Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software.
Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time.
I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care.
I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis.
Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Posts
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
I walked into my office this morning to find my workbench has a new display. This huge Bouquet of old Garden roses is from our own garden/greenhouses.
My husband is incredible. His disclaims any knowledge where this came from or how it got here...
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Rose season is two weeks early this year.
I must endure this gauntlet of the roses whenever I approach the kitchen door. During the pandemic when I became too crippled to get into the rose garden, my loving husband, Paul, created an accessible garden that I could enjoy.
This represents fifty varieties of mostly miniature roses, some bred by Paul, others by the famous miniature rose breeder, Ralph Moore.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
I stand waist deep in a wide expanse of blue lupines. It is the Mary's River Natural Area park, an experiment in returning cultivated rye grass and cattle pastures back into the native oak savanna.
A rare return to how it looked when the Kalapuya natives called this land home.
My own home is on an isolated ox-bow bend between the park and the river.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Yeah, I confess, I still use Firefox. I'm so sick of the constant nags to update interrupting my workflow multiple times per day. I don't need a slop delivery so frequently.
I will update on my own schedule, not theirs.
Here's how to block the nags on Mac and Linux. It bypasses the standard UI and stops the browser from incessantly checking for updates.
Locate the Firefox Installation Folder:
Mac: Right-click Firefox in the Applications folder, select Show Package Contents, and go to Contents/Resources/
Linux: Usually /usr/lib/firefox/
Create a folder inside that directory named "distribution".
Create a text file inside that new folder and name it "policies.json".
Paste the following code into that file and save it:
{
"policies": {
"DisableAppUpdate": true
}
}
Restart Firefox. Go to Settings > General, there should be a message saying "Updates disabled by your system administrator."
Follow these instructions at your own risk.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
@thickurt@woof.group Me, too. Bash was always so cryptic, but having instant translations and correct code for the edge cases taught me a lot.
As for Awk, I had just never really even paid attention to its flexibility and utility. A world that been right in front of me for decades suddenly had unexpected uses.
I confess to also having it write diabolically opaque Python code using nested comprehensions and generators. For entertainment purposes only...
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
@thickurt@woof.group bash and awk scripts. It’s magic. Saves so much time.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
I sing the praises of my husband. Patience and compassion during this endless medical shit show.
Every year, he plants surprises for me to discover in the Spring. Every year, he buoys my spirit.
This is joy in an old clay pot...
..from the hand of my husband in the greenhouse I built for him twenty-seven years ago.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
If I were a praying man, I would pray that this is the last time that would have to do this. But I have no faith, so I'm going to just declare that this is the last time.
"We had to destroy his body to save his life."
So far, I cannot see that this was a good deal.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
@thickurt@woof.group Live fast; Ride hard; Leave an immaculately organized home directory.
That's my motto.
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
Misfit old queer biker living on a defunct organic farm. I am exploring creativity in a manner that was not outwardly expressed by my life’s work in software. Now I write. Maybe it is a novel. Maybe it's a waste of time. I may have been artistic or even poetic in my career with programming languages, but nobody ever read it and the computers just didn't care. I'm old. I'm unwillingly tumbling to disability. My life has recently been upended by a cancer diagnosis. Since 1998, I've been living with Paul, the man that became my husband (not appearing in Mastodon).
@SunnJax@tech.lgbt 45 years ago, I worked for the power company in my home town. All the line crews and the engineering staff were local to the community. They all cared and were proud of their service to the town. The power company was a life long career.
Now it's all contract workers. The power company doesn't keep local employees at all. The lowest bid wins. They have no stake in the community, no stake in the outcome.