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Well, I do have hopes of posting to this journal again someday, especially as my school year is coming to a close. Anyone can have hopes, right? But most recent evidence would seem to suggest that this LiveJournal's best days are behind it.

Capitulating to this trend (for now) I've at least stepped into the Web 2.0s and tagged the archives of this once lively journal (see right-hand column). It's a predictably Borgesian set of categories, from alt.history to baby pix to the Samia sock puppet guy to the Xmas GILT exchange to a handy compendium of posts in which somebody steals somebody else's bit (almost surely incomplete).

[livejournal.com profile] mgrasso has always been a stalwart promoter of my archives. I invite the rest of you also to root around nostalgically in the days when this journal was often pretty good.

Edit: Also, hi! I hope you are all well! Happy birthdays!
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I am not getting enough sleep.
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Saigon! I'm still stuck here in Saigon.

Er, Cambridge.
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OK, it's a nice sentiment, but why do the geeks get the girls? You can't just assert that they do without any further explanation. It's the same narrative flaw as that Wheatus song. There's nothing in the first three verses to suggest that Noel (Noelle?) has any interest in Iron Maiden whatsoever. Would Nerf Herder have resorted to such a flimsy deus ex machina? Would Super Deluxe? I think not.

Edit: Come to think of it, how did I get the girl?
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Coming to you live from Wilmington, Delaware.

It never fails. All I have to do is go out of town, or even just away from LiveJournal for a few hours, and my friends explode with socializing, crazy gaming plans, and salacious icons. (Yes, I linked that one twice.) Wah wah whinge whinge. I have killed other mammals, though, so there's that. And this motel room has a humongous television set.
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[livejournal.com profile] wordwolf reports that the Ivory Tower has lost another gentleman and scholar to the Hosts of Mordor. I sympathize. In fact, my very own words have in the past pushed people out of academia and into law school. "The academic life rules; academic jobs are a dead end," WW writes. Very true, on both counts. Best wishes to Phil, and to the guy I helped talk into taking the Blue Pill. He seems to be bored in his classes but otherwise doing well. Read more... )
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Well, it took three visits this week to three different doctors, but as of today I have immigration paperwork certifying that I do not display any of the following conditions:

- active tuberculosis
- chancroid
- chronic alcoholism
- gonorrhea
- Hansen's disease
- HIV infection
- lymphogranuloma venereum
- insanity
- mental defect
- mental retardation
- narcotic drug addiction
- previous occurrence of one or more attacks of insanity
- psychopathic personality
- sexual deviance
- syphilis

What the heck is "chancroid," anyway? I don't like me the sounds of it.

So maybe it's lame to post to LJ on a Friday night, thus revealing that I am at home alone, but hey, I have Jake's Boss Barbecue waiting for me, plenty of hooch, and a cool-looking movie about Japanese sorcerers to watch. So I feel pretty good about my Friday night plans. Plus I have it in writing that I am not insane, deviant, or syphilitic. Do you have it in writing that you are not insane, deviant, or syphilitic? Yeah, that's what I thought.
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Well, here I am, back in the city, after my Bidness Histrey Confernce, and then my anniversary, and then a week in the Canadian wild: beautiful and unspoiled and all that, but somewhat lacking in easy internet access.

And I am shocked, shocked, I say, to discover that when I go away, the internet goes on without me! My friends have birthdays and cool parties and scary-ass heavy weather and hilarious game ideas and they come back from Japan or head off to California and congratulate me on my anniversary and invite me to do stuff and all of this activity goes on with nary a peep from me.

So I apologize to all those to whom I owe correspondence. Happy First, Fourth, or any other ordinal numberth of July. And perhaps if the heat doesn't get to me tonight I will begin digging myself out from under my inbox. Excelsior!
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You're right, Marge. It's just like the time I could have met Mr. T at the mall. The entire day, I kept saying, "I'll go a little later, I'll go a little later..." And when I got there, they told me he just left. And when I asked the mall guy if he'd ever come back again, he said... he didn't know.

