A Suffusion of Yellow

A suffusion of yellow, boy I wish I had an e-ching calculator that would give me answers like that, instead I have this blasted headache still. You may note that I am still enamoured by Mr. Adams, and his detective stories, if you could call them that, I am still not sure a great deal of detecting is occurring, but they are pleasant none the less. The funny thing about e-ching, or however it is spelt, - well there are two funny things about it, the second is that it may be the first word (although not originally English) to be e'd. Before email, or eBusiness, or eToaster, or all the many things that did not need to be e'd, it, being centuries old, may have been the first. - is that e-ching has now appeared in two of the last three books I have read. Currently The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul, and previously The Man in the High Castle. While it definitely featured more in the second then the first, I find it interesting that it should appear at all, as it is definitely something up until this point I had never heard about.

The fact is that none of what I just said really had any bearing on anything, and I suspect neither will this, only that this is a blog, so I feel inspired to discuss myself, and my general state of being. That state is particularly dreadful today, and much of yesterday. So dreadful in fact that it expressed itself in equally dreadful poetry, see that bit about the thumping. My cranium continues to ache with the ferocity of the big bang, and without using a large pile of 'explicative deleted' in my writing, I have come up with the following description. I imagine, that is to say I can't say for certain that the feeling would be similar, but I imagine none the less that this pain is comparable to that of say an African Safariest - That is a Brit on Safari with one of those ridiculous safari hats, an elephant gun, and a long thing, curly moustache with which he endlessly twists the ends together thinking reflectively. - hunting on the Serengeti suddenly finding himself being pithed. Now my stock answer on what is pithing, for those who do not know, is to take a metal or glass rod, insert it into the base of the skull of say, a frog, or our poor African Safariest, and twiddling it around all rowdily until you have left their brains a heaping pile of goo, imaginably painful, at least so long as you were alive. Now as our Safariest is in Africa you might imagine that neither a pithing implement, nor a particularly pith minded individual would be about, you mostly find those in science labs, so to complete the imagery with a rhinoceros. Yes the hunter becomes the hunted, divine retribution is served, and I have one HELL OF A HEAD ACHE, and, if I don't say so myself, a pretty good imagination. If my bizarre writings, or my writing of things bizarre, or the suffusion of commas has not yet turned you away I commend you.

I find myself, between head throbs, becoming quiet the admirer of audio books. In a certain respect they capture, nay demand your attention more so then the dead tree sort of book. This has the advantage of immersing you in the writing, but has the downside of restricting your ability to focus on other things. Interestingly it has not prevented the speedy writing of code, or the creation of an xml document, but if I should have need of a help document or an email, I must stop the book, or lose both the thread of the book, or the thread of the email. Another non-conflicting activity is spider solitaire, but in combination they exclude all else. All and all I highly recommend them for car trips, and periods of activity that can benefit by engaging an addle brain, but where a physical book is not convenient, like while exercising.

Well, my stop is up; hopefully this throbbing will stop soon.

Outrageously aggrieved (by the headache)

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