So, yeah...  I think I am (perhaps to a fault) hypersensitive to criticism about my strange personality and it's effect on the masses. That sensitivity probably stems from years of being referred to as 'strange' or 'weird' by people who I didn't think had a shred of credibility regarding personality or real-worth-as-a-human.

My yearbooks are a testament to the early experience of life as a strange kid... 90% of the signatures from the 4 yearbooks I own say something along these lines: 'lay off the crack' or 'you're strange' or 'you talk too much' or 'i really think you behave in a way that's not socially acceptable'.

But there's more to it than that... there's a lot of signatures in these books!   And that's due to those same uncomfortable teenagers feeling comfortable enough with my strangeness to be friendly to me.  Even though I was totally outside their frame of normal behavior and rightness in the world, they were willing to invest in my strangeness and sign that yearbook.  It's that friendly-ness & comfort-ability & willingness to invest that will translate to business in a meaningful way.  That is to say... people will buy it.

But that's just my short-cut-beat-around-the-bush definition of Gonzo marketing.  That's the sort of line I'll deliver @ the reunion... to all those scumbags I only barely liked in the first place.

Because a serious effort to be totally clear about my thoughts on the idea of marketing and branding a business would be impossible to pull off in any worthwhile way... similarly any self-respecting reader probably would dismiss it as mindless jibberish.  But if I were shoved, at knife-point, to the edge of a cliff and told to fake it.... this is how I would pretend to do it:

• After years of living this terrible dream, I've come to realize that people enjoy me because I'm running on a frequency just a touch different than their own, ever-so-slightly polarized to their wavelength.  And while I recognize the importance of having a responsible attitude to business (the whole business <nudge nudge> if you know what I mean), I don't want to give the impression that I'm interested in, or willing to be part-and-parcel to, life as a status-quo-business-personality.  Remember that job I just quit, I hated it just like every other job that I've ever had.  These bastards were intent on wearing me down, breaking me in and subduing my mind.  I went to work and died inside because they made me wear pants every day, and they wanted me to be there at the same time every day, and play by all their shitty rules every day.  But let's not kid ourselves; those rules, just like the rules of any organic system, came to be through millions of tiny unguided evolutionary steps.  These are the Rules of Corporate Death, and that's what I want to change first...

• We need to take a big step back from the world as we experienced it every day.  We need to gaze on the universal manifestation and take it all in... one big, painful mouthful.  Then, just as our minds are becoming fully inundated with the choking awesomeness the universe and our brains are suffocating, struggling to maintain a shred of consciousness,  and just as the painful breathlessness is the searing into our skulls a real understanding of the meaninglessness and purposelessness of the human condition... we can have some true experience of enlightened judgement (however briefly) about what our condition really is, and how this world should operate.  And then as we come back from that gnosis to write it all down as fast and thoroughly as we can... before it burns off in a haze of dreamy confusion... we'll understand that we must rewrite the Book of Business.   Because so many of these accumulated Rules of Corporate Death are just like pinky-toes. They've been begging to get chopped off and left rot in the mud. For me, this venture is about cutting through the bone and sinew, right through to the filthy dirt below, hacking off those tiny-worthless immovable rules and really fucking with peoples minds in a terrific way... not selling my selfimage to the man, but selling my wholeself to the marketplace.  Let's hope they bite.

