The first five (5) people to respond to this post will get something made by me. You can tell me something you might like if you want to, and I'll try my best to do it but I can't promise anything, sorry!
This offer does have some restrictions and limitations:
- I make no guarantees that you will like what I make.
- What I create will be just for you. (you get to decide what happens to it and where/if it'll be posted, if applicable)
- It'll be done by the end of this year (2009).
- You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be a mix CD or an icon. I may make something. I might bake you something and mail it to you. Who knows? Not you, that's for sure! [not me either]
- I reserve the right to do something completely weird :)
The catch is that you have to put this in your journal as well, if you expect me to do something for you! (cuz it's more fun that way)
(I responded to my friend Kat's posting of this before I knew what it entailed . . . Oh well. She makes awesome stuff.)
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Let's do the Time Warp Again
Liz and I turned on her old laptop today: the one she used for four years in college. Its homepage was set to oberlin.edu.
It was as if some part of Liz, some part of both of us had been made static - frozen in time - waiting for years to start again. When we started up the computer again, it reached out for the things that we had taught it to reach for years ago, tried to re-establish connections that didn't exist anymore. Both the people who set the homepage and the website itself have moved on. None of the connections and applications on this machine are relevant.
I think, then, how sad it would be to travel in time. Even if we travel to a foreign country, we still have some few things in common with the people there: a knowledge that, despite any differences, we are still citizens of the same world. We exist in the same vast space, and are capable of reaching each other with an appropirate amount of time and effort.
Imagine, though, that you have suddenly been dropped into the ancient roman Empire. Not only are you seperated from their language (who alive could understand spoken Imperial Latin?) but their entire culture would be alien to you. Even if you had made a study of the Roman Empire, for every custom or turn of phrase you've learned, there are a thousand lost forever in the whispers of time. You have almost nothing in common with these people: their lives are short, they know hardships we cannot fathom, and they worship strange and violent gods. Where is your common ground? How could you ever connect?
This computer is old. I love it. I remember the desktop screen. I remember the icons, the programs, the itunes music. I'm going to enjoy using it.
It was as if some part of Liz, some part of both of us had been made static - frozen in time - waiting for years to start again. When we started up the computer again, it reached out for the things that we had taught it to reach for years ago, tried to re-establish connections that didn't exist anymore. Both the people who set the homepage and the website itself have moved on. None of the connections and applications on this machine are relevant.
I think, then, how sad it would be to travel in time. Even if we travel to a foreign country, we still have some few things in common with the people there: a knowledge that, despite any differences, we are still citizens of the same world. We exist in the same vast space, and are capable of reaching each other with an appropirate amount of time and effort.
Imagine, though, that you have suddenly been dropped into the ancient roman Empire. Not only are you seperated from their language (who alive could understand spoken Imperial Latin?) but their entire culture would be alien to you. Even if you had made a study of the Roman Empire, for every custom or turn of phrase you've learned, there are a thousand lost forever in the whispers of time. You have almost nothing in common with these people: their lives are short, they know hardships we cannot fathom, and they worship strange and violent gods. Where is your common ground? How could you ever connect?
This computer is old. I love it. I remember the desktop screen. I remember the icons, the programs, the itunes music. I'm going to enjoy using it.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Curse you, Facebook!
So, I finally decided to get back on Facebook. I'm constantly being told by multiple parties that Facebook is a fantastic cornucopia of constant up-to-date facts that continuously pours information into the ether like some sort of friend-specific fountain of knowledge. A font, even.
But. There's a problem. The first time I get back on facebook after, like, a year, I decided to delete the original e-mail address associated with the account. Weeeell that was the information font equivalent of shooting myself in the digital foot.
"Dear God," you might say, breath bated with excitement, "Tomfoolery and Shennanigans!" Well, you probably wouldn't say that. I might. Point is: I can't sign on now. I've apparently deleted all of the e-mails associated with the account according to facebook technical support.
Sigh. I wish I existed.
What does this portend for me? Am I to be cut off forever from this river-flow of constant information? Is the knowledge of what other people are doing to be damned before it flows into my brain-resevoir by Facebook beavers?!
Yeah. I guess so . . . for now.
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