My apparently undiagnosed masochism has inspired me to switch keyboard layouts. Aiming for pure obscurity, I’ve been typing using Colemak for the past several months. It’s no Dvorak in the popularity arena, having only an estimated userbase of 3000 as of January 2009. According to a computer aided layout optimizer, it’s also more efficient than the venerable Dvorak, ranking highly across all alternatives. Note that all statistics for Qwerty are hideous by comparison.
Now… I don’t normally do this, but while wasting time on Fark, I ran across this comment by a user, who himself copied it from an anonymous posting on the notorious 4Chan. While it glosses over many aspects of our government and how it affects our lives, it presents a good snapshot of just how ignorant people are to reality, and how willing they are to push any agenda that matches their own personal biases.
Well, I’ve officially decided to abandon KDE. Why after all this time, you ask, when they’ve done so much work already to alienate and annoy former fans with the rather abrupt 4.x tree? Well, there’s Ubuntu bug #289264, but every large application has the chance of producing some kind of leaky program. No, I can forgive a rather hilarious and long-standing memory leak because I know how to circumvent and disable programs.
A while ago, I decided to use Pylons to rebuild my site. I even went so far as to name the engine “BonePyl”, which just narrowly edged out “BonesAW” for “Bones’ Awesome Weblog”. While doing this, I’ve obviously had to orient myself with the API, which meant buying The Definitive Guide to Pylons and copious scouring of the web for secondary documentation on SQL Alchemy and FormEncode. It’s a lot to bite off, and I’m having trouble chewing, but considering my current site is a bunch of PHP I threw together back in 1999, I’m obviously in no hurry.
At great risk to myself and the poor SOB who offered to transport my disease-riddled carcass along Illinois highways, I’ve seen the nerve specialist, and am now the proud owner of something called a Type 1 RSD.
According to the doctor–a wizened Chinese man, likely a sage of unknowable renown–this effectively means that my ankle injury confused a nerve in my leg. My brain, like a sugar-infused five-year-old overreacted and went on a killing-spree.