• Perhaps it's clear, but let me gesticulate a bit longer, because it's coming so naturally now. Any brand that we might cultivate should not strive towards the radical, ultra-psychotic, maniac fringe of anarchist society any more than I think it ought to try dryhumping the legs of every crystal-crunching, vitamin popping, heathens at the neighborhood church of liberal douches. In my vision, we strive for an *appearance* of bucking-the-corporate-trend in a square-friendly way, and the *appearance* of offering a totally-new-and-different-sort-of-product-through-a-totally-different-sort-of-business... gently pushing them over the knife-edge between the comfort of the flock and deep into the inevitable pit of the Singularity.  For me, this is about relentless terrible acts of warfare on the status-quo, because it's out-dated and wrong... This is about delivering carnage and casualty to the squares, right in their fucking living rooms while their looking for the remote... some outrageously muscular postal carrier breaking down the door and stomping through the house in combat boots and baseball hat, eyes blood-shot and about to pop out of his skull, screaming into a bullhorn: "WHICH ONE OF YOU MINDLESS ZOMBIES WANTS TO LIVE FOREVER?!?!  I SAID EAT THIS!!!! NOW FUCKING EAT IT!!!!"...  balls out and exposed in front of god and everyone.  This is about more than defeating dogma... it's about facing the mindless sheep and their soylent future head on, taking them to task and telling them all exactly what the fuck to do, and how the fuck to do it.  THIS IS THE PURE FUCKING SHIT MAN... straight down their throats and deep into their numbed sense of what it means to be alive and kicking.  And I want to do all this under the cover of a culture-concious, eco-friendly, delicious, nutritious, party-crashing, mail-order fruitbar... and two gentle, caring friends @ the lemonade stand who sold it to them. This is it folks, this is the beginning of a revolutionary event in human history.

• So, as it relates to branding and marketing, I believe that I can capitalize on my weirdness.  And I've got an alias, asthma, ADD, and endlessly migrating islands of hair or bald-spots trapesing around on my head... so I'm left with no choice but to embrace my strangeness or to sell out, get a wig and go job-hunting @ Aberteenie & Snitch or The Bandana Republic.  Tough as that choice may seem... I can make it in a snap.  I choose strange.  And I know that there are examples of successful folks who don't fall into the mainstream trap, and I suspect they'd see it my way once I had a few hours to lecture them on the benefits of screaming at frightened, t.v. watching, stooges...   Here's a short list of successful weirdos who would also choose strange...

Dean Kamen

Aubrey de Grey

Jim Buckmaster

Bill Joy

So, I hope that my readers don't take this 'heartfelt plea for understanding' as an attack on a reasonable and healthy respect for restraint and self-image... I'm not exactly suggesting that I want to spout off on the Company Blog about strange dreams, conspiracy theory, alkaline water, or gonzo marketing.  I don't, because in all honestly it couldn't be real-deal true-to-form balls-deep gonzo marketing if these glass-eyed lithium-binge fruitcakes were hip to the act...

Perhaps I've gotten myself all worked up. What I should be saying is that my thoughts on branding are different than what the world might be used to, or what it's really ready for...as good or bad as that may be. And in the end, if the business can't sell a snack because the people are turned off by weirdness... well, that would suck and I would capitulate quickly.  But if this unnamed business could capture more customers by offering a unique 'two-guys-and-a-truck' sort of weirdness than we lose to conservative personal dogma.... then we win. And if we can scale that, then we win very big.

Any schmuck can bulk-order a fruitbar full of sweaty nuts and sugar-free douche, strap on a t-shirt and beat the streets to his very own, made-to-order American Dream ... what i'm saying is that it takes real genius to be this weird and and make it happen, too. I have that genius. (god, i fucking better after this longwinded bullshit).

Don't you get it! I'll be tweeting from the list of fake tweets that I haven't even thought of yet, because it's only going to be a list of strange thoughts that I *want* to have, not a list of strange thoughts that i've *actually* had...

In this way I will be creating an alternate possible universe that i'd rather be living in... and everybody but me will think I'm actually living in that alternate universe. Think of it as reverse schizophrenia... on everybody!

(Note to self: perhaps someday they'll remember this type of bizarre behavior as my very own "vigorous and strange brand of Total Control -- gonzo marketing..." and they stay up nights wondering if they've been duped before, since, or historically... by this rambling lunatic.)

From Wired:

Neitz was quick to caution that “there’s a lot of steps before we actually cure a real blindness in people.” Except for the LCA trials, proposed gene therapies for blindness are still in animal-testing stages, if they’ve even progressed that far. The monkeys appear free of any side effects, but safety still needs to be proven.

