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Insanity versus stupidity

If insanity can be defined as doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results, maybe stupidity can be defined as continuing to do things when you know they make you feel like crap and aren’t good for you. Just a thought.

A completely unrelated thought: I’ll be traveling to Dublin, Ohio (the home of Dublin Core) later this week to do a conference presentation. The tricky thing will be actually writing that presentation since I pretty much lost the whole past week, which was the time I had budgeted for that. I think I’ll be okay, though. I may make a side trip after the conference, either to Cleveland, to Detroit and Windsor, or to Pittsburgh. Any suggestions?

All the best programming

Cablevision of Greensboro, ca. 1976. The exciting options included two ABC affiliates, two NBC affiliates, one CBS affiliate, one PBS affiliate, and three independents (two from Washington DC, and the third Ted Turner’s “other” station in Charlotte NC). The lineup was rounded out with rotating weather gauges on one channel and a news teletype on another, both backed with audio from local radio stations.

In the next year or two, things would get more complicated with the addition of HBO and Ted Turner’s Atlanta superstation (pre-capitalization and then sporting the call letters WTCG). I think the two Charlotte stations got dumped for those additions.

R.I.P. Barnabas

I somehow managed to miss this last week, what with mom being in the hospital and work being crazy and all, but it makes me very sad.

I was a little too young for the original run of Dark Shadows. In fact I started out with the comic books instead. I watched the series in reruns during the late 1970s, though, and I really loved it as a 13-year-old who–oddly enough–may have had a longer attention span than I do now. But a few years ago, when Mark and I started watching it from episode one, I found the slow pace to be a little excruciating. When we split up, I gave up on the show.

Barnabas has always been a big part of my life, though, and I’ll rather miss the elegant Canadian who originated the role.

Update: Apparently the New York Times didn’t clue in till today either so I don’t feel quite so bad.

Aargh

Take what is already an incredibly stressful–and moderately emotional–situation, multiply it by a factor of five, and hand it to me on a silver platter soggy paper plate. Now you have the definition of my Friday night courtesy of the fine folks at Bank of America.

You’d think that after three and a half fucking months they could have gotten a simple mortgage right. You’d be mistaken.

Tuesday night

A busy week:

  • On Thursday or Friday, I become the sole owner of my house and mortgage. You’ll please pardon my ambivalence about this.
  • I was hoping to be starting another…ummm…new adventure in life this week, but a flaky “professional” has put that on hold, which really sucks.
  • On Monday, a book I contributed a chapter to (one that contained no sentence-ending prepositions) comes out. You are not required to buy it. In fact, it’s not even suggested.
  • I’m currently planning work-related trips to Columbus (with potential non-work detours to other Midwestern or Canadian locales) and Anaheim (with potential non-work detours to LA or San Diego). It’s important to attach one’s vacations to preexisting trips that one is not paying for. Just sayin’.
  • For fun, I’m also working on a massive update to “Safeway in the 1950s” for Groceteria.
  • And then there’s that “Farewell Rick Santorum” party this weekend…

Thirty years ago today…

I was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. As I was only 17, there were some legal problems with all this.

I was going through some photos earlier today looking for things to print for redecorating purposes and I got stuck in my high school years. More discoveries below:

[flickr-gallery mode=”tag” tags=”12hs” tag_mode=”all” sort=”date-taken-asc”]

I was almost cute as a teenager. I maybe could’ve gotten laid more if I’d realized this. As George Bernard Shaw said, it is indeed a pity that youth is wasted on the young.

Canada, urbanism, etc.

Several years ago, shortly after my 2009 trip to Toronto and several months before I got my current position, Mark and I applied for Canadian residence. This is not a simple process; it consumes significant amounts of time and money and it takes forever. Mark did most of the work, but I participated as well, and when our number came up, I decided that I would not let the events of the past eighteen months or so spoil my chance to establish residency and make Canada a future option. To do so after all that effort and expense seemed a colossal waste. So that’s the “super secret” reason why I had to make a quick trip across the border last week. It was for purposes of “landing” as a Canadian immigrant. Which I have now successfully done.

Does this mean I’m moving to Canada? Probably not, at least for now. I basically have nearly three years to decide, and I imagine that my ultimate decision will be that my job prospects are insufficiently promising north of the border. Of course, if I don’t make reappointment next year (the first step toward tenure) my perspective may be somewhat different and I may find myself packing lots of warm clothes.

All things being equal and employment not being a factor, I think I’d enjoy living in Toronto. It’s a city that I love every much in a country that in many ways makes more sense than the U.S. Seven years after fleeing San Francisco, I’ve realized that I probably would enjoy a slightly more urban setting than the one I landed in. Sarah and I discussed this last week; she commented that her last few years in San Francisco turned her against urban living in general. I used to think that was the case for me too, but I’ve come to realize that it mainly just put me off ever wanting to live in San Francisco again.

But it helps to keep the following in mind:

  • I’ve never spent any time in Toronto in the winter. Or commuting.
  • I’m only willing to trade off so much quality of life in order to be there (read “I won’t live in a hovel”).
  • I have a very good and relatively secure job here that I love very much.

Honestly, I don’t dislike where I’m living right now although I’ll allow that it might not be my first choice if I were given carte blanche. I need to keep in mind that my depression has made me very much inclined toward escapism of late. Family issues are likely to make the next few years here rather unpleasant for me and that makes just about anyplace else seem appealing on some level. But I’ve got some personal stuff to deal with before a big geographic shift would be a wise move–assuming it ever would.

Anyhow, I’m not moving anytime soon, if ever. But the big bonus is that I can if I choose to. Which will give me some ammunition to shut up the whiny people who will be threatening to do so (but wouldn’t really ever even consider it) after the November election.

Seems like…

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Every time I go on vacation, especially to Canada, I come home with a car full of nothing but books and groceries. Does that make me a freak?

Actually, I came back with one very special souvenir as well. But I’m not talking about that yet.