A friend of mine grew up in Chicago. One of the things he liked about living there, he says, was very occasionally running into Mr. T. You'd be walking downtown, and there he'd be, Clubber Lang himself, crossing the street or eating a hot dog. Haircut, gold chains and all. (This would have been in the late 1980s and early 1990s—well after Mr. T's first fifteen minutes of fame, well before his 1-800-COLLECT and inane WWW renaissance.) You'd see him and say, "Hey! That's Mr. T!" and he'd always wave and say, "Hi, kids! Stay in school!" or something similar. And that would be that. You might go home and tell your Mom, "I saw Mr. T today!" "That's nice," your Mom would say.

What delights me about this story (and I should probably spell it out, since I'm sure it's not coming across in the telling), is both the good-naturedness of it and the mundanity. It was a good thing to run into Mr. T, but really not that big a deal. No bigger than seeing, say, a fire truck, or some ducks, or a lady walking a funny-looking dog. "I saw a funny-looking dog, today, Mom!" "That's nice, dear." I wonder if this is how citizens of Metropolis react when they see Aquaman.

Anyway, besides being an excuse to link to lots of Mr. T pages, all this jibber-jabber is just prelude to a story I had to share (with the small number of you reading this who aren't also reading [livejournal.com profile] bryant). It's MUCH funnier than the one I just told you about Mr. T: Darth Vader Made Me Cry. I'll link to it again, so it doesn't get lost in the forest of Mr. T pages: Darth Vader Made Me Cry. Go read it. Hee hee hee. It has a nice symmetry with the classic Alec Guinness story, too.
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To me, yesterday's truce between the computer industry and the RIAA is more disturbing than today's Supreme Court decision against copyright reform. Mainly because the RIAA/computer industry truce seems expressly designed to avoid or preempt any government involvement: "We in industry must act now or risk letting the representatives of the people actually have a say!" While the Eldred decision, while certainly not the one I wanted to see (Free Mickey!), is at least an example of how the process is sorta kinda supposed to work.

OK, OK, so I'm jumping on the blogging about IP law bandwagon. All this ferment about communication technology and intellectual property is actually very reminiscent of the dissertation chapter I'm currently writing. Maybe I'll tell you about it when my ideas are a little better articulated.
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Here we are, passing from the early into the mid-whatever-we-are-supposed-to-call-the-decade-from-2000-to-2009s, and we still haven’t settled on a name for it. Shocking! Back before the as-yet-nameless-decade began, I remember many earnest discussions about decade nomenclature. It seems like, in those days, people understood that naming the decade between 2000 (or "the year 2000," as we called it back then) and 2009 was a Real Issue, a pressing affair on par with complaining about El Nino, shielding our coffee makers from the Y2K bug, and getting advance tickets to see The Phantom Menace. But now, three years in to this abominable-decade-that-dare-not-speak-its-name, we just trundle along, doodle-dee-doo, oblivious to the chaos certain to ensue just seven years from now, when the media tries to write its decade-in-review specials and articles and reviews. Did something happen some time in the early you-know-whats to distract us from such weighty concerns?

...

Happy 2003, all. Lisa & I just got back from our holiday travels. I hadn’t really been looking forward to all the schlepping involved in trying to visit both sides of the Faddy-Mac family in ten short days, but somehow all the plains, trains, and automobiles went smoothly, and we had great happy Seasonal Gift Days in both Maryland and Ontario. First, one of the classic Jewish Christmases I’ve always dreamed of (Chinese takeout & a Spielberg movie) in Bethesda with Lisa’s family, followed by a terrific All-Camp Festivus with my own clan. It is so damn fun when all of my siblings get together; I wish I was better at staying in touch with them during the rest of the year. L&I got back late Tuesday, for a romantic New Year’s Eve cheering on a giant evil can of Chicken Noodle Soup battling a one-eyed Hell Monkey and a break-dancing silver potato. From ringside, even. All told, a fine holiday, probably my favorite since Y2K, marred only by our inability to make it to Toronto to see my beloved and always too rarely visited posse there.

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