Williams, however, was quicker to speculate. “Ultimately we might be able to do all kinds of interesting manipulations of the retina,” he said. “Not only might we be able to cure disease, but we might engineer eyes with remarkable capabilities. You can imagine conferring enhanced night vision in normal eyes, or engineering genes that make photopigments with spectral properties for whatever you want your eye to see.”

I'll certainly be interested to see where this technology goes. I remember hearing a bit on NPR a few weeks ago about birds having a 4th color receptor (beyond human's red, green, blue) in the UV spectrum. I'd like to be able to see a bit more detail in my world...

Transcribed from paper notes:

this is the true story as I remember it:

Looking @ nice jeans on football themed advertising wall display. Man from rock gym asked if 'these are any good?' I advised to him that they had a gusseted inseam, and so they were ideal for climbing. I didn't mention that they were incredibly short shorts, and he should perhaps reconsider for that reason. The jeans that I observed were familiar, perhaps from a different dream because I don't think that I've ever seen them in the real world. No belt loops, because they were some sort of denim/silicon mix, molded to make a perfect flexible waistline. Of course, the manufacturer sold a belt with them, and the belt looked awesome too.

Walking away from this display, it occurred to me that all the cubby-holes were interspersed with pictures of football pants. strange that I would have been looking @ this display. As I walked away, I ran into Ryan Calvert and several other friends from my freshman year of college. As I hadn't seen him in many years, I was quite excited. There was a girl named Cindy, too... and we had never gotten along tremendously well.  She interrupted my brief discussion with him... she was excited like a yapping dog... and her goal was to interject to share some evidently hugely important and unsequesterable news.

"Guess what! Guess what!" she yipped. With almost no pause, I let loose the most intentionally bored and uninterested voice I could muster, dead-pan that would make even Steven Wright churn in agony "...you're pregnant?"

She knew immediately that I was mocking her excitement out of distaste for her character... it was worse that I was dead-on, then she began to sniffle and cry. It felt good to hurt her feelings. Somebody tried to cover for me, and came up with an ill-formed cover story.  Something that sounded as if I hadn't intended the remark to seem snide. Between Cindy & I, however, there was no confusion.  Then I walked past the group...

Some segue to a shootout:

There's a bomb on top of this compact car, and I am shooting at it from the passenger-side door. Piss-poor aim and now I seem to have shot somebody with whom I had been previously collaborating on crimefighting work.  It was my fault entirely, but still I feel like he was standing on the other side of the car and should have known he'd wind up getting shot if I began busting errant caps in every direction. Now I'm inside the vehicle, and wrestling with one of the bomber-guys... I've twisted the hand that holds his gun so that the barrel is pressed into his rib-cage... I pull the trigger and shoot him in the chest @ very close range. His partner tries to flee, so he gets shot as well... though perhaps by my backup, and not by me.  (editor's note: I'm Dave V. and I get respect... your cash and you're credit cards are what I expect)

Another segue.

I've been taken prisoner by the criminal Boss:

The scene is inside a tractor trailer, that's the back of a semi-truck if you're not familiar with the lingo... or if, perhaps, I'm not familiar with the lingo. I've been packed in to this trailer, it's filled to the top with old wooden cigar boxes, but somehow there is light. Each box has a small amount of food inside... cheese-flavored orange-colored popcorn, a few flakes of oatmeal, some dried pasta. I have to shuffle the boxes around... like one of the picture puzzles that has 9 available spaces, but only 8 frames of picture. I can hear the wife and two sons of the Boss, also packed into the trailer. They are bickering with each other, and are unaware of my presence.

Still in the trailer, there's more room available now to move around. I can walk from one end of the room to the other. Sunlight bleeds through the plastic roof... ambient white/yellow light. There are still cigar boxes, but they've been stacked on the walls and there's a path down the middle of the trailer... somehow it seems like a bookstore. Now i can see a cheap, gray, metal-frame shelf stacked with boxes, and an antique sort of desk. The desk is dark, reddish wood... elaborately carved.

