo emotional white noise. It may be due to my recent discovery that I am flat broke. Impecunious. In the infra-red. I discovered that Visa let me go way over my limit, meaning that I couldn't afford at all that trip to V that i took last month. I have to live like an ascetic for the next few months, or at least learn how to be social while broke. Relearn, as I used to always be broke but very social. What this really means is that I have effectively stopped drinking. One or two pints once or twice a week does not my meds comprise. I often joked that alcohol was my meds, that I was born three jokes shy of dealing with the world, but now it feels true.
Not that I think that i am boring if I don't drink. good god no. but I am definitely feeling some sort of withdrawal. I'm sure my liver is thanking me, but my brain is wondering what it did so horribly wrong as to deserve this punishment.

I really hope the rumor is true that Schmutzie is coming into town tonight. It seems I need excuses (I think others call these "reasons") to go drinking lately, and she is one of the best.

-starcat carefully avoids going all "Office-Space" while the owner is in town.

Encryption key dazed and confused

This will be making the rounds of the web, and quickly: your u-lock is now worthless. It can be opened with a bic pen(.mov). From the lovely folks at Metafilter.
My roommate and I just spent about twenty minutes or so trying to jam the only bic pen we had in the house over the centre pin, and he finally got it on (heat the end, slide it on, let it cool, voila). A few seconds later with some jiggling and a twist, unlocked! Since bic pen tubes are not standardized to any finessable degree*, yours may easily slip on. Ten seconds for the lucky. Lucky for me I don't ride a bike. Or a pop machine. Or anything else with a cylindrical lock.

*why didn't I write "since they make the tubes in different sizes", or how about "Since the standard tube is actually not very standard in size"? stafd. wtf?

Oh yeah, it must be due to reading Penrose's new, 1000 page book on why the Universe likes math. ouch. If you like, no, scratch that, all the "fun" sentences require a really special mathy font that I don't want to learn right now. I do have some major problems with this book, though. In the past I have come to expect fine writing (if you do click on the link, please note that although P calls himself a realist, he is also a neo-Platonist, believing that Math really exists independent from us thinking about it) from Penrose on matters of math, consciousness, and physics, but this is, well, muddled.
Penrose wants to write about "the complete guide to the Laws of the Universe", and to do so you need to know Math. 16 chapters of Math. 380 pages. I've taken 3rd year University Math, and I am getting bogged down in the middle of it. Oh, hmmm: the part he "wants" (as he clearly did write the book) is for the book to be readable by practically everyone. He describes in the intro 4 layers of reading. For the novice math person, including those who are scared of the math: no need to understand the formulas, you should be able to gloss and get the ideas. This is laughably not demonstrated; the concepts clearly require an understanding that can only be gained by following the math, as well as understanding math-speak. This is where the muddling enters the picture: his attempt to, and failure at, writing the book at this "low" level destroys the normal clarity of his writing. Or, maybe he just needed a courageous editor, as there is way too much, umm, dis-clarity.
The second group include people like me, people who know a bit of higher math, and can actually learn from the book (this is hard, I have to treat it like a text, and it's exhausting, but I did remember, aw screw it, I need the font. err, "e to the pi i, plus one, equals zero" wacked out stuff). There are math problems at the bottom of most pages, rated easy, middling, and hard: I can do most of the easy ones, some of the hard ones; the third group of people should be able to learn and work through most of the hard ones (the answers are online. Hey, cool! there are corrections! good, as I've found a few mathy mistakes). The fourth group know most of the math, and this book is written to show them how Penrose thinks the Universe works. 600 pages of it. and this is the part that everyone should be able to follow, at some degree of ability, and attain deep understanding of modern physics.

