Just another pit-stop on your long road of mental masturbation at work. Since this is a place for me to bandy my cognitive dandy when I’m feeling randy, well, my sweet reader… we make a good team. Plus, this helps me maintain my protective incompetence toward all practical occupations. I’m only here for the punch and pie.
Other matters of note: I’m the social pariah at my neighborhood cafe for taking a 2004 Dell Inspiron out in public. San Francisco tolerates many things, but poor style in technology is not one of them. My computer is like a Birkenstock shoe: it’s hideous and unfashionable, but at the same time it’s incredibly comfortable and the sucker refuses to break.
(UPDATE: Upgraded to a MacBook pro. I’ve gone Mac, and I’m never going back.)
I’ve been letting humor strangle hardship since 1984, and maintain that we’re all just bumbling bags of intestines on this sweet cesspool of a planet. Things tend to be less complicated that way.
On a more personal note, I chase the dragon of discomfort and anxiety in my day-to-day. Being exposed to the unfamiliar or feeling awkward are staples of a solid education. For me, the tickling throb behind my navel, the sweat beads on my upper lip, and the delicate furrow of my brow are the telltale signs of dizzying growth.
Lastly, I just discovered that the archaic meaning of Blore, my surname, is “to bleat like an animal”. If that doesn’t give me a license to be absurd, I don’t know what does. Blore’s Razor is also a thing. I promise.
Don’t laugh with me. Don’t laugh at me. Laugh at-with me. And meet Daisy. She’s in the ecstatic throes of her TMZ moment. Thank you National Geographic for the penguin picture, and thank you for being so interested.