The shelf/desk/bureau is fixed to the side of the trailer... so that it doesn't shift during transit, I'm sure. As I smoke a cigar and rummage through the contents of the desk, I slide open a small panel door and see some elaborate chopsticks. They are made of a cold, darkish, bluish stone... maybe it has hints of green and white, but it's not jade. At the end of each chopstick there's a fancy dragon's head design, with bright orange highlights in the dragon's long beard-hair, like a sea-slug... hyper-color orange. And this carved design gives a lot of heft to the sticks. The elaborate design is what drew me to pick them up and examine them further. They are heavy, thick chop-sticks. One of the sticks is two or three times as long as the other, and has a sort of post sticking out of the end to fit into the crook of an elbow. The longer stick is designed to sit along the forearm and give leverage from the elbow-post when it's held in a proper way. These chopsticks were made to be used by royalty, I'm quite certain. Now they are simply a collector's item in a shelf, in a trailer, in a strange dream, on Tuesday morning.

As I look up into the desk's mirror to see the strange faces I'm making while learning to utilize these bizarre chopsticks, I am interrupted by Boss and two thugs. They are carrying a picture with them, and toss it onto the bureau with dramatic emphasis, as if to ask without speaking:

"What do you know?"

The picture is of the two burly thugs that got shot in the car. Both wearing exactly what they wore when we last met, one in a gray turtle-neck... the other in yellow-ish orange turtle-neck. It seemed appropriate at the time, I suspect. And when I look away from the picture to tell them "I know nothing," we're standing near in a dark, wood paneled room. Still next to the antique bureau through which I had so recently been rummaging, but the Boss is now interrogating me about how his employees caught the Death.

He's terribly mad and suspects that I have killed his operatives, perhaps also foiled some unmentioned plans. But I think perhaps he didn't know it was me who was responsible. He interrogates me and I feign surprise and empathize that somebody he works with has died, and so insensitive of their murderer to have laid waste without first begging the Boss's permission. A clever ruse, and he buys it hook line and sinker... I didn't do the killing. Still he suspects that I know more and decides that it would be best to torture me in the living room.

This uncreative nonsense that he calls torture begins boringly. A long, wide, canvas belt with a heavy buckle on one end. That's the end that he swings around his head wildly... flailingly even. Somehow reminiscent of the Star Wars Kid whose life was so completely ruined by the INTERNET. Eventually though he does hit me with the belt... a glancing blow, and I had to practically walk into it... but it's a swinging metal weight on the end of a belt, and that will always hurt.

Bored with the belt, he upgrades implements to a sort of lasso, like the men from the city pound might use to rope a stray dog or some angry errant mountain lion, trapped between encroaching subdivisions. He's slightly more adept with this weapon, chasing me around the room. There are obstacles that I must jump over and avoid... and I can't let him get my foot in the loop, or I'll certainly be done for. All of this is taking place in a room I know to be the living room of his large home, but somehow it still makes sense. Again he upgrades implements, one or perhaps two more times... and I come to realize that the Boss is very similar to my old roommate, Josh Newton. Not only is this my old roomate, but he's totally clueless about how to go about torturing a person... so I distract him with discussion about video games and armor packs... Quake 3 maybe. He's very concerned to let me know how great he is a tournaments.

Distraction gives way to another segue.

Now there's a party in the backyard and I'm outdoors. It's a cool evening to be mingling with the guests. Although I'm mingling, it's clear that I'm not there by invitation. And though there are no chains or collars, it's understood that I'm still held against my will or perhaps that I've embedded myself deep undercover, looking for 'evidence' while I wait patiently for rescue.

The outside views are all like the "Weeds" t.v. show, and they all look just the same. Beautiful red lighting, like dusk or a forest fire... and hills and houses line the horizon.

