Hey world
I'll do an update, because my last was seven days ago.
Max's eye is about 95-98% recovered from whatever it was.
Work is kind of pulverizing my hands. Tears up my fingernails and makes my fingertips sore. It reminds me of Kurt Vonnegut's Book the Sirens of Titan where he talks about the character Winston Niles Rumfoord, an aristocrat. Winston had hard hands, but hardened from the thousand happy labors of the active wealthy, as opposed to the claws developed by people who work super hard for a living. My hands feel kind of sore and fatter and stiffer from hauling those handtruck loads of soda around. Yesterday I had to yank a heavy load up a step with my arms instead of my whole body, as there was an object behind me not giving me room, and when I did it something in my neck went pop. I've had a knot or sore spot there for several days.
A while ago a friend of mine gave me a copy of Photoshop 6 and this weekend I finally bought a copy of photoshop 6 for dummies to learn how to use it. I was quite suprised to look at the copyright and see a date of 2001. Photoshop 7 and CS have both come out since 6, so I don't know . . . .I don't know what I don't know but I got 6 for free so I'll learn to use it. I hope it can do certain things that I want to do but don't know how to do yet. Like stitching together panoramics and HDR photography. I have Photoshop elements on a semidefunct computer that I did a couple of panoramics with, but I don't know where that disk is. Whatever.
Saturdays generally are something of an existential crisis for me, I think I should stay home and be real intense doing music or art or somthing, but I really feel like getting out and wandering around at my leisure instead of dashing about for work. Lately they have an added dimension of being recuperation time from the employment.
My dad used to say that if you don't work your brain you're going to work your back. Nowadays there's also retail where you work your nothing. My ADD was a big handicap when I was an undergrad and I really don't know if I could cut it in grad school. Once anything becomes your job it's about quantity. How rewarding would it be to be a college professor and correct ten thousand of the same freshman essays or exams about things not one in a hundred will ever think about again once the semester's over? Makes me think of Eternal Sunshine where the girl says "I'm going to get bored with you and feel trapped." I'm like that with jobs.
Last week I came close to trading my SIG 220 for a nice over/under shotgun that I came across. But I have these accessories, a plasitic holster and set of extra mag holders that my brother got for me and I didn't have the heart to trade off. The accessories mean more to me than the gun itself I guess. But then again it's a SIG 220, not junk, and don't have any other serious defense guns. I guess maybe I'll take it out this afternoon and pop a couple rounds off and try not to take life too serioulsy, something I have to work at.
Last night I was wandering the local mall a bit in something of a daze from work exhaustion and a large dinner that I'd indulged in. I let a pretty girl at a kiosk exfoliate my hands with dead sea salts and I felt pretty bad about not buying anything from her even as she was using her salesmanship techniques in the persistent manner in which she'd been taught. Not really sure whether doing stuff to my hands would be good for them or not, given the abuse they're taking nowadays.
Well, take care, world.
I'll do an update, because my last was seven days ago.
Max's eye is about 95-98% recovered from whatever it was.
Work is kind of pulverizing my hands. Tears up my fingernails and makes my fingertips sore. It reminds me of Kurt Vonnegut's Book the Sirens of Titan where he talks about the character Winston Niles Rumfoord, an aristocrat. Winston had hard hands, but hardened from the thousand happy labors of the active wealthy, as opposed to the claws developed by people who work super hard for a living. My hands feel kind of sore and fatter and stiffer from hauling those handtruck loads of soda around. Yesterday I had to yank a heavy load up a step with my arms instead of my whole body, as there was an object behind me not giving me room, and when I did it something in my neck went pop. I've had a knot or sore spot there for several days.
A while ago a friend of mine gave me a copy of Photoshop 6 and this weekend I finally bought a copy of photoshop 6 for dummies to learn how to use it. I was quite suprised to look at the copyright and see a date of 2001. Photoshop 7 and CS have both come out since 6, so I don't know . . . .I don't know what I don't know but I got 6 for free so I'll learn to use it. I hope it can do certain things that I want to do but don't know how to do yet. Like stitching together panoramics and HDR photography. I have Photoshop elements on a semidefunct computer that I did a couple of panoramics with, but I don't know where that disk is. Whatever.
Saturdays generally are something of an existential crisis for me, I think I should stay home and be real intense doing music or art or somthing, but I really feel like getting out and wandering around at my leisure instead of dashing about for work. Lately they have an added dimension of being recuperation time from the employment.
My dad used to say that if you don't work your brain you're going to work your back. Nowadays there's also retail where you work your nothing. My ADD was a big handicap when I was an undergrad and I really don't know if I could cut it in grad school. Once anything becomes your job it's about quantity. How rewarding would it be to be a college professor and correct ten thousand of the same freshman essays or exams about things not one in a hundred will ever think about again once the semester's over? Makes me think of Eternal Sunshine where the girl says "I'm going to get bored with you and feel trapped." I'm like that with jobs.
Last week I came close to trading my SIG 220 for a nice over/under shotgun that I came across. But I have these accessories, a plasitic holster and set of extra mag holders that my brother got for me and I didn't have the heart to trade off. The accessories mean more to me than the gun itself I guess. But then again it's a SIG 220, not junk, and don't have any other serious defense guns. I guess maybe I'll take it out this afternoon and pop a couple rounds off and try not to take life too serioulsy, something I have to work at.
Last night I was wandering the local mall a bit in something of a daze from work exhaustion and a large dinner that I'd indulged in. I let a pretty girl at a kiosk exfoliate my hands with dead sea salts and I felt pretty bad about not buying anything from her even as she was using her salesmanship techniques in the persistent manner in which she'd been taught. Not really sure whether doing stuff to my hands would be good for them or not, given the abuse they're taking nowadays.
Well, take care, world.