I could see how you might think the title of this post that I am merely making one of those posts where a writer apologizes for not posting in months and generally not doing anything to deserve the label “writer” and, for that matter, certainly not deserving the profession of “writer.”
Well, the joke is on you! (In former Soviet Russia, you are on joke!) Instead of merely posting once to this blog, I am posting many times on a NEW blog! (if you define many as a few, I guess, which I do. Oh, by the way, I finally moved to punch-you-in-the-face-and-steal-your-purse San Francisco. Sarah and I have a beautiful apartment in the Southeastern corner of the city. I ride the train for most of an hour to work, and she walks two blocks. So far, so awesome.
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David Pogue is in trouble for possibly having a conflict of interest. I had written him an email a year ago about an article that felt like straight up shilling for a company. I thought about excerpting the exchange into Boing Boing as a comment, but I have my own blog for that. Right?
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Lately I have been using three more variable names:
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Deja vu: Sarah asked for my wishlist. This is up to date!
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visi.com has awesome support:
Me (2am Pacific): one of my friends just tried to email me and it bounced
David (4am Central): the mailbox is still active.
David: could your friend sent me the headers of the bounced email?
This is why I pay for this account. They have a real employee who answered my “livechat” and asked the right question right away. We didn’t figure out why my French friend’s email sent from gmail didn’t go through, but what I wanted to know most was if not having made my yearly “keep my email account active” payment yet had shut down my account. It hadn’t, and my gut says that the email got bounced for being suspiciously French. ;)
I don’t know when I got my email address, but it is likely that it was as early as 1996 or 1997. That is a long time to have one email address — not epic, just long.
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Now that I bike to work most days again, my pants fall off if I don’t wear a belt and I think that I am in danger of developing a tan. Sarah is drenched in freckles and has almost as many pairs of flip-flops as regular shoes.
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Awake, befogged, I blinked and struggled into dim reality. Sarah hadn’t turned any lights on and the sky was darkly overcast.
“Oh, wow, what time is it?” I asked no one in particular.
“It’s like ten fifteen,” answered Delsym, the cough medicine I had taken the night before*.
“What?” I hollered, sitting bolt upright.
“You looked so cute sleeping there, I figured that you could use an extra couple of hours of sleep.”
“…and some crazy dreams. You liked running in them, right?”
“I will be so glad when I’m feeling better.”
*Note: this is an intentionally imagined conversation, although it is possible that the cold medicine left me weirder than usual.
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Sarah asked for my wishlist. This is up to date!
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