I'm sitting on a sort of wall overlooking a pool when some woman asks me if I will make Mayonnaise. Confused, I answer that I would gladly make Mayonnaise, but I don't know how. She consults with the other woman who stands next to her comes to some sort of agreement whereby her friend can explain how to make mayo to me, but I'll definitely have to find the proper ingredients... she can't have anything to do with that sort of servant's work. So the agreement is reached between us, and I've learned that she actually wants me to mix guacamole with mayo. In the dream it doesn't seem so gross, I agree to get the process started, and hop of the wall to walk inside.

Now wandering the house in search of the kitchen I interrupt an couple of thirty-somethings who are arguing loudly while they fold laundry. On the floor near them, there are white buckets... similar to a 5-gallon paint bucket, but slightly smaller, perhaps 3-gallons. The buckets have no paper labels, but somebody has scribbled on each of them with a black marker. It seems clear that the contents are nutritional supplements. The man is angry and embarrassed to have been interrupted, he gets ready to berate me, but sees that my hands are full with something and cools off. What did I have my hands full with? Perhaps ingredients from the fridge. He was an older Asian looking guy. They were arguing about sexual performance.

There's some sort of escape sequence...but I can't remember it now.

Then there's this... a closing scene:

The old guy and young guy are sitting near the top of the hill... and it's still dusk. The older guy may be the Mayor from "Weeds" and perhaps the young guy is Anakin Skywalker circa the second Prequel... God, I loath that whiney brat. The two are sitting on a wall, under a ramada... there's some conversation about life's meaning... deep thinking.

Anakin's look-alike relates the parable of the beetle whose intention is to climb a mountain:

"The beetle begins his journey just before daybreak, and climbs and climbs, ever so steady. The day progresses through morning to a hot afternoon and the moist air brings clouds... the beetle knows there will be rain soon, but is persistent. After much arduous travel over perilous terrain the storm clouds have gathered and as the beetle approaches the summit they let loose the rain. The beetle is knocked from his path by the raging flood. He falls down the mountain, bouncing of rocks and tumbling through space. Finally he lands on his back at the bottom of the mountain, quickly the beetle rights himself and without searching for the easiest path... he simply begins walking up the mountain again."

This, says the young man, is a powerful metaphor about the Technique that makes the beetle's way of life such a good example of how we should live our lives. He says that we can all learn about how to deal with adversity by examining the beetle's behavior.

The old guy thinks about the story, and lets the silence linger only long enough to let the kid's words sink in. It doesn't take long, shortly he breaks the silence to respond:

"As a kid I tried to study the Tao of a lot of things. I always thought that I would be able to have understanding of life's meaning only when I finally came to master the best Technique of living. I thought I had learned from study of the Tao that I needed to know how to live a good life in order to really achieve a humble greatness through the mastery of my practice. After many years, I had lived a hard life, with some success and plenty of metaphoric and legitimate failure.  I was too old when I came to realize that rather than actually getting something done, Technique is just a word that we use to describe how you fuck someone."

The man then turned to Me... the dreamer, who had been observing this dialogue from what I thought was an omniscient perspective... and said:

"This is your Original Pearl, everything else is metaphor. I hope you can make use of it."

He wasn't speaking to Me within the dream, he was speaking to me as I watched the dream... and that was quite strange.

As things of a Tao-ish nature go, perhaps I'll ruin the point of the story by simply trying to state it... but there may be some who aren't familiar with stories of the Tao, so perhaps it would behoove me to attempt. As I have interpreted it, the moral of this old bastard's wise-ass remark is this:

Understanding how something is done is well and good.  But actually attempting something is fundamentally more important than prior knowledge of how to do something.  Riding a bike?  Loving?  Experiencing the brutal pain of a near-death experience? Nobody could have described these experiences to me.  And all the technical information in the world wouldn't have told me how to remember an experience.  In the end, only the memory of the life experience matters... everything else is metaphor.

