Looked over the last couple entries in my blog…hello grammatical errors. Yeesh. Where’s a grammar nazi when you need one?
“Watching paint dry is good for the walls.”
Can’t concentrate this week.
a) Fruit is delicious.
b) Cinnamon graham crackers and cottage cheese strangely isn’t.
c) Some emotions need to be shared; insane fury is not one of them.
d) You can never have too much perspective. Unless of course you actually want to get something done.
e) New site theme. Rough, but a good base.
Well, I took the time to update the software running this thing so I should probably use it as well.
Aunt Roberta and Uncle John came up this way, good times.
Mother came up this way, good times.
Bicycling to work any day that doesn’t want to expel itself upon me, good times.
Paragon Partition Manager has a very pretty gui and claims to resize ext3 and ntfs without dataloss. It resized them alright, but it trashed the filesystems. Ntfs was fixable but the damage to ext3 threw fsck in to an unending loop whenever I tried to repair it. Reinstall + restore from backup. Good times. *BANG BANG BANG*
I figure including some sort of media should become a kind of tradition here. This seems on-topic for my blog:
I need dirt.
Eschewing the highway he picked his route home turn by turn. The rain was constant as the beat from his speakers as he turned down one back road after another. But something was missing. He knew the road, the song–he’d been down both time and again. But something was missing. He felt a strange anxiety, his teeth clenched, his stomach tight. Something was wrong. Fidgeting at the next stop light he chewed his lip slightly, fingers drumming the steering wheel to a rythm not in the music. His wipers squeeked slightly as they cleared his view and it finally occured to him–the damn windows were rolled up!
The light now green he accellerated. The wash of his tires joined the song, the familiar rain and wind greeted him. Now the road led to what he sought: a bit of himself.
“A person like me, if I always stay with other people, I lose sight of my own path.”
In unrelated news:
