For some reason I just sung all of the words to a jingle for Chewels gum¹, which I don't think I've heard for a good 20 years. On the other hand, I can't remember my parents' anniversary.

I swear, if I could understand and control the mechanism by which some bits of knowledge get lodged in my brain and others don't, I could rule the world. Or at least not annually disappoint my parents.

---

1. This stuff. It squirted in your mouth when bit.

I start tweeting, Twitter breaks. Coincidence?

Joy of Tech has a lament on Twitter's recent overloads set to the tune of "American Pie," with the chorus This'll be the day that whales fly.

I blame nature. This morning, for no other apparent reason, I'm headachey and cranky. I also forgot last night how famous I am in the insect kingdom for having the sweetest, tastiest blood in the entire Pacific Northwest; judging by the hard, pink lumps on my ankles and calves, I must have fed an entire colony while I was outside doing some yard work. Additionally, I have itchy fingers. Not in the sense that I am anxious to do something, but literally itchy; there's a bunch of teeny white bumps on the backs of several of them. I think they might be some kind of allergic reaction to ... I dunno, something. Stupid nature.

Allergies mystify me. It seems a little counterintuitive to think that the human immune system can develop hypersensitivities to otherwise innocuous natural substances. Or at least a healthy immune system: allergies are systemic disorders. Which means that when an otherwise healthy human develops allergies later in life (like I have), it's natural selection at work, attempting to weed out the sub-par specimens from the population. I am being targeted right now. Nature is sniping me.

My pitiful defense against these relentless, ancient, implacable evolutionary forces is a tiny cloud of vaporized fluticasone proprionate. And some DEET.

Camping this weekend is going to be so much fun.

• 15:11 The air was heavy that day. Gently roused from its languor by her passage, it eddied dizzily in her wake, as did I, following.

Good night.

(click for full comic)
From PvPonline (originally published here), courtesy of PAgent.

It goes without saying that I fervently wish this was a regular strip.

So, this is a bit mysterious and kind of unsettling. My two cherries trees are missing all of their fruit.

This year crop ripened about two weeks late, due to a pretty unsunny May and a few uncharacteristically hot days thrown in, but there was a decent batch on my trees getting ready to be harvested this week. Last year, LJ friends helped me harvest about 60 pounds, and the year before, Lianne and I alone harvested about 40 pounds. Both years, there were still lots left in the upper branches, which the birds and squirrels took care of.

Yesterday, Nic picked a bowl full of what she could reach, which was probably only a few pounds, and even though the trees weren't nearly as heavy, I estimated there were probably about 20 pounds' worth left within ladder distance.

Tonight, after doing some yard work, I noticed that neither tree has a single cherry left on it.

The little critters that help themselves to the fruit usually sit on a branch and eat the cherry off the pit, which is why in past years the ground around the tree is completely covered with pits. But there are hardly any pits around. Instead, there are a bunch of leaves and some twigs, and higher up in the taller tree, I see signs suggesting someone was climbing around. I think my cherries, or at least a large portion of what was left, were picked by someone else.

I dunno, I hope I'm wrong. But it's incredibly disconcerting if I'm right. It took about a dozen people an hour or two to pick the crop last year, so that would have to mean someone knows my schedule well enough to come over and have enough time to pick the trees clean while I'm gone. Not a very comfortable thought.

Cripes, what a Monday. I can't even do memes right, looks like.

My blog ain't worth SHIT.
How much is your blog worth?

• 12:45 Nicole is interviewing for an eye-harvesting job. I'm a little freaked out to imagine how her manual skills will be tested.

Good night.

Via the LoudTwitter app, I'll be importing my tweets to my LJ once a day. The first one was last night. I want to share my thoughts on this.

Like everything else I post, this is for my own amusement or reflection, and/or to prompt a discussion if anyone has anything to say on whatever I'm talking about. And like everything else, you're free to read it or skip it.

I'm flattered that people read what I write, and sometimes comment, and I really love the dialogue that this provides. Out of respect for that, I don't intent to flood my journal with a bunch of (or perhaps a bunch more) incomprehensible half-conversations and mundane comments on what I happen to be doing. To be honest, it's that kind of content that prompts me to skip over some twitter feeds on my own friends page.

I plan to use it for bursts of pithy observation or (attempts at) humor that I can fit into the 140-character limit, stuff that for whatever reason I don't want to pull up an LJ window to compose. Maybe the challenge of the character limit appeals to me, who knows. I doubt there will more than 1-2 per day, and if I like the medium and start using it more, I'll import the daily batch behind a cut.

Anyhoo.

• 14:01 Hello, bandwagon.

Good night.

Require handguns sold for home use (i.e. the buyer does not have a concealed weapon permit) to incorporate position-tracking technology that would alert law enforcement if such a handgun was moved some threshold distance from a predetermined location. Assuming a court would hold that the requirement would be no more invasive of privacy rights than the paperwork to apply for a concealed carry permit, make it a federal offense to tamper with or disable the device, implement a direct protocol by which the registered location for the handgun can be changed, and limit changes to once every, whatever, 30 days or so.

