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A place to talk about stuff that doesn't belong anywhere else.
Eight years. 1,000 posts.
06 Dec 2015 11:32 - 12 Feb 2019 13:04 #216731
by Cranberries
Eight years. 1,000 posts. was created by Cranberries
This is my 1,000 post on this site. I've been on here for eight years. I realize that this is just a pittance compared to some of you. I will come back to this post and add some things when I have time, so I can relish the sweet symmetry of the number 1,000 without raising my post count. Eight years.
It is also my IMGUR cake day. Here is a photo I took down the street from my house:
[
Taken out of my van window at this intersection, and auto-stitched together by Google Photos:
www.google.com/maps/place/2000+S+Main+St...1:0xb61db7be2865977d
This was the first email I sent myself in Gmail, from 12/20/2004:
162534
--
In early times in Japan, bamboo-and-paper lanterns were used with
candles inside. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered
a lantern to carry home with him.
"I do not need a lantern," he said. "Darkness or light is all the same to me."
"I know you do not need a lantern to find your way, " his friend
replied, "but if you don't have one, someone else may run into you. So
you must take it."
The blind man started off with the lantern and before he had walked
very far someone ran squarely into him. "Look out where you are
going!" he exclaimed to the stranger. "Can't you see this lantern?"
"Your candle has burned out brother," replied the stranger.
-Zen Flesh, Zen Bones
We got the lab results back from my wife's surgery. The tumor they cut off of her pancreas is benign. Now I've got to go delete a bunch of online dating profiles.
_____________________
A cool Poem by Robert Polito:
I’m always running ahead of my life,
The way when we walk you are always
Three, fifteen, forty steps behind
Taking a picture, or inspecting
A bottlebrush tree, a cornice, the sea
As it breaks white on the striated rock,
As though I can’t dare look, and
I’m always running away from myself
The way when we walk you are always
Asking me to slow down, and what will happen
When one of us dies, and, if it’s me first,
There’s no one’s back in our photos anymore.
_________________________________________
February 12, 2019: I've been here for almost 12 years, and I need to put my energy into projects that will further my life goals. I can't argue with the need to make this site commercially viable, but find that it makes the space feel much less interesting and useful. Thanks to everyone I have had conversations with and who have sent me games over the years. I have about 25 years left on this mortal coil and need to focus on my end game.
Cranberries.
It is also my IMGUR cake day. Here is a photo I took down the street from my house:
[
DukeofChutney wrote: nice photo, that's a beautiful skyline where you live, where is it?
Taken out of my van window at this intersection, and auto-stitched together by Google Photos:
www.google.com/maps/place/2000+S+Main+St...1:0xb61db7be2865977d
This was the first email I sent myself in Gmail, from 12/20/2004:
162534
--
In early times in Japan, bamboo-and-paper lanterns were used with
candles inside. A blind man, visiting a friend one night, was offered
a lantern to carry home with him.
"I do not need a lantern," he said. "Darkness or light is all the same to me."
"I know you do not need a lantern to find your way, " his friend
replied, "but if you don't have one, someone else may run into you. So
you must take it."
The blind man started off with the lantern and before he had walked
very far someone ran squarely into him. "Look out where you are
going!" he exclaimed to the stranger. "Can't you see this lantern?"
"Your candle has burned out brother," replied the stranger.
-Zen Flesh, Zen Bones
We got the lab results back from my wife's surgery. The tumor they cut off of her pancreas is benign. Now I've got to go delete a bunch of online dating profiles.
_____________________
A cool Poem by Robert Polito:
I’m always running ahead of my life,
The way when we walk you are always
Three, fifteen, forty steps behind
Taking a picture, or inspecting
A bottlebrush tree, a cornice, the sea
As it breaks white on the striated rock,
As though I can’t dare look, and
I’m always running away from myself
The way when we walk you are always
Asking me to slow down, and what will happen
When one of us dies, and, if it’s me first,
There’s no one’s back in our photos anymore.
_________________________________________
February 12, 2019: I've been here for almost 12 years, and I need to put my energy into projects that will further my life goals. I can't argue with the need to make this site commercially viable, but find that it makes the space feel much less interesting and useful. Thanks to everyone I have had conversations with and who have sent me games over the years. I have about 25 years left on this mortal coil and need to focus on my end game.
Cranberries.
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