Slashdot

I think it was W.C. Fields who said, "Here's champagne for our real friends, and real pain for our sham friends." Everyone, meet Dave. Dave, meet ... um ... well, I guess there really isn't an everyone.

After all that early waffling about Schroedinger's Uncertainty Principle applied to my web rantings, I caved and told someone I actually know from the big blue room that I occasionally rant here. I guess now it's only a matter of time before the news spreads through that circle and before too long I won't be able to post here either from being too self-conscious. (see the entry, "meta-journalling", which I'm too darn lazy to link here. Incidentally, I'm also too darn lazy to post more than once or twice a month.)

Maybe I wanted to know someone was reading it. Maybe I liked the eerie silence of a possibly non-existent readership. Sometimes, stuff falls out of my head that needs to go somewhere, and for whatever reason here seemed the best place for it. Now, my audience has been observed, and I'm outed. I don't think I'll be putting up a self-destruct button this time. Don't expect volumes of worthwhile stuff, either.

And I'm really not going to talk about my Czech wheat weaving hobby here either.