The weird thing is that I disagree with his world view, and I know I do for simple (well, maybe not-so) reasons that come prior to the mathy part. Yet I am reading the mathy part, to truly know my opposition. Also, I like reading ideas contrary to mine own. I have a deep desire to be right, not in the sense that I have to make others believe what I believe, but I need what I believe to agree with big-T Truth, that-which-actually-is. I read deeply in all sorts of philomosophical things, I'm highly rational, I strive to not lie to myself, I'm growing my emotions (that hurts, but it comes close to what I think I mean). Yet I am all too aware that, like everyone, I stop my inquiry into Truth when I am content with what I have found. The final arbiter in my delve for rational knowledge is my mammalian emotional core. And if I stop when I am content, maybe I also have abandoned mainstream ideas just as non-rationally. Maybe I have given up on the Big Bang too early, maybe the concept of God does make sense, maybe there is some ethical ground to stand on for meat-eaters, and a host of other things.
This bothers me, but what can I do? I'm only human. I can't always doubt. I have built in comfort parameters that require stability and coherence but not much more (outside of beer and cheese). So occasionally I mix it all up by reading wacky stuff, mainstream stuff I disagree with, problems in the fields I do study, etc. I no longer try to fit all my knowledge into one tidy package, not because I am extremely messy (which I am), not because I don't trust metanarratives (I think they're sexy!), not because I am avoiding God by refusing to look at inconsistency (has anyone ever pulled this on you?), but because I am lazy. LAZY (such a shock to my regular readers!). oh, and fallible, and also: remember all those philosophers I've pretended to have read? they couldn't do it either.

Apparently I'm also too lazy to wrap up my thoughts. Not that they were very wrap-uppable anyways. Wrapping up is soo five minutes ago.

slow bus to nowhere

Today driving home from work I almost got stuck behind a bus. Fucking buses.
Why can't there be a light on the back of the bus that lights up whenever someone pulls the cord inside? Simple, driver-friendly stuff that will never happen. Like fuel-efficiency. (yes, I realize that this is about a train, albeit with a cool name, and I really wanted the story on the buses in Denmark that use the same principle. But if I've been too lazy to post for weeks, I am certainly too lazy to be all properly linky right off the bat. This is my search, if you are so inclined.)

links, punctuation, and merkins, of course

Like so many online, I am drawn to the spectacle that is American politics. As a Canadian, these things interest me far more than they should. For instance, why is it that practically every week I know most of the news that concerns the top 10 conservative idiots? When did I become one of Atrios' more regular readers? Why have I developed a morbid fascination with how many coalition soldiers have been killed in Iraq (this goes beyond my minor number fetish)? Do you too keep up with the blogging of Tom Tomorrow (if you don't, definitely read his archived comics)? This reading comes at the expense of reading more interesting things, unless I spend way too much time online. Frell, I even play/watch way too many flash games. And how did I forget this, of all things, when making these links the first time?! If you have got past level 22, let me know.

When I was thinking of what exactly Whoopi's joke about Bush might have been, the words "Animated Merkin" popped into my head. And I laughed! I don't know if anyone else has come up with this, and I am certainly not going to google for it, but if you know of anything, or are willing to look at a lot of unrelated merkin websites, let me know.

In other news, I discovered while reading Karen Elizabeth Gordon's The Well-Tempered Sentence, that you don't need to use a question mark following a rhetorical question. She also agrees with me (and Lynne Truss;  warning: questionable punctuation game) about the proper placement of punctuation as concerns quotation marks. And even though

Hmm. I saved this as a draft yesterday, no, the day before (umm, no), but apparently something got lost. I have no idea what I was going to write after that. Oh well. Hmm, I have a vague memory of leaving the entry unfinished like that, believing that I couldn't forget what came next. This memory may well be just one of those false beliefs the brain generates to make reality easier.
I'd link to something brain-y and psychological/neurological, but you know all about that, right? Well, there are a lot of false beliefs people have about the brain and consciousness. Do I really want to get into it? I don't feel like playing a flash game, so maybe I will.
First though, I will eat supper. Yes, I know that it is 10:40, but I am making a mix tape for work using songs I like from all my old CMJ CDs. Time consuming, listening to so many okay songs. So far I've only collected Elliott Smith, the Eels, and Amon Tobin.
And like, this is a week later. That brain stuff is going to have to wait. Why do I not post more often? cause I suck? do I care?
If you care about the line-up of the mix tape, email me. I finished it today, and called it Days of Sadness and Medication. There is some stuff on there I am totally unfamiliar with, but kinda like.  Who are "Essex Green", and "My Favorite"? I guess I'll learn in a few days, thanks to Last.fm, your personal radio station (audioscrobbler fans should get excited, but not too much).
-Starcat, uneasy without U.

