We managed to find a bicycle rental place in Ermoupolis today and had great fun riding through the town along the sea. We rode up the hill and went swimming again in the neo-classical “Vaporia” section of town on the quays built by rich 19th century residents to allow boat access to their houses. I was impressed by the fact that the swimming area, deep and clear, is over one vast rock giving it a swimming pool appearance.
I was taken aback when we climbed the stairs back up the street to where we had parked the bikes and I discovered that I had a flat tire. I tried in vain to re-inflate the tire with the useless pump provided. In my addled dementia I also managed to step on and crush the lens of my Ray-Bans. I had forgotten that I had set them down on the ground while working on the bike.
I should have known better. I was exhorted daily by wordpress and by google to upgrade my wordpress installation from 3.2 to the current 3.4. I finally succumbed to the pressure, the very next day after completing a laborious cut and paste process of importing my ancient html text based blog into the fabric of wordpress. Naturally, all hell broke loose. I knew this would happen but I went ahead and did it anyway.
The upshot of it was that after the installation of the upgrade, nothing worked. I felt actual panic take hold, as if in the face of a tangible threat to my well being. I combed the net for advice, I read through the code on the php pages, I ran around in circles. I synched one line in a database table and a php page and this gave me access to the dashboard, but there was still no blog. Finally, I just uploaded my old local copy back up to the server by ftp. That was it. I lost one background color that I had inserted into the config file, but all was mostly well.
One stupid plugin, a twitter cross posting plugin and another facebook cross posting one started a cross posting loop which I had to eradicate manually. I think I have done that now. I think all is well again. damn.
Here is an interview I recently did for this online magazine.
ˈmyü-zikBLAINE REININGER: TUXEDOMOON Sitting in the small town of Pueblo, Colorado, Blaine Reininger knew he lived on the edge of nowhere-yet found a home within his inceptious thoughts. With Eureka moments and cosmic catalysts, Blaine soon found himself with ejections of head-fantasies that yearned to court the tangible.
Today, August 12, marks the 6th anniversary for Maria and I not smoking. We began the process of weaning ourselves from this pointless addiction in 2006, pasting nicotine patches to our skin, throwing away cigarettes and cigarette paraphenalia, following the instructions I found on the web for successful cessation.
I am so pleased about this. I am inordinately proud. It is strange to glory in a negative accomplishment, ceasing a practice that should never have begun, but I do anyway. I feel like the governor called with a stay of execution, like school ended early, like I have been issued a get out of jail free card. If nothing else, I now have more money to spend on things like musical equipment. My cigarette habit cost in the thousands of euros per year. I am also free of the necessity of going out in the snow, the rain, late at night seeking tobacco. My fingers and teeth are no longer yellow. My clothes don’t smell like an ashtray. My kisses are sweet.
Tobacco addiction, like most chemical addictions is a plot to enslave us. The producers of addictive drugs seek to control our bodies and minds and to appropriate our resources to fund their own lust for wealth and power. It is the ultimate irony that tobacco companies now seek to addict the ‘rebel’ element in society by implanting messages all over the mass culture that smoking is for the hip, the intelligent, those who think for themselves, when it is precisely those people they seek to enslave and eliminate from society.
Take Yul Brynner’s advice, meine kinder, mes enfants. Don’t smoke.