Damn, I wish I could get a day where no one else wanted anything, needed anything, had to have something fixed, looked at, cleaned up, or taken care of.

You know, there’s a down side to being problem solving guy; namely, when do I get the bandwidth to work on some of my own?

I have a gift – it’s the thing that turn up on my work reviews, even when I’ve otherwise completely screwed the pooch, work wise; a knoack for debugging things, for seeing the root cause. Well, THERE’s your problem, and Jaime Hyneman might say. I’m just good at knowing, through some combination of intuition and observation, what makes a system work and thus what’s making it not work.

So I find myself forever in that role; the better I get, the more constant the need.

I don’t mind, you know? It’s not just what I do, it’s who I am. It’s what I enjoy. That lightbulb moment, when seemingly un-connected points of data suddenly assemble into a picture, and I can see the point of failure. It’s the tiny highlights in generally drab work days. And more, at home, in real life, when I say, this is the failure point and can apply, or help apply, some solution, it makes me happy.

There are points, though, load exceeds structural resistance and I want to simple give in, let the crushing weight win.

There are the points when I need time away from every single ounce of need, want, issue. No one saying help me or this is broken or can you fix.

This is, of course, the kind of blog entry I usually don’t post. I’ve written it a couple times a year since I started blogging, and rarely does it see the light. Because as much as I don’t want to help, I don’t want any help.

I need a vacation from the universe. And it makes me understand why people find the spike to appealing; let me go away from myself for a bit. Only then there’s another need to manage, and the cycle gets smaller and tighter.

The list of things I need to do gets longer only – never, ever shorter, and the list of what I want to do is almost forgotten under load. I was trying to recall the other day the last time I felt free enough of pressure to cut loose and create, and I cannot recall; it’s lost on the blur if the last year and a half. Even on my last vacation, never did I have a day where I could say, this is my time, forget what other people are doing or want to do.

I feel the edges of a crazy sort of rage at the edges of things. Sadness and anger are lurking at the back of my skull all the time now, and I need someplace to put them.

A good friend asked me the other day if I was ok – really, really ok. And I had to think back a long time to the last moment I felt really ok; moments of time, too soon gone.

I need to be back there, in those fleeting, warm, soft, truly happy moments. And I don’t know how to get back there.

I was gonna say, pick any two celebrities to engage in a hot three-way with you.

Who are they?

But enough of that.

How about, my top-ten bloggers I’d like to nail? Ok, make it a top N. I know I’ve got a list of those for damned sure. But then, they’re mostly on my blogroll.

Fine. Enough with the top lists. I’m one step from fucking quizilla here.

I had more to write here but I just burned the hell out of my hand. Never lift pan straight out of a 400 degree oven with bare hands, I tell ya. Anyway, the biggest blister is right where I rest my hand when I type, so I need a couple talwin before going on.

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Nevermind the typos. I’ll fix them later. Talwin doesn’t help my typing.

However, Talwin and Carnivàle? Good combination. Carnivàle is pretty fucking hallucinogenic already.

Read more “Other Hits”

I know, I know. It’s all been links and pictures lately.

I need to go all introspective and philosophical.

Or write something lascivious about some true-life adventure.

Or some pornographic excerpt from a piece I’m working on.

Only…

Only I’m doing nothing but work, even with my boss out. I got nothing new to talk about other than the fucking Amazing Race.

I can’t even say much about the trip I’m trying to get planned to dive the florida keys because I’m not even sure yet that I’m gonna go; I might not be able to swing the time of get things schedules the way I want. I might not be able to fit my agenda in with the realities and limitations of my schedule.

So I got nothin’.

I’m not even really reading much, or watching much TV. Ok, there’s Carnivàle, which fucking rules this season, twice as creepy and not as slow (and oh lord, the scene where the old priest is listening to — well, if you watched it, you know what I mean). But there’s not a damned thing on that I care about other than that.

I need a vacation. I’m starting to get that compressed feeling, where I want to cut and run and get as far from work and home as I can. Like my head’s gonna explode pretty soon if I have to look at another pile of laundry, fix the same software problem or explain the same issue with a tool’s limitatations one more time.

I’m thinking warm breezes and water and rum, no telephones or televisions. A lot of time sleeping in a hammock.

One way tickets. I like the sound of that.

Maybe just a little rape and pillage. To, you know, keep from getting bored.

This is me, long ago, before I started shaving my head. Eleven to thirteen years ago is my best guess; I know where this was taken, in Kenny’s back yard in Santa Clara, but I’m not sure the years he lived there.

Yes, I just got a scanner. Boy do I have a lotta pictures to scan in.

Good old Oscar Wilde said “Work is the curse of the drinking class.”

Work seems to be the curse of the blogging class as well.

I keep thinking of things I want to write about here but I’m so fucking busy. That’s what I get for spending the last several weeks before the holidays mostly fucking off.

I’m not just busy — I’m busy on a whole bunch of tasks all at the same time. I’m task-switching so fast I don’t seem to be actually doing anything, and yet I’m spinning all day and can’t seem to carry on a conversation with anyone without dropping the thread.

I would not mind if I were doing work I liked, but right now it’s mostly housekeeping. Soon, I’ll get down to some tool development or some installation, test and configuration of new tools. For now I’m in the where the hell was I phase on everything I was doing two months ago that I’ve been ignoring.

So writing, and blogging, are back-burnered for a little while. Which frustrates me because I’d rather be writing.

Actually I’d rather be drinking, or fucking, but I can’t do either of those at my desk, at least not until later.

(Found on BoingBoing)

<img src="https://moronosphere.com/images/_images_nude-holiday-card-5-sm.jpg" height="192" width="128" border="1" hspace="4" vspace="4" alt=" Images Nude-Holiday-Card-5-Sm"

These are beautiful; Declan McCullagh’s Nude Xmas Card photos (click the picture to see full size).

Days when I wish I lived in San Francisco — days when I am glad I live near San Francisco.

There’s a movement afoot to rename the Bay Bridge after Emperor Norton. Norton I, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.

This guy was real. He’s turned up in Tim Powers novels, in Sandman, and I suspect many other places. In his day, policemen saluted him in the street, and he was generally honored as royalty throughout the city.

Only here, San Francisco, would a movement to re-name a major bridge in honor of such a figure get taken seriously.

God, I hope they can pull it off. Though I still disagree with the Emperor about calling it Frisco.

My last trip to england.

Ok, I’m not sure this is real and un-enhanced. Snopes isn’t sure either. But look at how happy he looks. This man is doing it on purpose, even if someone added in the penis with photoshop.

You know, those nutty linguists. Always takling the ambiguity out of things.

Not just for slackers: linguist deciphers uses of word ‘dude’

Dude, I grew up in Nor-Cal. You don’t have to tell me abouy the word dude. Though I have particular fondness for the way my friend Rachel, born in Canada and currently living in Connecticut, pronounces it; “Dyooood.”