Simian Farmer

Damn, that's handy

Several of the websites I visit daily, either directly or via RSS feed, provide handy tips and tricks for increasing productivity, saving money or just providing information that I think is really neat.

Some examples of those sites are:

Lifehacker
Tricks of the Trade
Deeper Motive
Slacker Manager
To-Done
43 Folders

(The irony in my posting this is that this is one of the least efficient things I could possibly be doing at work right now...)

To date, I have been at a bit of a loss to capture the information I find on those, and other, sites in order to reference at a future date.  I like to stay as organised as possible and a variety of TXT files floating around in myDocuments on my PC just hasn't been cutting it.

Just this week I discovered pbWiki, which is the answer to all my miscellaneous data-conglomeration needs.

Now, when I find an article, a tip, a quote, a joke or anything nett-ish that tickles my fancy, I just copy and paste into the appropriate section of my wiki so I can view it again later.

After two days of fiddlin', I have some of my stuff categorised into:
-Writing tips
-Neat Science info
-Funny Stuff
-Draft Blog Posts (This is VERY handy)
-Productivity / Efficiency tips (ie - don't do what I'm doing right now)
-Money tips
-Words of the day  (so I can write stuff like 'expatiate' and know what I'm talkin' about)

The kicker is that it's totally FREE.  (My favourite word these days, next to 'boobies'.)  And it's called pbWiki since they purport that it's easier to put together than a PB & J sandwich.  And it is.  Dead simple.  And free.  And it's fun just to say wiki.

wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki wiki

Here's a shot of the frontpage of my wiki so far.  They're private by default so whatever you include there is (mostly) safe from prying eyes unless you want to open it up.

Whither went my infant?

Declan's grasp of the vastness that is the English language is tenuous at best right now.

I have more digits than he has words.  Though if you count the accidental pronunciations that spew forth from his nattering streams of babble, he's got me licked.  When I walk past and he looks up at me with bright eyes and an increasingly toothy grin uttering just "Da Da!", I know it's no accident.

He has also made a rather poignant connection, when I take him into the shower with me, between the word 'ipple and a painful three-fingered twist.  He takes after his mother in that regard.  He also points distinctly to my chest and shoulders with a single index finger, solemnly pronouncing 'attoo, 'attoo, 'attoo.  He always gets all three.

He can identify his own nose, mouth and eyes if you ask him to point them out to you and will graciously stick out his tongue as far as he can whenever you ask; so long as you do too.  This facial recognition game invariably leads to his favourite part: jamming one finger up his nose as far as it will go while laughing hysterically.  His mother will pull his arm out with the same admonishment every time.  "Get your finger outta there!" With a shit-eating grin of her own that does nothing but encourage the boy to do it again more forcefully.

And woe unto he whose face ventures too close to this action.  A boy Declan's size can jam his index finger into an unsuspecting adult nostril all the way up to the third joint.  Believe me, you're seeing stars then.

Amy and I are also quite thankful now for keeping him to such a regular schedule.  As soon as he's out of his bath, diapered and in his pyjamas, he's good for a half hour of snuggling on the sofa and then we all know it's time for bed.

He'll start to wander around the living room in circles, muttering "nah nah" to himself.  Amy or I will prompt him, "Declan, do you have to go night-night?" To which his face will light up a little at the realisation that he's being understood.  He will more authoritatively state "nie nie", grasp the nearest parent by the finger and escort said parent to his room where he'll stand expectantly in front of his crib, waiting for a brief story to be read to him before he gets tucked under two blankets with a third suckie blanket for him to pull over his head.

He always goes to bed without a single peep, sleeps through the night (barring any illness), and lets Amy sleep in until past seven-thirty most mornings.

As parents, we have frankly run out of lucky stars to count.  Our son is almost too good to be true.

Though there is a seldom-spoken fear that the life currently gestating in Amy's womb may be our comeuppance.  The angel we have to be balanced by Rosemary's Baby.

