What is a ‘mis­sion’? How do you rec­on­cile the mean­ing you asso­ciate with that and its Latin root, mis­sio, to send, and actual use of the term? Why do we talk about a “mis­sion to do x” and here­after refer to “mis­sion” as though it encom­passed “to do x” itself, rather than the act of sending?

What on earth is a life cen­tred on two bits of wood hur­riedly nailed together and stained crim­son? Do peo­ple wor­ship sym­bols on par­tic­u­larly sug­ary buns?

I think this web­site is a mea­sure of dis­con­tent­ment. I rarely post when there is noth­ing to grum­ble about, because good news is appar­ently bor­ing. This web­site makes me feel guilty. It’s one big occasionally-ugly mir­ror. I don’t look into it when things are good, and pour the bad into it the rest of the time inter­spersed with geeky things… a slightly acquis­i­tive load of rub­bish designed to obfus­cate and cre­ate a false set of val­ues that improve (in the eye of the beholder, for a time) the reflec­tion. It’s easy to for­get these things.

At any rate, blogs are a use­less jour­nal medium. Too much hap­pens in any given day. Yes­ter­day, I installed Quick­Books and realised that absolute morons are able to run their own busi­nesses with good rea­son and it needn’t be so hard after­all. *insert rant about software*

Tax is pre­dictably bor­ing stuff, though, so when Claud sug­gested we go see Becom­ing Jane (con­trary to rumours I dragged her along — though if she hadn’t, I would have done… we enjoyed it for dif­fer­ent rea­sons, I main­tain!) I was there in a mat­ter of… well, about an hour. Some­where in the mid­dle we went shop­ping for food & ate lunch. *insert rant about the film, about the won­der­ful speed-distraction medium that IM is, and maybe others*

Spent a lazy-enough after­noon at her house until a phone call promised poker and food of the bar­be­cued vari­ety at Gareth’s place, which ended in two par­tic­u­larly dim-witted hands, and some inter­est­ing read­ing of Time magazine’s global warm­ing issue. Some of the 51 ideas printed were on the mark, oth­ers seemed a lit­tle less so (energy effi­cient light­ing was one I know enough about to take issue with, hybrid cars were thank­fully nowhere that I could see). *insert rant about global warm­ing bandwagon*

Later, I started con­tribut­ing more car­bon by try­ing to drive Budd’s car (a man­ual, I’d only drive a man­ual lawn­mower in the past) as he lis­tened to his clutch slowly being torn to shreds. *insert rant about manual/auto trans­mis­sion and licens­ing and the like*

There are other funny sto­ries to be shared within that, but each of those com­prises an entire post of its own. I have no inter­est in chron­i­cling my life with that degree of detail. Per­haps if I were a Dick­in­son–esque recluse I’d have time enough to write and lit­tle enough to write about that I might write more. But thank­fully I’m not.