Month: October 2001

Weight lifted. Problem solved. Much better now. Except that archive. Damn that archive. Moving on.

My September posts, for what it’s worth, are still archived here. I just can’t seem to make that accessible from the drop down menu. Does this mean that October will disappear, too, at the end of the month? Hmm. This bodes not well.

Nor, for that matter, does this. The truth is, I lead a fairly uninteresting life, and most anything I write here is going to be relatively innocuous, but if I knew that my boss, or my family, was reading this, I might choose my words differently. I might consider not voicing opinions, or revealing emotions, or writing embarrassing details like, oh yeah, I protested to have the lion shrine’s balls cut off. However bland or tedious this weblog might seem right now, imagine how much more so it would be if I was constantly second-guessing myself.

Now this is interesting, if a bit odd. “I’ve been collecting photos that look like the work of famous artists,” writes Mighty Girl. I guess everybody needs a hobby. I especially like her strange take on Caravaggio.

And finally, for now, and for those of you dismayed that as a country we are once again at war, I share these words from Michael Moore: “And please, let’s look at the bright side for once: The last time a Bush took us to war and got a 90 percent approval rating, he was toast and a ghost the following year. You can’t get better than that.”

My archive for September seems to have vanished overnight (or earlier, when I wasn’t looking), and I get nothing but error messages from Blogger when I try to change my archive’s template. ‘Tis passing strange, that. And I’m starting to think that maybe today would have been a better day to call in sick, all things considered. It occurs to me, perhaps a month too late, that I have not really been trained on how to process payments and fees for services, and the program that’s apparently supposed to help me do this has decided, no, on second thought, it doesn’t want to let me in. So I’ve got a couple thousand dollars that needs paid from four separate funds, a boss who’s out of town for three weeks and isn’t exactly helpful when he’s here, and a considerable dearth of training material available to me. And that damn archive won’t work on top of it all. Some mornings it just doesn’t pay to get out of bed.



October knew, of course, that the action of turning a page, of ending a chapter or of shutting a book, did not end a tale. Having admitted that, he would also vow that happy endings were never difficult to find: “It was simply a matter,” he explained to April, “of finding a sunny place in a garden, where the light is golden and the grass is soft; somewhere to rest, to stop reading, and to be content.”

— G.K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was October