Entries from May 2008 ↓

Then: “What is a blog?”

Now: “What is Twitter?”

Then: “Why would anyone want to read your blog?”

Now: “Why would anyone want to read your Twitter updates?”

Then: “You really think people care enough about your opinion that you should have a blog?”

Now: “You really think people want to read about what you are doing all the time?”

Then: “Blogging is for egomaniacal exhibitionists.”

Now: “Twitter is for egomaniacal exhibitionists.”

Then: “Blog is a funny word. It sounds stupid.”

Now: “Twitter is a funny word. It sounds stupid.”

Then: “Blogging will be the death of legitimate, long-form journalism.”

Now: “Twitter will be the death of legitimate, long-form blogging.”

Then: “I would never have a blog.”

Now: “I would never have a Twitter.”

Then: “Heyyy, I finally got myself a blog, check it out!”

Now: “FormerSkeptic is now following you on Twitter.”

…and it’s the God’s honest truth.

I have no idea how many people read this blog every day. Or my work blog. I also rarely know who links to me. I do a Google search for link:[blog] on occasion out of curiosity.*

And I’m all the happier for it. Seriously.

*I do have a Google alert for my name, lest you think I’ve gone completely insane.

It is known that I do not much like my BlackJack. I could go into why, but I need to leave for work in about 5, and that would be about 1/20th the amount of minutes I need. However, the BlackJack II has a killer camera. It’s one of the reasons I picked it, and I continue to be impressed.

Here’s a photo pulled right off the phone. No post processing:

Not bad, eh?

Today I awoke to the sound of a pair of parrots. Their voices have become distinct to me, and I recognize them from the other birds who fly near here. Their squawks fill the air with a near demand to be heard. They are wild, so they say no words.

They have become a comfort. When the parrots are around I am reminded of all that is wonderful here. And different. Over time the differences have become little rafts to which I cling. Wild parrots, boys making out in the park, people openly smoking pot on the streets, the wind whipping through alleyways, skyscrapers that pierce through blue, the consistency of car horns, taxiing to and fro, sidewalks that turn into staircases, water on all three sides, walking everywhere I go, bike messengers, slides in the middle of hilly neighborhoods–these are all tiny salvations, reminders that I’m right where I want to be.

I want to visit, but I don’t want to go home.