Secret entry

Dear Diary,

Why is it I sometimes freeze when it comes to writing, even on this blog where I have repeatedly demonstrated I have no issue sharing half-baked thoughts, ill-formed ideas and otherwise questionable content. Is it because I know the internet can supply me with an endless stream of cat gifs to substitute for that content?

I think that’s it, actually. I don’t have a solution for this, only a vow to try harder the next time the freeze happens, and to resist posting cat gifs in place of my own words, doodlings or videos of interpretive dance.



P.S. That said, here’s one more cat gif because why the hell not at this point:

Me with the head of a goat

I am getting into truly random stuff here as I try to meet my goal of at least 30 posts for the month.

Here is a picture of me last year in my office cubicle, wearing a goat mask. This was back in the olden times when people went to offices.

Party like it’s 1994

I found my 1994 driver’s license. It recalls that all-too brief era when I both had hair and a beard with no gray hair in it. The hair and beard are both pretty much gone now, but their memory lives on in this tiny, blurry photo in which you can still clearly see that I look half-asleep for some reason. I remember the blue hoodie like an old friend.

(I attempted to clean up the image a bit in Affinity Photo–it actually looks a good bit better now, believe it or not.)

When my bad hair days never stopped

I uncovered a pile of old photos from the olden days and have started scanning a few of them in to share with the world of the future.

I am impressed at how lousy image quality was back then.

This photo was taken in the hallway of the house I grew up in on St. Julian Street. I have no idea why we were sitting on the floor of the hallway getting our picture taken, but we seemed pretty happy about it.

The guy with the amazing bangs to my left is Claudio, a childhood friend who lived a few houses down. His father made endless wheels of stinky cheese in the basement of their house that was the best cheese ever.

I have no pictures of the cheese, sorry.

I believe I was about 12 in this photo and, like so many from that era, I am wearing a shirt with numbers because I had a weird thing for them that I still can’t explain.

Why using stock photos mostly sucks

Because you get lazy stuff like this. Or maybe this man is staring at the blank screen of his laptop sitting off-camera, and the notepad is simply what he uses for doing dickbutt doodles.