Friday, fourth week of Summer Lab
...because 'the season after Pentecost' stops being a useful marker after a while.
Not much more organized. Definitely not better slept. A few better parties. And in nutrition news, there seems to be a whole slew of new things I just can't eat, which is... fun. Fortunately, it seems to mostly be things I shouldn't eat anyway, and now I have a much more immediate reason not to eat them. Involuntary improvement.
Too tired and disorganized to remember what I came here to discuss. Perhaps later.
Monday, second week of Easter
I've been wanting to re-write the blogging software for the log, and I was just struck by the idea that perhaps I should have a more public log for development and whatever. And then I thought, why not just re-write the blogging software to make the new blog? That way, I won't mess anything up accidentally, probably, with the shlog (Is that a good name for this? No?). And if I like what I end up with, I can something something transfer it over to the shlog (It's growing on me). Though, at this point in my life, what is the shlog (I'm really into it now) for?
No, seriously, let's go into this, because I suspect that, historically, the purpose of what is now Smallhouse has been to allow me to say things like, "No, seriously, let's go into this" about whatever's on my mind. And the song lyrics, but I have Facebook for that now. That joke is funnier if you click the link while not logged in to Facebook, by the way.
So if the purpose of Smallhouse is [public introspection? outrospection? extrospection? No, that means something else] going into 'this', whatever, well, I've had a dearth of that recently. Why? Because I've got a real busy life, it seems, and haven't had much time or as much need, now that I'm not lonely, longing, and wary of the future. Plus I think I finished growing into an adult, though I'm not sure how I feel about that. For all that, though, I do feel that my life would benefit from more examination, especially since I've got most of my old problems sorted and, presumably, have a new set of problems.
What are my problems? I'm still frustratingly disorganized. I still don't know how to do many of things I think society expects of me, or how to find the time to figure them out (see 'disorganized', above). I have a domestic partner that I share literally everything but my secret doughnuts with, and I'm not sure how to write about that without infringing on her privacy or feelings. I've got lots of creative energy that's running up against time budgets and lack of infrastructure (see 'disorganized', above). The only thing I'm not worried about is growing old. And finding or retaining a mate, I've got that one in the bag.
What are my solutions? I think I once said that most of my problems were caused by lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, lack of parties, or lack of churchgoing. What I'm saying is, if you have a good church or a good party to which you'd like to invite me, please do. Don't know how much can be done about the lack of sleep in the next five years. I'm working on the nutrition (well, OK, I just ate a cookie while typing that). Hopefully, I can figure out the rest.
Maundy Thursday
A computer crash has become the impetus to finally revert my music player of choice to an outdated version - before they killed off the feature that made it worthwhile in the first place. I am talking about iTunes Party Shuffle, obviously. This has lead to some necessary maintenance on my music library, which is going satisfactorily. Maybe next I can finally get around to organizing my photos again - something that is much more involved with a spouse, I've found.
The crash has also led to me replaying some NES classics on emulator. I finally beat River City Ransom, and I cannot really understand why I had so much trouble with it before. I think because I never figured out how to jump when I was younger? I was also cruising through Crystalis, until I accidentally deleted my savegame. Haha, just like the original NES!
Saturday
"Some sea creatures are meant to die." -Claire, 2016-02-19
So, it turns out that the FTP client on the phone inserts a bunch of weird characters that mess up webpages and really mess up Javascript. So I scrapped that. I'm just glad I hadn't bought a bluetooth folding keyboard yet.
That said, my little JQuery Mobile app is coming along nicely.
Friday, second week of Lent
So, it turns out installing an FTP client on my phone is completely legitimate; now I develop web apps on my commute using JQuery Mobile, which took surprisingly little time to learn. Honestly, the hardest part was the JQuery part, which seems to be all generic functions and callbacks and other such backwards frippery. I was told I should already know JQuery before learning JQM, but I'm a rebel who plays by his own rules.
This past weekend was the Folk Festival. It seemed to go pretty well despite almost not happening at all. Will there be one next year? Probably. The year after? If things go well. Specifically, if we can attract more undergraduate involvement. This year, we were down to two. Total. Not good.
Two.
Saturday, week after All Saints Day
Was it wise to install an FTP client on my phone?
Monday, Fourteenth Week in Garfield Park "Arts District"
It's been a busy weekend. Both grandpas were in town for double birthday, starting with dinner at the restaurant. It was really cool to learn that all the things my dad liked best on the menu were the same things I like best. It made me feel connected with him in a way that's not as easy to obtain as it used to be.
Of course, our fathers get along beautifully, and all I had to do, during the one awkward pause in conversation, was to mention that the Cards were the best team in baseball right now, huh? and we were off to the races for the next four days.
The low point of the weekend was having a bullet fly past my shoulder on the way back from the community garden. I thought it was fireworks at first, until all the yelling started. I didn't want to think it could be otherwise, and as a result my reaction time, even with Claire yelling at me, was not ideal. I don't want to say, "Next time it will be better," because I don't want there to be a next time.
I wasn't particularly upset at the time, and as traumas go, it's certainly not the worst I've suffered this past year. But it was the most impersonal, the one hardest to see coming. And, of course, it could have been the most fatal. If I had been hit? If one of our dads had? The babies? Hours and days later, these scenarios play through my mind in idle moments. I'm not scared, exactly, not nervous, but I am upset. Disappointed, distraught that the neighborhood I chose to live in is not as safe as I want it to be. Embarrassed that it happened in front of our parents. Angry that someone could be so cavalier with a deadly weapon, bullets flying and striking buildings a block away.
Weary from thinking about it, replaying those alternate futures in my mind, trying to not let this one event color my perceptions of my neighbors.
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