I don’t know what happened yet, but I’m not at Owen’s thing tonight. This is the talk of the season.
I tried to call him earlier, and I can’t get him on-line. He failed to specify a time, and now it’s ten past nine. I think that sip has pretty much shailed.
So instead of going somewhere else to drink, I’m sitting right here to drink. I’m also listening to the latest Josh Woodward album I downloaded, and I have yet to render an opinion of it. I suspect it will be good, if a little low-fi. A bit Cat Stevens meets Ben Gibbard, even. (He’s that Death Cab for Cutie cutie.)
Tomorrow’s bike ride is still happening, and I’ve roped Jeremy into coming with me. I’m meeting him at… Probably Northgate station at a quarter past ten. It’s going to be good, unless car doesn’t has enough fuel in it.
Other things I’ve done tonight include fixing a bug in my new business site, meticulously tracing streets from the too-cool NearMap PhotoMaps, as well as writing a caching algorithm to cache and save shit I don’t want to have to keep downloading. My entire life, it seems, revolves around caching stuff. I should get an honorary degree in it, or a better hobby.
I guess it’s a bit late for dinner, I might heat up some wedges and sit in front of the iView and watch John Safran make a twat out of humanity. Yes. That’s what I’ll do.
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