Riffing: check out NASA administrator Charles Bowden looking the Balrog straight in the eye and bellowing "you... shall... not... pass!"

Warning: Barbie wants to take your child's brain into the cloud. Brr brr brr brr brr!

Plumbing: I replaced a tub spout today. Super easy, but I'm proud of myself anyway. Except this one is super noisy when you fill the tub, so I've ordered a nice Delta faucet with a pull-down diverter. The kind that automatically switches off the diverter when you stop the water. Which means no galactic conflict in the bathroom.

Reading: The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women. I bought it cuz Shari Lipkin's Valentines is in it. I dig that story.

The book is very uneven, some of the first stories in the book are poorly edited. Too many of them are lazy as science fiction. But others, like Alice Sola Kim's "The Other Graces," are excellent.

And truth be told, like most people I care more about an internally consistent story than I do about adhering to the tenets of "hard SF," although I admire that as a challenging creative constraint.

Wearing: I recently ordered three pairs of dockers online and they fit. Roberta approves of the way they fit. For a guy like me, that's a major fashion breakthrough.

I'm also wearing a super warm, super fuzzy flannel shirt. It doesn't match the pants, but it's a Saturday morning.

Planning: this weekend I'm gonna be a dead sexy man. I'm gonna be so dead sexy, I'm gonna install a shower diverter. Boom chickawaba.

Next week at P'unk Avenue we are celebrating our tenth anniversary. Holy crap. I've been there for most of that. Holy crap.

I am fortunate to work with friends and to look forward to work almost every day.

By Canadian artist Marian Bantjes, this lovely illustration of a classic spam email is on display as part of the Fraktur exhibit at the Free Library of Philadelphia. I was amused. The show is free and well worth your time.

Well, I have a cool job now. And I go dancing when I can. And that leaves... not a metric ton of spare creative energy.

Creativity strikes, but I rarely come home eager to write something epic outside of work. I tend toward the bon mot; the long-form stuff tends to flow at work. This is not uncommon for people in creative jobs.

But, when I read some of my past LJ posts, I am flabbergasted by the outpouring.

I was hungry, and angry, and excited, and amazed, discovering and rediscovering things. Right now I'm in a different sort of place.

That's okay? I guess? For now.

I made a website and then I got really busy and just skimmed it. And then I noticed that there's a small community or two using it rather happily and not much caring if the rest of the world does. Interesting.

Hello, still-tuned-in members of said communities. What's working? What's not working? What might I do for you? I can see that the upgrades I did to link sharing a month or so back are a win, at least.

As for me: I'm planking and programming and dancing and pretending to learn to play the guitar all over again. I don't know how far I'm going to get with that last one. But this is awesome.

I needed a name for some software (don't tune out yet) and I wanted something that invoked the idea of migration. I googled migratory birds. And I fell down the wikihole checking out this magnificent bastard:

Check it out: the arctic tern migrates from the north pole to the south pole and back every year.

It does this for 30 years.

You ain't no wanderer, you ain't no travelin' man, just hang it up, the arctic tern has it all over you in the meandering department.

This year for Christmas, we agreed to pool our funds and make a donation To Doctors Without Borders in support of Ebola relief, and keep personal gifts small and whimsical.

But, my brother did send me his old PS/3, as he just got a PS/4, and it's all new to me mann.

So despite my impeccable moral credentials, I suffer from the same "first person problem road rage" as the kids who got new PS/4s today... trying to make an account and swearing at the incompetent assclowns at Sony network operations. (Before you blame North Korea, consider that this happened last Christmas too...)

Fortunately I'll be departing soon to share holiday cheer with family, which ought to restore my True Christmas Spirit (atheist division).

I've rediscovered something: some years back, I practiced harder and got better than I remembered.

And at that point— let's call it "peak guitar—" I was almost-not-quite-really good enough to tackle something like this.

Not that it would stop me, because I was also cheerfully shameless about being crap at things. That comes with being new to something as simultaneously wonderful and difficult as dance.

But: I'm not that good anymore. I decided to major in salsa and that was it for the guitar for several years. I have a hill to climb again, in terms of guitar ability, and also in terms of regaining my shamelessness.

So I need to figure out when I can practice without terrorizing my household (*), practice really a lot, and then take another good look at this.

But if I find myself inspired to write a few new four-chord songs along the way, I will surely share them.

(*) We've figured out that guitars are played in the basement, before nine. Both of which are very reasonable expectations.

I saw Interstellar the other day. The very next night, we watched "Contact."

It was strange to see more or less the same movie, except with more hope and McConaughey as the arm candy rather than the hero.

A nation builds a space machine for you

woo woo woo

God bless you please, Matt McConaughey

Even if she's sure he can't exist

[Now they kiss]

[Now they kiss]

The Pope says we will see our pets in heaven, and that heaven is open to "all of God's creatures." No word on what happens if the chicken you just ate gets to heaven first.

By the time you get there the chicken has 1,000,000 Heavenbook friends and they all make pious yet passive-aggressive comments on your profile all day. You start wishing you were on TheOtherPlacebook.

A choir of pigs, cows, chickens and turkeys follows you everywhere. Their singing is impeccable and the lyrics are devout, but there's no mistaking the message.

Heavenly fowl are particularly disturbing, with a halo and a second set of wings. It's impolite to complain.