A beef with the CBC (and French movies)

Currently I have no cable TV. This isn't really all that bad, since the only show I really watch is The Daily Show, and CTV airs that. Oh, and Jeopardy, occasionally (even now that Ken is on his 36th win; you'd think that I'd tune in more often just so I wouldn't miss that moment of pop culture that will be him losing, but no). Even when I had cable, I discovered that I was watching not much more than music videos, terrible movies (especially the really bad ones, like crack they were to me - I watched Mangler 2, twice), and commercials.
I love commercials. What's not to like, really. They are generally more arty than anything else on TV, non-linear seems to be in, I love guessing what product is being shilled (I am scarily good at this, though I have a sneaking suspicion that many of us are), and they are one of only a few mainstream outlets to hear new, good music (now that I don't have cable, maybe the only one; the two others before were the WB and the Wedge on Much). Oh, and I almost forgot about all the sexy people (how could I have forgotten about the sex?).
There are bad commercials, though, and these come in two kinds* (well, if I stopped to think about this, there are probably more, but whatever. And a special category is reserved for Mel Farr, Superstar). The first is the kind that makes you shake your head and compose a better ad on the spot. We've all done this, and it doesn't take a marketing degree to add vitality and surprise to a bland commercial (I really am thinking about changing jobs, my virtual portfolio will make you laugh, I swear).
The second kind of bad commercial I despise; it is so bad you have to change the channel when it begins, or else risk contamination. These ads are almost always local, and manage to be simultaneously boring and irritating, devoid of any creativity, and are generally insultingly terrible. Dating service commercials also fit in here, as there aren't any sexy singles waiting for my call at midnight on a Wednesday in my city, and if there are, how lame for them. Which brings me back to the start: during the Daily Show, which is on at midnight in my time zone, there are very, very terrible local ads, and I am shuddering just thinking about them. No, I won't mention them, but if you are from around here you probably know which I am talking about.
Now, when you have cable, and a bad ad comes on, changing the channel is a wonderful option; almost too wonderful for me, as I am a typical male who channel surfs rather well, and sometimes forget to come back to the show I was originally watching. When you don't have cable, you don't have this option. Yet you must still change the channels, and simply must bear the brunt of what you find. At midnight, there are only two other channels (a fourth channel just does not come in at night on the rabbit ears). They are both CBC, and one is in English, and one is in French. Which brings me to my beef:
CBC, what is up with your late night movie language policy? The following happens practically every night: On the English channel, a French movie will be playing, with subtitles; on the French channel, an English movie will be playing, dubbed into French. WTF!!
I don't have a problem with French, or with the French channel (some of my friends are French..., ha!), it's just that I don't know it that well, despite a minimal desire to learn (cause I actually do have French friends). I appreciate that CBC is playing French movies, and I love that they are subtitled, because I hate dubbing: this is beside the point. CBC programmers, why can't you put the English movie on the English channel and the French one on the French channel? Most of us have closed captioning if we want the appropriate subtitles. Or, somewhat easier, maybe: Don't dub the English movie, just subtitle it into French; this will not only preserve whatever "education" goals you had in mind, but will extend them to the realm of teaching French spelling to the anglophones.
I know return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

*You've probably heard this one, which is why it's at the bottom: There are only two kinds of people in the world, those who think there are two kinds of people, and those who don't. Whenever I hear "there are two kinds...", this automatically pops in my head, and invariably pops out of my mouth. Sometimes I sex it up by sounding like Dorothy Parker, but this works better when I am drunk.

I'm back - the music issue

I went on a music purchasing binge the last few weeks. I've drastically cut down on my liquid medication bill, so I had to waste my "extra" money on something...
Purchases include: The Apples in Stereo - Velocity of Sound; The Walkmen - Bows and Arrows; Yo La Tengo - I can hear the heart beating as one; The Clash - London Calling; The Flaming Lips - The Soft Bulletin; Wilco - a ghost is born; and you will know us by the trail of dead - source tags and codes; Tragically Hip - In between evolution; The Cure - s/t. Some pleasures here, some disappointments. The new Hip album is one of the disappointments, there doesn't seem to be anything that immediately catches my attention, just a lot of rock sounding music. Like most albums, I'll have to give it the six listen judgement, but I'd caution people to stay away from it. The same goes for the new Cure album. There are a few good songs, but absolutely no new ground is covered, and there are no songs with that wonderful pop hook they did so well in the 80s. And Robert, can you please stop writing songs about how you feel so fucking sorry for yourself? These are the moments when you are at your most trite.
The Clash, Yo La Tengo, trail of dead, and the Lips are albums I've wanted for a while but haven't had the opportunity until now to pick up. I'm currently listening to the Walkmen. Did they have a song on a car commercial? The singer's voice sounds familiar. I first heard them on the mixed CD that came with the special music issue of the Believer. I could look it up, I suppose, but I'm too lazy right now. Okay, I looked it up, and the song was "We've been had" from Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone, the commercial for Saturn (this planet, it has rings? hmm). Apples in Stereo I picked up because they are on the Elephant 6 label, home to Neutral Milk Hotel (enough of which lately I can not get). This one is quite good, but I have not the skill to tell you what it sounds like, as "hard-edged, fuzz guitar sugary pop" is not really anywhere close.
Oh, and the new Wilco album is amazing.
Ah, sweet work-filled weekend, how will I find time to sleep?

