I got home at 4 last night. I got up at 8 this morning.

I was very pleased with how awake and alert I was…
Until I realized I was wearing my boots…

and not my pants.

I was raised Catholic, but have always been philosophically Taoist, though I didn’t know it until a few years ago. Conversation in social groups, I think, is a place where I am — and have always been — most obviously Taoist. I speak rarely, if at all, except when I have something to say that someone else isn’t already saying, or when I’m prompted directly to give an opinion.

Talking where my participation is expected — in one-to-one sort of situations — especially the kind of talking usually preceded by, “we need to talk,” always has me swimming up stream, though. I have no faith in myself here as I do in other, arguably larger, more complex and more important areas of life. I am reluctant to allow anything to pass through my mouth that hasn’t been turned around and around in my head. As if what I say would be permanently etched into marble and put on display for everyone to see and refer to for all eternity. As if saying something somehow commits one to defend that position and all of its related misunderstandings without recourse. As if stating a bit of reasoning unclearly condemns one to be unable to correct whatever assumptions the other party makes to fill in the blanks.

As a result, I usually attempt to defer (or provoke) such confrontations via email or IM. This, of course, makes no sense. While the additional time available when composing text makes disappear those awkward, unending silences while I gather just the right words to fit my meaning, it amplifies all of the other problems which cause me to obsess over phrasing in the first place. An email is (or could be) permanently available. It decreases opportunity to address misunderstandings or clarify vagueness. And besides, no matter how carefully worded a bit of text floated through the ether is, it’s still likely to be misunderstood by the recipient . Email conveys no tone. Email offers no way to assess the other party’s reaction mid-sentence. Email forces the misunderstanding recipient to stew for minutes, hours, or days, waiting for your reply and concocting hundreds of rude, ego-centric, and ignorant possibilities as they do.

The tone of my delivery when speaking in person is a subject for another day.
For today, I need to speak more from my stomach and less from my brain.

Strangers have stopped telling me how much they like my moustache. Instead they have started asking me, “Is that real?”

I have twice tried to compose a cute entry about kite flying last week with Pavlik and Chris and our picnic/kiteflying/badminton extravaganza on Saturday. And I have twice been foiled in that endeavor. Once by notepad and again by firefox.

So, just go look at the goddamned pictures.

They’re in no particular order because I still haven’t figured out what basis the flickr uploadr uses to add photos to it from explorer or to upload them to flickr, and I don’t feel like making a set right now. Sorry.

But as Chris can attest, we had a bunch of fun:

It was one year, one day, and one design ago that I last wrote a post for this site. Now my SG membership is up, and I’m back to writing a blog that no one will ever read.

Maybe I’ll get around to updating this design like I never did the first one. We’ll see.