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⚑ January 3, 2014

Colorado Dreaming 🍁

A chart showing how different cookie ingredients look after baking.

A chart showing how different cookie ingredients look after baking.

Believe it or not, I’m using this webpage as a way to center myself, intellectually. I have so many different irons in the fire, and Pinterest just isn’t going to be able to help me get organized.

This cookie chart, for instance. It’s one of the several hundred images that I will see in the course of my work and play on the web. I would like to save it, but how? Where? Why?

Once it’s truly pinned here, in my all-new sturdy hand-rolled internet creation, it will be safe and I will be able to find it next Christmas, should I be privileged to stay on the planet so that I can improve myself and my cookies for next year. I have seen each and every one of those cookies, by the way.

No matter what – if you give β€˜em sugar and real butter, everyone is happy. Except those who are allergic … to … you know, happiness.

And now I have to put the next issue of the magazine together, now that I can find no other way out. I have to plow on ahead, knowing that I’ve chosen the right path – HTML5 and CSS3 and JavaScript and more – and knowing that if I can imagine it, I can make it and package it and sell it individually. Still, it’s a daunting task.

Re-imagining the websites, it’s turned out, is going to be the easier task and the bottom building blocks for the whole hyperzine endeavor. Should I capitalize it? Or capitolize it? Hard to say.

Future Theater is chugging along, and even though I am naturally shy and quiet, every end of the week these days I find myself talking and giggling like a coed at my first mixer. Or beer thing. They might have been called keggers.

I’m going to start to wander off into novel territory and I don’t have my weapons sharpened yet, so I dare not go there right now. Nightmare beasts have taken over my former dream home, and it’s going to be a chore to clean that thing up and call it mine.

If the above is unintelligible, you’ll have to let me know. Otherwise, I drive on, into the dark night-wooded lane. πŸ”