Maybe all of this was just my brain's twisted derivation of some 'Old Bull, Young Bull' joke. Or, maybe it's truly a moment of gnosis and I would have been better off leaving it all unsaid. The phrase "Original Pearl" has been used by characters in my dreams before, always to signify some sort of gnostic realization. I suspect that it's a not-so-well-disguised reference to a Pearl of Wisdom... but again it was code, and I woke up just in time to write down his message before it slipped my mind permanently. As you might expect, given the gnostic origin of this final message, there was a twist. I awoke quickly, and immediately wrote the message in its entirety, only to get the whole thing written down and realize when I tried to reread what I'd just written, that I was still dreaming.

As soon as I was able to comprehend the twist, I jolted myself awake and sat bolt upright on the couch... and, in the real waking life this time, I grabbed the nearest dry-erase board to scribble as much of the message as I could remember. Some significant part of the final message was certainly lost I'm afraid... but the rest of the dream sequence is fairly accurate and complete, if not compelling.

Perhaps the next Original Pearl won't be lost to the seas of sleep so quickly.

• Marketing & sales for Aaron's Laundromat
  • all the info will eventually wind up @ www.revolutionlaundry.com
• Longbars.com
  • Force-feed all the nutrition bar manufacturing & sales information into my head as fast as possible
  • So that I can get longbars.com up and running (even if it's only a rough-draft website)
  • find a manufacturer who will produce less than 125,000 bars on first run (harder than it might seem)
  • find a web-designer who will work for pennies (surprisingly easy... but these pigs are hard to pin down. Suppose i should expect to get what i pay for)
  • force myself to wake up in the morning and make it happen (this is not as easy as it seemed 2 months ago!)
• weirdano.com
  • brazen head-smashing-into-wall frustration as i try to overcome the inertia of all these things.
• Art/Photog Rep
  • This is the curve-ball. A strange opportunity to flex my marketing/sales skills for 25% of the income I generate for the photog.

On this day, i find it strange how these sorts of life-changing-events come about... i was under-the-super-duper-psychological-weather last week. So much so, that I started looking for any job that I would/could possibly consider doing instead of the learn-to-be-an-entrepreneur-in-one-month game... I wound up scavenging craigslist & came up with an interesting opportunity in the Photog. Rep. thing... sent an e-mail, and we'll see how that turns out.

So the top of that list should have been started with "Git'er done!" or some sort of folksy self-nudge-colloquialism. But, it's stream of consciousness... and fortunately for you it's only brief... what else can I say?

The answer to all my problems is right under my nose, I suspect; quit crying, man-up, and start doing constructive work instead of feeling sheepish and aghast at the joys of growing up without a father figure for so much of my life (did you hear that? that was the sound of nobody caring). Well, for what it's worth, I have manned up... and so far as I can tell, i'm beginning to get a callous on my scrotum from being so manly about the whole thing. But it's still important to cover my ass. Gotta make sure that there's no crazy running-out-of-money in a pinch sort of troubles.

I've let this blog-o-carp serve as a distraction and a spout for my personal rants while I should instead put the nose on the grindstone for longbars, and i've made some significant progress on it. Today's list of shit to do includes attempting a website design by myself... just enough so that I can start harvesting contact info with AdWords plugs & then going forward from there. The nice thing about having a market-niche as small as mine is that the advertising budget doesn't need to be as large in niche-market-keywords.

Well, that's about it for my rant... i'll let you get back to living the American dream.

A group of researchers in Germany have designed a SPACER that we can expect to hear more about. Their device may eventually be a replacement for the transistor.

A SPASER derives it's namesake from the LASER:

LASER = Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation
SPASER = Surface Plasmon Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation

The buzzword of the day is "nanoPlasmonics". Have all sorts of fun with that.

A LASER is neat because (among other things) of the way it generates new photons... in a sort of chain reaction called Stimulated Emission. That chain reaction is responsible for the light's 'coherence'.

A SPASER is neat, because it will allow for the use of coherent light for imaging & manipulation @ the nano-scale, where LASERs are ineffective because of their macro-size wavelengths.

Drivel is an open-source blogging client for Linux (64-bit Kubuntu 9.04 in my case) that allows me to write on my computer & upload to the blog for your reading pleasures.

