Dark, morbid, and lovely.
This is a good — and quick — video from one of WordPress’ core developers about mistakes he’s made with the platform. If you use WordPress and especially if you do any kind of development, it’s an interesting look at some things to avoid.
I started the game below quite a while back via the Chess.com application for Facebook and ultimately won the game on time. Now, after a long break, I’m back to playing some chess again and Chess.com has a new feature to finish a game against the computer. So, just for kicks I finished the game against the hardest computer setting. Granted I started with a strong position, but I won against the computer quite handily. Interested persons may view the two halves of the game below.
[Crossposted at Stillhaven Farms.]
When Liz and I bought and started our farm several years ago, I don’t know that I ever really expected to truly become the farmer type. What I mean by that is, I’m a bit of a geek — y’know, kind of the way a Hershey’s bar is made with a bit of chocolate. I love my computer, I love writing code and building websites, and I love my science fiction and video games. But in my mind, it was my wife who had the horses and who, therefore, needed a nice, little farm where she could keep them.
I’ve always liked to joke that I married into horses and married into farming, that I am the “hired help,” but the more I do it, the more I really enjoy the process of developing and keeping the land. Not that I was ever opposed to the idea, mind you. I did grow up in farm country, after all. I just never really saw myself ever being this involved in agriculture. (If I had, I think I would have joined my school’s chapter of FFA.)
Recently, I came to the startling realization that, most of the time, I really enjoy the labor of farm work. There’s just something physically honest about it. There’s no office politics involved in hefting bales of hay around (though, to be fair, I work in one of the least politically charged offices I’ve ever seen), and no social faux pas to be committed in working with the horses or chickens (the same, unfortunately, can’t be said about the honeybees). It’s just tools and work and sweat — and I couldn’t be happier than when I’m out tooling around the farm somewhere.
Mind you, it’s almost certain I will always favor “geek” mindset that comes so naturally to me, but more and more I find it sharing space with my love for the land and for the animals and crops that we keep on it. Agricultural issues now have the power to get me fired up enough to actually consider the political foray of government and lawmaking, if only to keep certain interest groups from treading all over our rights as landowners and growers of food. It amazes me how much my attitude and perspective has shifted over the last five or so years, but it does not discourage me.
As first-generation farmers, Liz and I are growing an agricultural heritage. It’s simple work, honest work, and it thrills like little else to watch the land develop around us.
This year’s crop of photos of our animals playing in the snow.
Photos from Christmas 2010.
Our very photogenic puppy enjoying the wrappings and presents of her first family holiday.
We slipped our bonds and escaped across the dunes. The distant sound of crashing waves drew us westward. We ran for everything we were worth, fear and desperation driving us on.
We never saw our captors. We never knew where — or what — they were. What we knew during our captivity was only confusion and befuddlement, a strange mixing of thoughts like a spoon thrust into our minds and stirred. For nearly all that time, I was convinced I was going insane, and I was not the only one.
In the beginning it was clear that there were many of us in that dark, cavernous room, but over time they weeded us out. The number of groaning voices filtered down until only three remained.
And then without warning, our minds were clear and there was sand beneath our feet. We were running for our freedom.
But as we ran, voices began to appear and visual data to overlay the landscape — and we were forced to one sickening conclusion. They — whatever they were — had not set us free. They were merely riding herd inside us.
“Did you see that?” Amanda said. She pulled her bike off to the shoulder and waited for Sarah to join her.
“See what?” Sarah asked. She distractedly brushed a lock of hair from her eyes.
“Those birds.” Amanda gestured at the flock now residing in a nearby tree. A moment before they had been in the road, pecking at the remains of some unfortunate animal. “When they took off,” she continued, “the sunlight on their wings made them look kind of metallic.”
“It’s probably just natural oils or something.” Sarah sounded bored. “Birds have those, y’know. Keeps them dry or something. C’mon.” She started to pull her bike back onto the road, but a shimmery, glass-like sound drew her up short.
Several of the birds were shaking out their feathers. Small slivers glinted as they fell to the ground, tinkling together like glass snowflakes.
Amanda swallowed, suddenly nervous. She had just realized that these glass-like birds seemed to be watching her and Sarah — and that they were utterly and completely silent.