January 4th, 2012

masked bobby

Gonna join my pal at the Costco World Market, which apparently is no longer called that

but is now Cost Plus World Market, or just World Market, and maybe never was Costco World Market, though the internet shows others seem to think there's a business by that name.

Pal is going to look at pillows.  I'm going to try to resist buying furniture.  Even though one of these days I really would like to make the living room into a different living room.  I'm stupid in that department, though.  I really am.

I have some gift unwrapping to do still, of a never-delivered sort, put off and put off and now criminey is it twelfth night, or just close?  Fess has been eating at the ribbon on one of those, urging me on.  Perhaps tonight.

The website for Stud. Appl. Math. doesn't go back to 1973.  Thus it's in a sort of pre-history that this David Benney character wrote about something referred to now as a kind of hierarchy.  We don't have access to Web of Science, or I could verify it there.

I got a Dr. Pepper this afternoon and poured half of it, bubblingly, into a glass with ice.  I've been sipping on it.  That first sip was somethin'.  I can see how a drug store could present a freshly-mixed Coke and have it fit in the for-what-ails-ya air of the place.  Even without the coca.
masked bobby

put the dog to bed a little early, took a shower, gonna hit the hay with a wet head

will put pen to little book again too, i reckon.  little one- or two-page dispatches.  it's a different kind of journaling from the catch-up-in-one-huge-swoop sort, done maybe at panera over the course of more'n an hour.

i wonder what a fell swoop is.  why it's that.

oh, i just found out.  it's shakespeare.  do you know?  it's macduff.


look at that old-school link.

i remember when i first found out about hyperlinking and the notion of rich text, i was pretty freakin' excited at the prospects of what  lay ahead.  i was wondering the other day what my father would have thought about something or another--- whatever that was, i concluded that he would have had to have the toy of it, whatever thing it was, and that it somehow would have happened.  i'll tell you more about that when i finally write about the typewriter.  imagining him encountering hypertext is something else, though.

it's not as if i'd ever really (get to) have a conversation with him about it, though.  i'd watch from the wings, or overhear, or glean, or hear outright in some speech made to someone(s) else.  there were so few talks of substance, of ideas.  between us.  considering how much those things were part of his life, and of mine.

a lot of what i love is some of what he loved.  in our separate and distant ways.  i was surprised to be so touched by that element of Fun Home--- how it hit home with me.

i don't know that he had the etymology bug, however.  i had Thereby Hangs a Tale as a youngster, but a simpler book for younger readers remained my favorite.  can't call up what it was called now.  i know it had illustrations, and one etymology per page.  included were "macadam," which seemed obscure to me, and "sandwich."

to hit home has a sense like that of a punch being said to land.  gets you where you live.  or lived.