Guruzilla's /var/log/knowledge-junkie
["the chatter of a missionary sysadmin"]

the leaves that are green...

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antsy+drained+ apprehensive+elated

{ Now playing: The Cure, "Love Song"; Breakfast with Amy, "[Sample - Audio Balance Established]"; "ÉgÉâÉbÉN 01"; DJ Maj, "Dream World (Featuring Flynn & Joey The Jerk)"; Vigilantes Of Love, "But Not For Long"; Samite of Uganda 'Abaana Bakesa', "Mbonakalinda"; L.S.U., "War"; Charlie Peacock, "Big Man's Hat"; Violet Burning, "The Face of Beauty"; LSU/ Michael Knott, "Ricki Racer"; The Beach Boys, "Help Me, Rhonda"; VoL, "Facsimile";
Recent movies: Godzilla (1954!!)*****
Recent books: Isaiah; Luke; Luther, Sermons on John 14-16; Dante, Purgatory (Sayers trans.); Bujold, Cordelia's Honor;

Realized today I'm ticking to under approx. 60 days before I'm wrapping at $WEMAKEPRIESTS, and departing for the regions of $WESENDMISSIONARIES. Today also noticed that I have perhaps the world's most nominal documentation... Attempting to start updating that. Though of course, one might think that 6 months' notice would be enough time for the powers-that-be to start recruiting my successor, no? I believe in miracles in part just because this school is still here...

As I've asserted at various times, I rather like poor ol' Pittsburgh -- among other reasons, I always root for the underdog -- and while everyone I meet waxes dreamy about Denver and all, I can't help be suspicious, like a man who's told there are plenty of other fish in the sea while the gal he likes is threatening to leave him. Do these glib persons even know what I like? Do they love the poor b*******s who are Pittsburghese (yinzers and all)? Probably not. So how do they know I'll love some other tarted-up younger city? Gentlemen prefer blondes, I hear, but I, sir, am no gentleman... And now I must cross the dusty West to the foothills and start a new world.

Which is, of course, the problem. I can't haul along the people, yaga, chesh, hyperdeacon+random+godsons, et al., any more than I can keep PPG tower in my pocket, or the Mt. Worshin'ton view on a shelf. The 'Net, of course, is always with us, but for crap correspondents like myself, time still takes a heavy toll on distant traffic. And nothing is ever a substitute for anything else. Enough of this. Somebody invent me a bloody teleport machine, there's a good neighbor...


Update 7/20, lunchtime again -- this was yesterday, and never got back to it. Yet another incomplete thought...

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