Shambal reclines wearily in a grimy chair. It's wooden frame creaks as he shifts uncomfortably. The hempish fabric still holds, even after decades of wear. A large *WAD* of lipids bulges from part of his right buttock. Many of its cells are mutated. Shambal has waited too long to have it removed without consequence. He's been told it'll grow at a linear rate. The discomfort he feels now will increase, but he won't feel anything but minor, occasional throbs for years to come. His conclusion is not to deal w...
Choosing a washed out photo seems most appropriate considering my personality is washed out. My colours are faded. I am not distressed. I am just fatigued. Historically, Ruidoso brought relief from the searing cultural dearth of West Texas. How an artistic, progressive community grew up there still amazes me.  I'm happy to be surprised. My opinion of the *good ol' USA* sank so low during all my time in Europe that it may be found *cerca de ...
A few days ago, I began to read the novel *Blink* by **Malcolm Gladwell**. So far, it has been enlightening. As with any psychologically spun book, there are parts I've pondered before and others I've failed to. > Like most of our sweat glands, those in our palms respond to stress as well > as temperature -- which is why we get clammy hands when we are nervous. In the introduction to the book, he described an experiment where four decks of cards, two red and two black, were chosen from. Yeah, a top card f...
As I was spinning about Hobbs with my parents today, waiting at counters for photos in Wal-Mart, and sitting stabbing at apathetic buttons in Zia Park casino, I was simultaneously in a Google *hangout* with Sir Christián Neumann. He needs no introductions. He is truly the excrement from the most foul of **Swine**. Still, one cannot choose one's friends, correct? #### Correct. So, taken that given into consideration, I enjoyed our banter thoroughly. He is, at this moment, visiting his **Bro** in Myrtle Bea...
Our talk of subserviance yesterday (or was it the day before?) reminded me of an ego that permeates Western Culture. I step up and he steps down. I squash his face with my boot. I smile. He wears a frown. Why are those who are subserviant seen as a lower class? Sometimes they are pitied. At other times, they are mocked. What if the slave takes joy in serving the so-called master? What exactly is the problem in that? This feature of our culture reminds me of fundamentalism. I see you as subserviant, so I t...
Now, inline images have always been a problem. What if the link doesn't exist anymore? Well, I must maintain them in a proper place, then! I suspect that will be on the server itself. IE, the link will have to be local. Yessiree. So, let's give it a whirl.  Now! Isn't that lovely? I'll find out the answer to that question in a few moments. The simplest solution has now been implemented. Now I am off to gnash my teeth during my dreams. ...
Christian, in his infinite wisdom and silliness, typed the following to me on some sort of chat mechanism. The mechanism itself involves a type of grease-stained rodent not found in these parts any longer. In fact, **all** of the rodents are gone. One day, no one could find one. I'm surprised the mechanism survives and is still in working condition this evening. I mourn the loss of the rodentia. **BUT** ... Christian, in his infinite wisdom and silliness, typed the following to me: > My trust issues stem ...
I have just rewritten the script which slurps up new blog entries. This time, instead of whatever the first pattern was I used (lack of pattern at all - ie, haphazard?) or the prototype pattern, I have opted for the elegance of the module pattern. Have I tested it? **No.** Is this entry part of the test? **Yes.** So, thirty or so minutes later, I have completed this so-called module pattern. The code can be seen [here](https://github.com/inhortte/blog_to_mongo/blob/module_pattern/lib/entry.js). It is ...
#### Pink kolmteist > A knife has sliced that blue dome and I watch the rift slowly heal. Were I Shambal, which greatfully I am not, I'd sit in a bare room thinking. I've just started writing and I've already lied. The room is not completely bare. A low table sits off-center. A rumpled, stained, blue-white blanket is draped over one corner, splaying also about the floor. A dirty cushin or two or three lie about. Perhaps more are under the blanket. I've always been amazed at the lengths he goes to to prov...
The *prototype* version of **blog_to_mongo** is not grabbing topics, arranging them, finding their ids, and scrunching them into the *topic_ids* array of the *entry* in **MongoDB**. We'll see if it is now and revisit this post shortly. Excellent! I'll consider this **bug** closed. Speaking of which, I need real bug tracking for these projects. I'll defer to [github](http://github.com), I **guess**. ...
My mothers **insanity** seethes about the house. It crawls and infests every nook and can of jellied cranberry sauce. Pleasant, it is not. She stood in the doorway of this bedroom at nigh nine o'clock this morning fuming. > This is why you have to live in the same place as us, Bob! > I need help! He [Dad] can't remember anything. He's lost his mind. > It is making me crazy. Well, Mom, you already are crazy. As I showered, I pondered what she said and her intentions behind it. My conclusion was as it alwa...