Which, frightfully enough, is my own mother's name.

No children were harmed in the taking of this photograph

There, see?

How do you like it?!

Dishin' with Deus

Happy Thanksgiving, Big Fella

And to you, my Son.

So what's the right way to give thanks, anyway?

Well, tripping past the pleasantries and getting right down to the Big Question, huh?

It's the day for it.

EVERY day is the day for it.

To sleep, perchance to... sleep

Apparently, the best way to keep a yappy and intrusive puppy quiet and out of one's proverbial hair at night is NOT to put her undersized kennel in the spare room, close the door, affix her with a barking collar that administers euphemistic 'Static Corrections' and hope like hell she'll shut up for more than half a freakin' hour so you can get some shut-eye.

STILL NOT QUITE COMPETENT

Please stand by while I attempt to sort out my various incompetencies.

OK, I have most of this domain mapping stuff figured out now, through trial and error and the helpful folks at Typepad who were undoubtedly rolling their eyes at my 'help ticket' submissions.  (Thanks Laura!)

I do believe that all I have to do is wait for my DNS registration to go fully active from the place I bought it, which can take a couple days they tells me.

In the meantime, you can still get here straight from simianfarmer.com, but the permalinks at the bottom of each post won't work for you.  Minor though, now that I look a little more normal again.  I didn't want all of you to see me with my clothes off, but what is blogging about if not exhibitionism, eh?

By the way, I also set up an Email address just for the site, so you can send stuff to:
simon AT simianfarmer DOT com

A Happy Thanksgiving weekend to my fellow Canuckleheads.

Blazing scarlet

One wonders that the tithing-men and fathers of the town are not out to see what the trees mean by their high colors and exuberance of spirits, fearing that some mischief is brewing. I do not see what the Puritans did at that season when the maples blazed out in scarlet. They certainly could not have worshipped in groves then. Perhaps that is what they built meeting-houses and surrounded them with horse-sheds for.

~Henry David Thoreau

There is a delightful blog set up that, every day!, posts a new snippet drawn from diary of Thoreau from the same calendar day.  He was, apparently, a blogger before his time.  I go there every day, and I suggest you do too.  Nay, I demand it.

Hie thine arse thither immediately!

Bloggy stuff

Two items of indeterminate import:

ONE

The most important one first.

I have now considered myself to be important enough to merit buying my own domain name and redirecting all traffic from there to here.  Call your neighbours, Email your friends and give your significant other a smack on the ass.  Tell 'em all to change their bookmarks.  (That smack on the ass is just for your own benefit.)

I can now more easily be found navel-gazing at:

http://simianfarmer.com

Sure the old one will still work, but it's so, like, démodé.  You don't want the other kids in class to be teasing you behind your back, do you?  Honestly.

TWO

I got an Email earlier this morning from the CEO of Typepad, the good people who provide the virtual space and tools I use to fritter away my time typing this tripe.

Seems they had a small problem and lost some server data for a number of Typepad blogs.  Mine included.  I only noticed that my ABOUT picture was gone yesterday, so I replaced it and thought nothing more of it.  After some more snooping around today, I lost all my pictures from my Death Race album and only one other picture so far.  Not quite enough spilt milk to cry over.  But if you do happen to notice anything else amiss, let me know, would you?  It's always nice to hear from you.

And for recompense?  I've been granted a free 12-month extension on my account here for the inconvenience.  w00t!

The only thing better than free stuff is sex.  So thanks, Typepad guys.  For giving me the extra year here and not offering to have sex with me instead.  That would have been awkward.

Hot chocolate

The thought of hot chocolate may not excite some folks nearly as much as thinking about hot coffee, especially in light of its connotation in relation to Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

Which, if you don't get the reference, isn't really all that important. 

This shit is all about me anyway.

Image is everything

Man first unconsciously and involuntarily creates God in his own image, and after this God consciously and voluntarily creates man in his own image.

~Ludwig Feuerbach