And I thought I knew shame before

Well, I had written a very nice, poking-fun-at-myself entry about how I haven't read Ulysses yet, and all the mock shame I felt about it. I told you that I have been trying to read it for about fifteen years, but that I keep putting it down to read other things. I told you all about books I read in the summer of 95, although there was a star which led you to the bottom of the page, where you would have read that although I had read those books, I hadn't in '95, as I can't find my Have Read list from that summer. Ooh, I even remember typing something like "it (the list) was supposed to be over there, see, where clearly there is now only that stupid pink bear, the star-shape-icecube tray. And Ulysses."
I talked abit about the Quest, but not much (again from the memory hole: "the short version is that we were four good friends who fucked off a year or so of school to have a lot of creative fun, and every year since we get together to drink a lot of coffee."), only to mention that I did not keep my Quest goal for QE 10 to read the Big Books I hadn't read yet that I owned, which included Ulysses. I never read any of them. One of them was Infinite Jest, and I mentioned that after reading a Mimi Smartypants entry about her love of the book, I picked it up, and um, moved it to a new pile.
There was also a few lines about how I wanted to have read Ulysses for today, bloomsday, about how I was ready to not get a lot of stuff, but the book hasn't even been moved.
By now it should be plain to you: I lost an entry. I was just about done, ready to preview it, and I wanted to find one last link on "summer of 95" using Bananaslug. My browser crashed, and me with no back-up. I thought that there would be warning signs, as there usually is. Not this time. grrr. This entry is vastly unfresh compared to the original, as it had fun fresh links to reviews of books, and to a few other sites, which this entry clearly does not possess. It also had some stuff about me feeling like a fake intellectual, that soon I will get kicked out of the club ("bounce! bounce!! bounce!!!"). Oh! and there was this whole riff on the fake University course I had to take on faking knowledge of texts and authors, but it was really overworked, and I'm glad it's gone.
I will, however, finish in the same spirit as before.
I am off for a pint of Guinness, and will be carting the Big U with me for one more kick at the cat.

With a rush and a push and the band is ours

I know I promised that I would write about "Idiot Proof" when I was finished it, and that was a long time ago. Well, the truth of the matter is that I didn't finish it, as it is very annoying. So annoying that I hurled it across the room (with only ten pages left), dinging the corner of it on the hardwood. It still reposes near the box of homemade wine near the unfinished bookshelf Che gave me. I have only hurled one other book previous to this: Grendel by John Gardner. With three pages left, the book took such an infuriating turn I couldn't stand (well, sit) to hold it anymore. Whing! Scare the crap out of Max (the psychotic cat) did I, yes I did. I finished it, eventually, and I will finish Idiot Proof as well. Then you too can marvel at how many stupid things this man says. Hmm, and since Nick Hornby praises it in some issue of Believer I have kicking around, maybe I'll kick him around a little, too.

I did finish my mixed tape for work. Following is the list of bands in the order they appear: Neutral Milk Hotel; Cat Power; Jesus and Mary Chain; Yeah Yeah Yeahs; Malcolm Mclaren; Sleater-Kinney; Modest Mouse; the Pretty Things; the Vines; Tori Amos; the Beatles; Telepopmusik; the Smiths; Pixies; Sonic Youth; Spiritualized; Dream Warriors; MC 900 ft Jesus; Tom Waits; U2. Maybe later I'll be all linky with these bands, but right now sleep beckons.

Princess Auburn of Gemini World

When I was conceived I was not alone. I had a twin, a sister, and the two of us developed, slowly, together. Until Fate intervened, and then my sister was no more. Her nascent body, abandoned by the imperatives of life, was consumed by mine for nourishment; this was of minor interest to me. Of major interest is that her soul was subsumed by mine; she lives within me still. As she exists only internally, and not externally, she matures at only half the rate of the rest of us.
Inside me lives the soul of a 16 year old girl.
Like, oh my god! that explains so much! lol! (ahem.)
She is a pale girl as she doesn't get much sun. She has reddish brown hair, and likes to dress in browns and reds. I have met her a few times in my dreams. At times we are very close, and others she is quite cold, distant, and tests me. I should be very wary of her, but I am incapable of mistrusting her, for I love my sister. She told me her name, but of course that is a secret.
She wants to be free; sometimes I let her out, and other times she forces herself out. To her I attribute my preternatural youthful looks, and she is the reason we will see my 125th birthday.
I have a twin sister, and I am never alone.