Meh, just a thought.

People from the Internet told me I could prevent the critters digging in my garden beds from doing so by sprinkling pepper into the mulch. So last night I did it.

We'll see if that works, but at the very least, I'm hoping to catch a squirrel in an frenzied sneezing fit.

So, I live about one minute's walk from this place:


Saturday morning, Nic and I took a leisurely stroll here after breakfast and took some pics before she had to head in to work. I liked the variegated roses the best. Some great colors. I can't wait to get a nice camera with a macro lens, but these from Nic's point-and-shoot will certainly do for now.


Today, we went on a hike up around Oneonta Gorge, and made it up to Triple Falls before heading back. We were pretty happy to be out there.


Stopped at Edgefield for a beer and sweet potato fries on the way home, then chilled for a bit. Heading out to get some pizza now. Leftover blackberry pie awaits in the fridge for later.

I just filed an Office action response in which I included this sentence ...

"By definition, the unbounded space surrounding a structure is not defined by the structure."

Could have been clearer, I guess. Long day.

I'm wearing a pair of chinos I picked up off the clearance rack while doing a little shopping last night for work gear.

Man! I'm almost exclusively a jeans/shorts guy, but these fit so comfortably that I think I will wear them when I'm not in the office.

This is HUGE.

To grungy street urchin with cardboard "BROKE AND HUNGRY" sign on downtown sidewalk:

I am unlikely to sympathize with the direness of the circumstances asserted in your scrawled lettering if I can see your digital video camera, iPod, and laptop in the open knapsack resting a couple feet away from where you're sitting.

... time to barbecue.

Perversely, one of the coolest things about my job is reading the patents that form the basis for a PTO Examiner's rejections of my claims. Sometimes they seem really, really close until they're read very carefully, and then every paragraph is like a page in a cheap suspense novel.

I'm right in the middle of one right now. I have no idea how it's going to end -- whether my claims are knocked out of the water, or whether there's a clear argument for patentability. OMG.

"littlebluedog" has been my online handle, in some form or another, since about 1990, when I got my first email account in college and started goofing around on BBSs and Usenet.

I never bought into any of the early online service providers, because I had Internet access during college, and afterward, because I worked at one ... not that there was much to see that wasn't completely text-based, or so I thought; I didn't find Mosaic until about 1995, and then I was hooked.

When the first messaging clients showed up, "littlebluedog" was already taken on AIM, so I became "petitbleuchien" instead. I did manage to snag "littlebluedog" on Hotmail, my first web-based email account, then when Yahoo! email got popular, I switched over. However, "littlebluedog" was not available, so on December 10, 2001, I grabbed what I figured was the next best thing: "little_blue_dog."

I try to claim it whenever something new pops up, so I'm "littlebluedog" here on LJ, on gmail, Wiki, PayPal, eBay, del.icio.us, digg, and a host of other websites.

I don't know how often (if ever) Yahoo! purges inactive accounts and frees up potential usernames (I check every few months), but I mistakenly tried to login this morning with "littlebluedog," forgetting the underscores. Instead of the standard "incorrect password" message I expected, I received an "are you trying to set up a new account?" query.

OK, sure!

So I'm now "littlebluedog" on Yahoo! email.

gmail is slick, but I have some issues with the interface and still prefer Yahoo! email, so for now, I'll stick with it. Seven years is a long time, and it'll take some effort to change a lot of my site reg info. I'll keep checking the l_b_d account, pretty much because I get a perverse joy out of being in the vanguard of spam and hoax mail recipients.

So, wOOt!

"How are you doing sir!" He sticks his hand out in a terse gesture of insincere camaraderie.

"Fine, thanks. Hey, my hands are dirty, sorry."

His cheerful grin does not waver. "Have a minute? There are one thousand and sixty-eight per day, I only need one."

It sounds so rehearsed that I figure it has to be a setup: if I give in, he's got me; if I correct his math, somehow he'll turn it in to a lead-in for his shpiel. Clever! I smile and shrug, walking on.

Personally, I would be about a hundred times as likely to stop and talk to a sidewalk solicitor if he just stood there passively, smiling at passersby, maybe advertising his cause on his t-shirt (e.g., "PLEASE ASK ME ABOUT CHILDREN'S INTERNATIONAL" or "I'D LIKE TO TELL YOU ABOUT GREENPEACE"), so that at a glimpse you could ascertain at least an idea of what you're in for.

Seriously, these people are the IRL equivalent of pop-up windows.

But in a commercial environment where the type of consumer they should be targeting (savvy, sympathetic, and having some disposable cash to pitch toward their cause) is used to having more and more control about what he chooses to pay attention to, obtrusive advertising is less and less likely to have any effect other than by brute force bullying (a la Dave Chappelle's "what if the internet was a shopping mall" sketch) and/or subtle manipulation of social etiquette (I mean gosh, it's rude not to shake someone's hand when it's extended toward you, isn't it?). Apparently it works, but that doesn't make me feel very proud of my average fellow human.

Of course, even a hundred times one chance in a million is a pretty slim probability, but still.