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Well, this post will be boring, but perhaps interesting to the, like, one person, perhaps a fellow blogger, interested in how blogs are run.

I noticed the other day that I have more than a thousand labels just sitting about. I may use, like, 30 over normal posts. That's a lot of excess. So far, I've worked around this by selecting certain labels for the sidebar rather than having that unwieldy list overwhelm itself. But at some point I guess I should cull the herd. Find tags with only one or two posts and remove them from said posts. That'll take a long while, though. The limited list, though, isn't terrible since it singles out tags that are not only the most used (probably) but also the most interesting (hopefully).

On another note, I reinstalled disqus on this blog. I want people to be able to comment, on the probably rare off-chance they ever do, but the default commenting system is highly restrictive of what accounts can be used to log in (google, livejournal, even openID I think...). Disqus, it turns out, allows even facebook logins among others, which is fantastic. It's also more robust, anyway.

Lastly, I've decided to add "Review" to the titles of any reviews to make them stand out a bit more/in case people come hunting for them. It's always possible!!

Not sure at all why I bothered posting this. Something to say, maybe? Probably will cost me, like, 10 readers, but oh well.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
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.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

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…

Gardenzia carnivorus.

I recently got back into horticulture after a bad moment of burnout, and wouldn't ya know it, I'm back at it with carnivorous plants! Despite tweeting about it endlessly, I haven't actually explained how or why this started.

Back in middle school, I helped my science teacher set up a carnivorous plant display. Nothing elaborate, mind you; a terrarium with a bunch of sphagnum moss and some pitcher plants, a sundew or two, maybe a Venus flytrap? Didn't leave much of an impression, except maybe that they died and that sucked. shrug.
A couple years later, I was in a bog near my grandmother's lake house, when things changed forever. I was in the back end of the canoe, and as my dad pulled the front end out of the water, I glanced to my right and spied, on a stump with some moss, sundews (Drosera rotundifolia, to be precise).
Of course I recognized therm instantly—they're hard to mistake, with those the sparkling tentacles and all. I gathered 3 or so of them (I know