Monday, November 10, 2014
Really, it is technical and computer oriented with some rants thrown in for good measure.
Yes, I am doing well, living the life of a programming telecommuter. Browse on over if you are so inclined.
Thursday, August 02, 2012
However, I came here this morning to read and think about some new posts floating around in my brain, and what do I see? Or rather, what do I NOT see? The Google ads and widgets that were on my blog. What happened to them?
There is no e-mail stating they would be removed... No notification, nothing.
Yes, their Terms of Service (Google & Blogger) state they have a right to do this without notification, but it is still irritating. Maybe it is time I migrate this somewhere else.
Seems odd that this would happen, not long before having Google earnings very close to that magic $100 mark where they actually cut me a check. We shall see...
It would seem to be some sort of computer/browser issue. ODD!!! two computers show the ads and gadgets but my main computer doesn't show them at all. So... False alarm, likely. Maybe my main computer just needs to be rebooted or... who knows.
Anyway, nothing to see here...
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Well, the life of Razor has been fun, enjoyable and above all else, interesting. In my mind, 'interesting' is almost always good. Since my last post... There has been
a cross country road trip to Illinois to visit my Mom and daughter; a relocation from my rather misanthropic, second floor apartment; an IRS audit; a new rear tire for Athena; the final payoff and receipt of title for Athena (YEA!); a dropped Honda CB900F causing a lot of smoking, broken turning signal and cracked stator cover (BLEK!); a pulled tooth; started smoking again and then stopped again; sold my Project Vixen, an old Suzuki VX800 that was basically a 'basket case'; started playing my guitar again; got a few new tats; started really thinking about my diet & exercise - and changing behavior accordingly.
A few rides with a passenger. Yes, Razor is now taken! Off the shelf! Out of circulation! No longer riding one-up!
So, ya... Razor's been rather busy lately... Quite happily busy, might I add.
Monday, January 02, 2012
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Hold fast your sword and tight your shield against the oncoming night. They are battle worn and show the scars of skirmishes won and lost but in your hands are peerless, flawless and shall lead you and all you love through safely until the blessings of dawn grace the universe. Demons and vermin cower at the glint of moonlight on your blade. Tempests rage against your armor yet you hold strong. When the singing of heaven-borne birds herald the oncoming morn I pray you find repose beside the blue-green crystal waterfall, for there I shall be and you may rest your weary head on my shoulder and weep and rest.
Prayer for the Silent Warrior
-Ken Linder 2011
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
“Underqualified! Again,” his father would say over and over. It was his mantra of self loathing.
“Jamie, I hope one day you ain’t underqualified,” he would say, old computer in front of his glazed eyes, bottle of whiskey in one hand, cigarette in the other.
“But Dad,” his son pleaded with a hint of desperate, youthful helpfulness. “Why don’t you just go to school and learn something. Get good and then you can get a job. I know you can. Just try, ok?”
He lay his head on the table in perpetual desperation. “I can’t, Jamie. I’m too old. Companies want the young workers, not old bastards like me.”
“Go play, son and leave this old man alone.”
It was the same, night after night. Searching the Internet and newspapers for jobs, half bottle of whiskey and pack of cigarettes consumed in solitude before collapsing on the tattered couch or fourth hand easy chair. At the age of twelve Jamie just stopped trying. He was unqualified to help his father. Those that could help were ”stupid,” or “didn’t know shit,” or “didn’t know how hard his life was.”
“Jamie, come on, hun! If we are going to make the 7:15 ferry we gotta make tracks!”
Through the tears, he smiled. Standing at his Dad’s diminutive, newly cut gravestone, head bowed, he prayerfully whispered, “I love you Dad. Fuck you and your goddamn underqualifications.”
Turning, he wiped the tears from his face and waved to his girlfriend waiting with their bikes by the gravel road. Putting on his helmet and gloves he thought, ‘Fuck your underqualifications. Life is waiting for me to grab it.’