I knew there was something I was forgetting: this weekend. Time to gear up.
The in-between stuff, the parts not listed in the schedule include guest at a dinner party (Austin), working at Dancing Moon (San Antonio), and trying to get all the details sorted out. Travel bag, but no “show stuff” has to go with me. Might work in Fiesta, (SA Holiday), but I might not make it. All depends.
And gear down:
Quick late-afternoon dash downtown to grab the mail and a cup of coffee. I finally ran into a situation that upset me – not for what I said or did – but for what I didn’t say or do. There was a young lass in the coffee shop. Full-on Mohawk. Big, purple stripe through it. I should’ve asked her birthday and gotten a picture. But she a had a group of similarly clad friends cavorting about, and I never got up the nerve. Fine, fine mohawk. Haven’t seen one that nice in about half-dozen years. Of course, the first one I saw regularly was from a time from – just a guess – before that one lass was born.
Youth.
I wandered home in a sprinkle. Didn’t matter when I opted to go outside, I’m sure the odd gods were determined that my departure – the point I’m furthest from home – is when it will rain. Wasn’t much, though, and as I crossed one bridge home, the sun was out. Plus the sprinkle.
Devil’s beating his girlfriend again, huh.
Routine maintenance:
I pitched a jig in the water for a few minutes, trying the “looks like a craw-dad” trick – to no avail. Then I got to messing with the e-mail program, and making backup of the database and one item, I clicked on, checked the structural integrity of the program.
Got me thinking about “structural integrity” of websites. I’ve got one that’s built on a foundation of text. The weekly column – on the web – will be ten years old in a few months.
When I clicked through to my own archives, what I found was that there’s a few holes, and some bad control characters, plus there’s a little sloppy editing – all evident.
The way I see it, it looks like the foundations of the site, migrated from server to server to server, I think we’re up to number 5 or 6, all point to a shaky and loose underpinning of raw ASCII text files. Like a house built on a foundation of sand. Or a foundation of chaos.
However, I’m always pleased to look back at that first year of weekly columns, and see growth. The problem is I also look back and there’s a vibrancy, an urgency, a vitality that seems lacking these days.
What did Hamlet’s mom say? “More matter with less art”? (Act II, I think – to Polonius.)
More Virgo with less art:
That’s two, count ’em folks, two Virgo ex-lovers been in contact with me lately. I mean, I ain’t been some of these girls in years, and I mean years, literally. Both are grandmothers. Both are “happily married,” whatever that means.
Glad I’m not, like, you know, bitter or anything.
