"Haven't the computer programmers already practiced shaving?
Mr. Hanson isn't practicing working." ~ Gail Mckinnon

I just received this in email... it may be CC'ed secret code that only the privileged people are privy to, but you can ask the author herself if you want to send her an email... I haven't gotten around to it just yet, but that does not mean it is not vital information that deserves your immediate attention... after all, I could very well be sitting in a room full of styrofoam peanuts contemplating my navel while the fate of the world is waiting anxiously under the assortment of stuff that is piled on my desk... or I could be sitting in mid-air nipping a spot of tea and crumpets (or creme cupcakes, though I'd probably pass on the strawberries) and laughing my head off with Bert and Uncle Albert... in any case, I'll trust you to take the world much more seriously than I do, if you want to, that is, and thank you much for it whenever I come down to Earth and set my priorities straight, which is every now and then and occasionally on the first of May or December or every ninth Tuesday or Friday or so...

and the fact is, that mail might have been SPAM... I am currently receiving more than 10MB a day at my primary email address, which means any mail sent that exceeds that 10MB daily quote will bounce, which is sad, since 99.999% of the 10MB that gets through is filtered and deleted before I even look at it because it's tagged as SPAM by my email filters... so if you are emailing me and find your email bounces back to you, please try again and try using the Dland address or the Gmail address or if you've got the urge (and guts), just call... just subtract 3125721403 from 7198972885 and dial the number you get...

and the banging continues this week... the doors open and close ten times a minute as if dozens of workmen are coming and going (and don't know whether they are, for that matter)... I believe they are up to the last of the plastering, bathroom grout and plaster covers everything outside of our door... can painting and carpets be too far behind?... I am beginning to wonder why I said yes to staying in this apartment... I figured it would be a couple of months of repairs in the building, but it's now going on four months of banging and mess... four months of not getting enough sleep because I work night shift and the rest of the world, particularly construction workers, work the day shift...

and then there was this other email...

my first thought was who do you have to suck up to to get one of these... but I stopped a few yeards short of writing my acceptance speech because, doubled over with laughter, I came to my senses... a TV Star with great wit, an adorable family, a healthy social conscience, and enough time to actually research, write, code, and produce a blog might deserve to win... but a babbling fool who barely has time to skim the surface of what passes through what passes as my mind, no less actually re-read, spellcheck, or edit the ramblings, well...

maybe there's a niche...

you can do your own research by visiting the nominees and winners of the past few years: 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, and soon to be 2005 (that's where you can nominate yourself, or me, or someone else deserving a buck fifty and all the pride and prejudice and whatever else comes with permanent enshrinement on that page... exciting, no doubt)...

of course I started this half-hearted thought about appealing to your hearts and souls to nominate and vote for this daily diary under whatever category it might fit (and perhaps, by some arbitrary technicality like the format must be a certain way or the words must be spelled right or something, this casa de candoor will not qualify, but heck, there ought to be a place or category for free associative babbling that's a little bit of everything and mostly nothing at all, right?) late, that is, it appears that the deadline is January 12th so we've got 25% less time to get the word out (especially since I'm a day behind so far this year) and start a groundswell of grass rooting for our unanimous choice, me, but what the hell, it's worth a mention honorable or not...

and I suppose it is an honorable way to get the word out, to attract visitors, to increase the hope that somedy this diary will find the eyes of the one who has the heart that matches mine so completely that the universe will pause to applaud the love that is reunited (and it feels so good) and the world will be saved once again (before trying pyramid schemes, I suppose... who's a traffic whore?)...

oh yeah?... well how many of you can eat, enjoy, and digest a pound (or half a kilo) of M&Ms and have no guilt whatsoever afterward?...

not impressed?...

good, that means more M&Ms for me...

so what else is new?... did you know that Six Apart may be buying Live Journal?... yes, you can even learn something about big business here at casa de candoor...

meanwhile, the truth is that this laptop prevents me from viewing this site, but there is still an amazing possibility that alien contact was attempted and anyone with access ought to check it out...

I looked over some of the 2004 winners and maybe it's my mock arrogant mood or fatigue or the distractions of The Outer Limits and a chocolate sugar rush and Precious telling me about her day and living with drug addicts (caffeine, but the behavior patterns are not so different from most addicts), but I was not all that impressed and felt no compulsion to read more than snips of a few entries... they seemed overly techie, commercial, and a little more like textbooks or reference materials than a public presentation of words that introduce a person and the person's life and perspectives and whatever else the person is thinking or feeling... maybe it's just that I read diaries, journals, blogs, or whatever we might call these things for the personal side, the human aspect, the writer and the creativity the writer might present... and babbling is more seductive sometimes...

and yet, I prefer Escher to Pollock, I think, for whatever that means...

the truth is (about that last apparently abstract, but laden with hidden meanings line), I was thinking of a different artist and could not remember his name, so Pollock was inserted sort of as a place-holder... bullocks, you might say and well deserved, perhaps, so I will return if and when that other guy comes to mind... his work was displayed on the covers of Saturday Evening Post, a long defunct American magazine and was described as quaint a lot... Americana stuff, if that helps jog memories...

maybe you were expecting an entry of deep meaning, profound emotion, social conscience, literary merit, or some other great worth... there is a strong possibility, in fact, that this entry is incomplete and will be continued when there is more time for more mind-dumping or perhaps even serious contemplations... I have been told by sources I respect that it has been known to occur here now and then, but then, there are times when I give up thinking and just release the odds and ends that clutter my mind... if that is not what you came for, well...

maybe next time...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)