Who burnt the pizza?

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I’ve had a piece I’ve been wanting to write for the last few days, and today, it finally decided it was time to come out. I put on Sting’s Brand New Day and put a homemade pizza into the oven, promptly forgetting about it in the middle of my muse.

After the smoke cleared and the fire alarm stopped ringing and the neighbors stopped coming out into the hallway going “Who burnt the pizza?”, I finally finished the story,¬†I’ll Never Write for The New Yorker.

This is one of those that doesn’t take comments well, so I’ve disabled them for this article. Just accept it as something I wanted to write. And if I ever ask you about it, lie and say it was great, fantastic, nothing better ūüėČ

It’s funny what doing your taxes can do to you, isn’t it?

I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in pain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand


Fool You!

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

My Alter Ego pure tech weblog started getting buzzzy and I figured I was getting link-love from someone. Sure enough a quick look at the referrers and I found this link at Scripting News, quoting my words:

“I will continue to beat you about the head on this issue until you ultimately bow to my superior knowledge on this subject.”

I had such at laugh at this, and I bet Dave did also. Here’s all these people hitting the site thinking I’m ripping Dave a new one, and instead I’m trashing UDDI — a subject that both Dave and I are in strong agreement on.

Fool you! Fool you!


Feb 1, 2002

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Either a voice from above, or another Google Instant Message just came through:

calling burningbird do you read me come in burningbird

I hear you! I hear you calling me! Speak to me! Tell me, what is the truth!

2:15 pm

To my weblogging friends: Whatever you do, don’t let your babies grow up to be writers.