I changed my template around a bit. I took away a few things, notably links to weblogs and a couple of news sites. I got rid of the weblog links because they were essentially dead, or appear that way to me at any rate. Julie still posts fairly regularly, but I felt it messed with the neatness of my design to keep only one weblog linked there. Perhaps a little OCD. The news sites I took down because, quite frankly, I have ceased to give a shit. Plus they messed with the neatness of my design. Or something.

On the plus side, I've added a couple of things. There's a permanent link over there on the sidebar for Librarything, which I just joined. I haven't got a lot of my books up on there yet, but here's the link to what's there so far. And who could live a full life without Lifehacker or boingboing? I ask you. Nobody, that's who.


Today I spent some time scraping the internet for information about people I love. It was like looking at someone else's life, but with feelings mixed in that confuse me. There should be a word for when you're happy and sad at the same time. The Germans probably have a word for it. Hell, there's probably a word for it in English.

On another note, my favourite catch phrase has morphed again. It was "We'll finish this later" for a while, then something I can't recall at the moment (it was a brief catch phrase), and now it's "I don't care for ____". You'd be surprised how much I can use these phrases in a day. I'm already kind of wearing out the latest one. My favourite was probably when at work, a friend was looking at a magazine, and I said, "What's that? Art magazine?" He replied in an affirmative grunt, and I got to say "I don't care for art". Which is, of course, not true. But it makes for good copy! Mmm, copy.

As a matter of fact, pity copy. That is an inside joke only one person will get, and odds are he doesn't come around here.

The Third Part of a Serial Adventure, Entitled Jim the hand and the 50 million dollar man

Right then, Mary, take Bred with you and get us a cup. Chip stays, and Poncet, and you two. Names?

They call me Jim, Jim the hand, and this 'ere's Marty de Groot. What you want us for then?

Well we can't just leave you to their tender mercies now can we? The man gestured vaguely off towards the market, where sirens were just starting up their bitter whine. Jim could see porcine outlines holding up customers, just for a couple of questions of course.

Or we could just drop you off back yonder? Chip, a vehicle, please. Chip sauntered over to a woman waiting for her child to finish practice and whispered in her nervous ear. At first she looked surprised and looked into the middle distance. Soon, though, she giggled and began digging in her purse, overcome by the eloquence of the dashing Chip. He returned to the man, pulling up in the usual blue Chrysler, its pentacle bravely displaying occult powers.

Never inquire as to the methods if you are satisfied with the result. The man's words chiseled themselves into the air, allowing Jim and Marty to study their import and wonder once again what they had done to merit words from the 50 million dollar man. It seemed that they had never heard anyone speak so fruitfully, his words echoing in their ears. They all piled into the van, Poncet and Jim in the middle seat, Marty taking up the back, and the man of course in the front.

So what are we doing here boys? The man turned his head slightly to examine Jim and Marty. You coming with us, or back over the wire? Here he made use of a convenient fiction, that is a black/white yin/yang either/or, in which he presented himself and his eggshell carriage as the only reasonable alternative. Jim felt a rumble of disquiet start at his collarbone and work its way down into his gut. Marty had already consigned himself to the man's service, unaware that when presented with a choice the best one you can make is to run. Jim, privy to this knowledge, had a presentiment of harm whispered at him from the man's plastic face. Against his better self, Jim threshed out a sentence.

Suppose you've got us over a barrel, 'aven't you. We're in, whatever that means.

It means a great deal to me, Jimmy, a great deal. Let's get going, I presume that lady will need her van back soon. The whole gruesome lot of them sped off into lost windy streets full of dust mouths. The search had begun, windows looked at through the small windows of their borrowed ride. They finally pulled over in a small run down housing centre parking lot.

Right then, the man said, you two wait here a few while we go spear the river. Jim and Marty were left in baffled silence as the man and his accomplices jumped out and ran into the house.

Think we should stick around?

Thought genuinely escapes me right now, man.

Hey look, food! Marty discovered more food than he had seen anybody buy at once. Jim thought the obligatory thought. Marty grabbed the groceries and they both reached for the plastic handle. The whole situation had gotten a bit extreme for them, and fast out the door was something they had both learned how to do at a fairly young age. Jim opened the door and they stepped out onto the burnt cinder blocks. They looked around and walked off down the sidewalk in an attempted casual fashion, looking for a street sign.