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Monday, November 27, 2000

Carson City

@ 12 pm | PermaLink

Looks like this is the last little bit of tweaking that I'll need to do. The Blogger button's there, the spacings a bit less ganglous. I really should finish up with lunch and get back to work. Now I've got the final filename set and I can start sending everything over this way. Right? Hey, maybe the listing in the Blogger directory will up my traffic. You never know. Personal stuff: Amy and I got back from Carson City this weekend. We spent the weekend with her family. It's always more difficult for her than it is for me. I got to spend some time with my new neice and nephew. It was nice, but I'm glad to be back home. So much to do here, it's not funny. :(

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Previously, that same day...

The Pain

@ 12 pm | PermaLink

Now we've got the boxes back but the date layout is not customizable to the vertical layout that I had previously. Nor is there any provision for an entry title. :( Ah the pain of giving up a home grown solution.

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Previously, that same day...

On The Move

@ 12 pm | PermaLink

Okay, Dwelling is on the move. Since I'm trying to get off of the server that has most of my personal stuff, and the Perl scripts that were written for Dwelling are so tied to the particular machine, I thought I'd take on Blogger and let it do it's thing for me. I'll be missing the rss file functionality that I built, but that may just have to let go in order to have something working. 'Things must be sacrificed...' as they say.I've got a lot of work to do on the template, but I should be able to resolve that soon enough.

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Thursday, November 02, 2000

Leanord Cohen Came to My Wedding

@ 12 pm | PermaLink

Bird on the Wire

Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.
Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"
Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

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November 2000

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