Useless Blogging

I migrated the whole backend DB of the site to a MySQL 5 server, and I don’t THINK anything went too nuts. Let me know if you see oddities.

This hasn’t been widely promulgated by this point, but ought to be.

For the first time in a long-ass time (a decade, or nearly so), my home won’t be host to new year’s festivities. Owing to a crazy rehearsal schedule AND the fact that they have a place large enough to support a gathering of size now, we’re hauling to Pittsburgh this year.

Please edit your itineraries accordingly.

States are now 0-for-31 on allowing gay marriage by referendum. I wonder how many civil rights referenda were defeated in the 50s and 60s before folks realized that rights aren’t something that can be voted on.

This is backdated so I can search on the date. It’s kind of cheating, but it’s meaningful cheating.

Last year, Sara attended a soiree for a kid in her pre-K class at a fire station. It was quite the affair, given the age of the child. His mom told me that her family is of the opinion that anytime you turn “a full hand”, a larger-than-usual party ought to be held. (Base 10 carries the day.) I remember thinking that was an intriguing idea, if not one I’d subscribe to enthusiastically.

Recently, Sara went ahead and turned six years old. I’m still trying to determine what it is about this year, or this birthday, or her, or me, but there’s SOMETHING about this that makes it feel like this birthday is bigger than the past five before it. (Sara operates in Base 12? Maybe.) I don’t really have too much more to add to that equation currently; “something in the air” is all I can muster.

Regardless of the air, birthday wishes are in order. Sara, I wish you to continue to be as happy as you have been, and as happy as you have made me and everyone around you (if it’s physically possible for that much happiness to coalesce in one person). I wish you health, prosperity, but mostly (and I can help with this one) I wish you love.

Happy birthday, Sara. I love you.

(PS: Happy half-birthday, Emma!)

Google Voice’s voicemail transcription is the bomb-diggety. That is all.

I have video evidence (currently on my cell phone) of Emma eating a hot dog. From her reaction, it may be the only time this ever happens.

From Random

Ryan, tonight:
Often times I believe that we are standing on the shoulders of midgets, and dead and rotting giants are simply relieved to not have to watch us fumble around and fuck things up.

Someone call me when players are done being whiny prissy cheaters, and maybe my interest for baseball will return to a point where it was in my youth.

A twelfth random thing you might not know:
12. In tenth grade, I organzied a reunion of sorts for my fifth grade elementary class at Emily Liadakis’ house.

Thanks to the magic of Facebook, there’s a healthy number of Woodhome Elementary folks lurking in my circle, and the itch is starting again. Think it over, world…