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the smell of old wood paneling
Tuesday, October 12 1999
For the first time in weeks I was on something of a productive roll at work today. I was even manic at times, flipping rapidly between Interdev, Homesite and Query Analyzer like they were extensions of my own thought processes. The only drag was when the development server got stuck delivering an old version of an ASP page for a half hour or so. There's nothing worse than to be unexpectedly encumbered while you're on a roll.
The day was another spectacularly warm, humid slice of seasonal perfection. During lunch time I took a leisurely bike ride to and from the bank and then rode into another one of those semi-gated communities thinking I could use it as a shortcut back to my workplace. But of course eventually I reached a locked barricade and I had to double back. Modern residential developments are invariably designed with only automotive travelers in mind. If I was still a teenager perhaps I'd vandalize the place just to show the residents a bit of what they think they've so cleverly escaped.
But ever since I've returned from New Orleans, I feel like I need to put aside or perhaps re-assess my sociopathic, hedonistic para-idealism. It seems suddenly irrelevant and uselessly nostalgic, like the smell of old wood paneling. Even this journal seems like a pointless exercise in anachronistic futility. The only email I get these days is idiotic noise from diary-l, a chatty list server from which I'm too lazy to figure out how to unsubscribe.
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