Blog journal artifact 2000

· shallows

After starting a flatfile online journal in 1997, dabbling with pitas as a collaborative writing space with syrup, and writing a short-lived sequel to breathing room at diaryland, s finally twigged me to blogger, and shallows (aka, shallow breathing) was my first abortive attempt at using this new kind of weblog-posting tool. Definitely a false start, but there’s some naive enthusiasm there, getting a hit of the blog bug.
I’m posting via the old backend one more time to force out an export file of the handful of posts there, so I can import them into X-POLLEN for posterity. I’ll give them their own category, as I did with the bodega posts, and see how they fit into the overall flow. I wanted a link from here to X-POLLEN for anyone in the future who might be trying to follow this path forward instead of backward, but I already set this up to output the MT export style, but who knows maybe I’ll rig it back up one more time to psit out at xianlandia before killing off the Blogger version of this thing. (Why not, the original will be archived at the old address, the entries join my concatenated archive, and otherwise it’s just taking up space on Blogger’s free servers and bloating their user numbers?)
(For the time being the most recently imported entries are the earliest ones in the blog, starting with this one.)

the midwestern lull

· shallows

just checked all my mail a few times and the pipeline is really clear. it’s 10:48 east coast time, so the normal left coasters are not up yet and the midwest is not keeping up it’s time-share of the morning email traffic on planet earth, privileged north american division.

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joyful, joyful

· shallows

possibilities, freedom
fecundity

fall is my spring

not meeting expectations
meeting needs
    feeling friction freely
but letting it slide

no control
responsibilly

limits unavoidable, a blessing

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Uncle John's blog

· shallows

Sheesh, it’s been a long time since i posted here. Proportion of too busy versus laying low I’m not sure exactly. Had I think my first bonding experience with an old white guy today, in the Servy’s coffee joint in the Spreckel Galleria next door. We both agreed that the labels on the half ‘n’ half and other milktypes thermoses (thermodes? quick, fetch me a Greek) were written in a typeface too small and hard to read. I lamented the disuse of ALL CAPS. He looked on me as a fellow aging guy. Have a good one, I said. You too, said he.

Have been posting an arbitrary cross section of the flood of Grateful Dead related articles and other URLs at the blog named above. I need to work out how to make it public-contributable without divulging my own passwords for my opublish site (I think it’s possible and I just need to RTFM in my “spare time”), and then if I edit/moderate/prune it, it could practically write itself (famous last words). It’s not threaded though, not for discussion, just supposed to be a useful recent collection of on cross section of my flux.

Note to self: Send Jennifer birthday card today….

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i grow old, i… (part one)

· shallows

talking to a colleague the other day, i casually mentioned the wimp-rock band America from the early-mid-late-early-mid-’70s and got a blank stare. She pretended to recognize “Horse with No Name” but man did I feel old. She asked me, guardedly, “How old are you… if you don’t mind me asking?” 35, I told her, going on 36. “You don’t look it.” (Another colleague from this company had guessed my age at 28 — the average there is 24, so that’s probably biasing the guesses.)
“I’m going bald as fast as I can!” I protested. She gasped and burst out laughing. Timing, I tell you. Time-ING.

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