Re-mixed vertigo for idiots.

Hi all. I'm currently making a mix tape for work. That's right, a mixed cassette. This really is a lost art, I think, at least for me. It's been decades since I made a really good one, and most of the ones I've made for work seem somewhat off. The last tape I made I went with a two song in row from each artist format, which somewhat worked. This tape I might put the same artists on both sides, if I can work it. Currently I am listening to Sleater-Kinney's The Hot Rock to see which song has the right blend of energy, harmony, and non-offensiveness (note-wise) for work .
I finally had a non immediate sense datum dream last night. I was on the top of a cliff, which was fairly smooth and level, but it ended abruptly to drop sheer down at least a kilometer. I was running along, about fifteen feet from the edge, enjoying the clear blue sky, the wonderfully fresh cool air, the general openness of the scenery. Then I saw a crack in the cliff that I had to jump over. It was only about two feet across, something that I could easily step over, but as I jumped over it I saw that the crack went all the way down, that if I fell in I would fall a kilometer to my death. I kept running, still somewhat exhilarated, but now also nervous a little, very much aware of just how freakin' high I was. I came to another crack in the cliff edge, and this time when I jumped it wasn't nearly so easy, my stomach clenched a little, my legs would barely jump at all. Still I ran, compelled god knows why. When I came to the next jump my gut clenched so forcefully I couldn't jump at all, I was so completely focused on the view down to the blurry green trees below (yes, I know, focused on something blurry). My momentum carried me over to the other side, but I couldn't move, I lay on the sun warmed rock, my diaphragm so clenched I couldn't breathe; this is how I woke up: in the grips of intense vertigo, my mind convinced that I was going to fall off the edge of my bed to my death.
Now if only I had actually fallen, I probably would've floated down or something, then had an opportunity to fly. But no, just stupid useless dizziness and fear.
I'm currently reading a somewhat nasty book by Francis Wheen called Idiot Proof. His goal is to reveal the stupidity of the media, of those in power, of us for supporting them, of fad religion and spirituality, fad economics, fad diets, whatnot. As he was detailing what was wrong with Thatcherism and Reaganomics I was with him, generally; at a certain point he turned irrelevantly mean and nasty: "Why [Deepak Chopra's] longevity formula failed to work for Princess Diana, with whom he lunched shortly before her death, remains a mystery." He grossly miscaricatured (this word looks wrong) several things that I know rather well. I really want to tear into this guy, but currently I am very tired. I think that I will wait until the next time I post; by then I will have finished the book, and he may redeem himself. I am guessing he willn't, as his main point seems to be that humanity isn't smart enough to avoid doing stupid things; big deal.

Doodlebugging

So now that I have this intraweb diary, I have almost no idea what to write on it. I don't even know if I want to care about proper spelling (no one else really seems to mind much) or punctuation (not many of you would even notice improper p, I'm convinced); I must though, as all but the occasional lapse will sour my soul.
I've hemmed and hawed about entry number 2 for days. As I had no purpose in creating this web diary except to reply to Palinode, it lacked purpose; I lacked purpose. But no more. I am going to babble at you (don't worry, I will delete the worst of it before you even see it) until purpose develops; I purpose to find purpose.
I now hate the word "purpose". Immensely. I would delete all uses and mentions of it above, except that I wish to preserve the reason why I hate it so.
Lately my remembrances of my dreams have been extraordinarily brief. Not just brief by my usual standards (I have had my share of epic dreams, one of which I am still working on turning into a novel), but damn near Hegelian sense-certainty brief. Last night I dreamt that I was running. I have no idea where I was, what the light was like, what I was wearing, whether fast or slow, hot or cold, fatigued or exhilarated. Just running. Yesterday if you asked me in the morning what I dreamt, I would have told you that I was holding something orange. No idea what or where, etc. It is very hard to realize that you are lucid dreaming when your recollection amounts to doodly-squat.

Fortuitous Accident

Somehow, I accidentally made this blog, so I figured I'd post. This could be the start of something beautiful. tear.