I'm back from my vacation. The previously mentioned wedding-thing came and went. It was fun to see people I haven't seen
in a while, and regress into childhood a bit, but... ...well, it was fun.
I went to an anime convention on the weekend. I hadn't done that before. I'd gone to a couple Star Trek or sci-fi
conventions before, often for no better reason than to browse the dealers tables. In this one, I think I experienced
more of the convention-ness of convention going. I ran into people I haven't seen for a while (for better or for worse),
and people seemed to know me, which I always find bizarre and disconcerting. I met some new people, and I got to talk to
some German guy, and say 'hi' to Commander Rick (but was too much of a coward to ask for an autograph or anything, not
that I know what to do with autographs anyway). It was neat. I bought a vibrating Totoro. I think I'd like to do it
again if a similar opportunity arose.
Over the last month or so, I haven't been thinking much beyond this past weekend. I think I've kind of lost track of
what I'm doing now. Um, it's probably not important. I should probably just focus on cleaning up and catching up on
sleep. I probably need another vacation to recover from the vacation.
I've always wanted to have a diary. It's always struck me as just a little romantic. I've tried a bunch of times, but
never quite managed it. When I did, the drivel that ensued was hardly encouraging. The only times I ever came close to
writing a diary which might provide worthwhile insights into my person for my ancestors, biographers, etc. were when I
was really, really depressed. And, well, I like to think that that sort of thing is hardly representative.
It wasn't very good, either.
You read stories about people with diaries. They write inspired things about life, love, themselves and others. They
also write about mundane things that, however small they are, make you truly feel for the person writing.
Part of the reason I like the diary idea, I think, is because I've got so much I'd like to tell the world. At least, I
think I do. But then when I sit down and actually try to write some of it, it all flutters away somewhere, or I think "
That's no good," and delete a few paragraphs. If I have a diary, I figure, I'll be able to write all this stuff down so
that maybe it'll take shape. It's not really telling the world, but it's one notch better than keeping it hidden (and
ultimately forgotten) inside. And since I'm not telling the world, I don't have to worry about censoring myself quite so
much.
Sounds good, right? The problem is that it doesn't seem to work. Maybe it's because I'm writing it just for me (putting
aside biographers for a moment). If it's just for me, why bother? I already know it. And, for some reason, I still
censor myself. There's something fundamentally silly about that. Then again, it's probably the biographers I'm thinking
about.
At the heart of it, I want to prove to the world that I'm a good and worthwhile human being. I just don't think I'm
doing a good enough job of that out in the full-motion, three dimensional world. Doing it on paper seems almost as good.
But doing it on a web page is just too scary. I'd never do that.
You see before you a software developer. Yes, my alter ego is now finding his way around his new job. Good for him. It's
about time.
Aunt Dimity's Good Deed was indeed lots of fun and quite fluffy.
It's the kind of mystery novel that has recipes for butterscotch brownies
in the back (they're not bad, by the way, if I can keep myself from burning them...). I think I'll go get the other book
from Words Worth.
This is a kind of warm and fuzzy series. I'd once have bemoaned this sort of thing as trite pablum, but sometimes I need
this sort of thing. It's nice. But like comfort food (Brownies!), it's best in moderation.