The most recent version of Drivel (v2.0.3) was released in 2006.  Don't expect anything really exciting as far as the program interface is concerned... because you'll only be setting yourself up for tremendous disappointment.

Once you've set your expectations for lame, you should be ready to move onward with installation of your new software...Since I use Kubuntu, this was no trouble.

Using KPackageKit to search for the terms 'blog' & 'client' was not particularly helpful.  Since there are so many partially developed titles available a quick trip to google was in order.  It's often easier for me to think of google in terms of how 'god' might make His presence felt as the embodiment of such a search engine.  I prayed for "best linux blog tool" and the many-faceted response of The Almighty was that there weren't any worthwhile blogging clients for linux, so i should just give up and pray for "best place to find a stolen copy of windows".  Since that wasn't an option for me, I went back to the package manager and picked Drivel.

Going Forward:

All calls for luck & satisfaction aside, a successful integration of Drivel into the tools I use on a daily basis will encourage greater throughput from my fast-flying-fingers(-of-fury) directly to the pleasure centers of your skull. An unsuccessful attempt at the same should result in zero net change from your perspective... so perhaps you shouldn't worry your pretty little skull.

We'll see how well it works. In the meantime, think about the difference between quality & quantity... your essay will be due tomorrow when class starts.

p.s. What could possibly be a better name for some tool that I might choose to encourage my writing?!? Given the clear accuracy of said tool as an adjective to describe my often inarticulate attempts @ authorship, I shouldn't be surprised that there are so few visitors to the site as of late :P Perhaps this tiny program can help me change that!

p.p.s. Drivel didn't make the pictures work... unfortunately, I had to make that happen with WYSIWYG in WordPress

From their website:

Drivel is a GNOME client for working with online journals, also known as weblogs or simply ‘blogs’. It retains a simple and elegant design while providing many powerful features, including:

• Support for LiveJournal, Blogger, MovableType, Advogato, and Atom journals (systems based off these are also supported, including WordPress and Drupal)
• The ability to post, edit, delete, and view recent entries
• Integrated spellchecking and HTML syntax highlighting
• Offline composition and editing
• Automatic recovery in the event of a crash
• Journal system extensions, including LiveJournal security groups and MovableType categories

Hey man,

Found this while I was surfing my admin page @ weirdnano.com... was a draft :o)  Thinking i'll post it up after I send this e-mail... without asking.

I've been building up my linux-ninja skills... but they're not getting that far.  Enough to make my computer function w/o ever paying for anything... wouldn't it be neat if a person like myself could get a web-business started w/ no money & a fetish for marketing.  There's big ideas in my head, but instead of studying in college, I took every class I could come accross... my brain is like a sponge, that hasn't been squeezed out in weeks.

Here's the real zinger.  If i can get everybody involved in the process, then i'll be able to sell a book about how important open-source development can save the world from total degrading failure as tech speeds up & we can't hang on because IP laws restrict the growth of industry by keeping the means of understanding out of the hands of the public... thereby minimizing the number of thinkers that know of it, and of unique viewpoints ever getting thoughtup.

Well have to wait and see if that's a reasonable thought... till then, why don't you tell me about how much you like the world seeing you @ your shitty apartment pissing all over the the seat on the worlds first freeway billboard pee-cam.

==========

===========

p.s. your balls are showing.

It's a balmy 21 degrees here as I write... but fortunately i'm in the comfort of a healthfood & supplement store. Escape the heat... that's what I say!

So, first on my list of things to discuss is the delicious beer i'm sipping.  Surprising that I'd find it in a healthfood store?  Merhapsy... but consider this; beer is delicious... and I don't care where I get it from as long as i'm gettin' it.

observez-vous... la Biere:

Okay, so... for my next trick I'm going to finish the rest of my 2nd beer then dip out of this crystal-crunching douchebaggery and find myself another place to write from.  My toes are getting cold from not wandering.

Adios,

le D.g.

Let me elaborate

For Starters...

Which brings me to...

Three sheets @ work ftw!!!!