Here's how this happened

For a while now, I've wanted to reboot this site. I'd learned (so I thought) all kinds of web design junk a few months ago while putting together this site, and I figured I could apply it here. But then a) I took a lot of time off after the last project and forgot everything I used to know, and b) I didn't properly back up my old template. And so, we get the wonder that you see now.

I'm not just pissed about losing the old design. Actually, not having the old template is going to force me to tinker with this continually under I get something I like out of it. No, what makes Hulk angry is that I had an entirely free night on my hands after I got home from work, and then I immediately turned this site into balls. And then I spent about three and a half hours shoving around margins and recreating my damn blogroll. If you think the place looks like shit now, you should have seen in at eight o'clock. What a waste of a night.

Comments

Anonymous said…

So you probably don't want to hear about how your blog roll links are all facked then, do you?

12:29 am

Anonymous said…

True Internet friends point out your flaws in public.

;)

10:38 am

I should add...

... that two people were instrumental in my joining Twitter. First, Isha . She sent out an article on it when the application was still brand new. (And I remember thinking, "Screw that noise. Like I need more online commitments.) Second was Rebecca . She joined up just a short while ago, claiming she hadn't met a bandwidth she didn't like . (And then she disappeared entirely from the internets .) It looked nice and pretty over there on her sidebar, and then I got a little jealous. The rest: history. And for those unobservant among you ( Jorge ), the Twitter feed is right there on my sidebar, replacing the old Radio 3 player that I loved, but that I think scared the bejezus out of a lot of people. Also, everyone should join Twitter. I'm needing some diversions , people.

Change Two: Drink More Water Such a simple thing, yet something I just can't seem to find the time to do. About the only water I drink in your average day is whatever sweat happens to trickle off my mustache. Hydration (so the smart people tell me) is a good thing. I'm less fatigued when I drink water. I'm less hungry when I drink water. I'm even less grumpy when I drink water. I promise you nothing especially impressive. Eight glass a day ain't gonna happen. I'm shooting for two on average; two trendy, metallic, not gonna bleed Bisphenol A into my system bottles of water. I know were off to a rip-roaring start, what with the list-making and the hydration, but I'll try to get crazier with future changes. Stuff like: go to work drunk more, and buy a pair of leather pants. For now, let me ease into it.

A complex phrase, in which the various parts are enchained

“Barry,” my cousin Mike said, “I think it’s time.” It was clear that my brother didn’t feel the same way, but he only shrugged, which Mike took as agreement. “Dave,” he said, giving the words as much gravity as he could muster, “Go get the dictionary.” I was nine years old, and a tag-along. I’d walked in on my brother telling a story about how—during school that morning—a girl he knew got her period in the middle of French class. And I laughed like the dickens. And then they called me on it. After I’d lugged the dictionary down from the spare room, Mike told me to look up the word period and read out the definition. “The end of a cycle, a series of events, or a single action?” “Keep going,” he said. “The full pause with which a sentence closes?” “Not that.” “An interval of geologic—“ “Gimme that!” He yanked the book towards him, read down the page, and pointed me towards the definition he’d found. Menstruation: the monthly discharge of blood from the uterus of nonpregnant women from pu...

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