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A small change (if I can manage it).

A long while back I set up Disqus to manage comments on this blog. There were two reasons.

The lesser was a vain one: I wanted to be notified when people commented. I wanted to know I was being noticed and (hopefully) loved. Silly, yeah? le sigh. Well, Disqus did.

The bigger reason (although I'm not altogether convinced this is really how these two reasons were weighted) was linkbacks. At the time, it seemed blogger didn't do any kind of trackback or refback or pingback linking when someone linked to my blog. Disqus did.

Plus, Disqus sounded all integratey--like you could comment and it could be posted to facebook (or so it seemed?) which helped my vanity as a form a free publicity. Other stuff seemed neat about it too.

For reasons I'm entirely sure of, either, I've decided that I think I'll consider removing Disqus. FOR NOW. Right now, it's not like I'm so swamped with comments that I need it to help manage the conversation or shit. (Read: nobody ever comments--ever.) Plus, it looks like blogger does (now? or always did?) do linkbacks. I imagine there's even a way, if I poke around enough, to get it to notify me about comments, when and if they ever happen.

Part of me wants to trot on over to the template page and delete the disqus block right now--as soon as I hit publish on this post. But part of me wants to wait until later, this evening maybe, to do anything so rash (?). I think the comment notification really was/is a bigger deal in my brain than I'm willing to admit; the more I think about it the more I want to know if/when someone does comment, so that I can rejoice. Hmmmfuck.

Well, I'll keep thinking. This post really has no existential import I can think of for any of you, so hopefully you didn't spend too much time reading it.


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This moment: A tattoo.

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In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

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I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…