This is not the personal web page of me.
I should qualify that. Back when this web stuff was shiny and new I set up an eclectic collection of text into which I coyly put link to things I cared about, or visited often. It was an effort to provide a gloss for my interests, a list of links in the cloth of annotated prose. It pretty much sucked.
After many iterations, it all came down this page, which is my personal web page. You are welcome to it if you find it useful, but I make no assurances that tomorrow it might not be something else. It's for me.
This site, however, is not that. This is very much for other's eyes, and in that it is fundamentally an entertainment, and rightfully a self aware one. I write that because there is a delicious blurring in this delicate new media that I think bears investigation, and I want to be clear about my intentions.
It seems to me that one of the most interesting things about the explosion of personal web pages is the (by and large) gentle innocence that pervades the genre. People happily put pieces of their lives up in text and picture, point to it for the world with the words "here I am and I have done this thing!", and they expect to be believed.
Well.
It is my contention that interpretation is a burden best left to the reader. But the reader is always free to get it wrong, as much as the author is entitled to lie.
Communication has become difficult, in this modern age. Over the years there have been several email addresses displayed on these pages (which some of them may yet show), but they are all full up of potted meats now, and I find myself forced to take more drastic measures. If you'd like to drop a line, make an address in the reverse order of this domain name, the vernable at, and the longest word in this paragraph.
(The first one.)
My friend Peter sometimes chides me about the word usements I structure; I would not go so far as to put words in his mouth, but he sometimes finds the words I put togther done so in such a way as to be ornate to the point of pain. He has an argument. He's mosttimes right.
The trick in this place, though, is that what goes up on here is meant to be spoken as much as it is to be read. When you next encounter a bit of prose that gives you irk, might I ask that you try to send it into the room with your own voice, as loud or soft as you like.
goob.com is not for sale.
I might be willing to trade it (in perpetuity, etc.) for goob.va, though.
The shirts will be back, as soon as I get more training in making Photoshop do things I didn't know I wanted.
There is an RSS 2.0 feed. Of sorts.
On the part of the main matter, there are no hyperlinks. There are no trackbacks. There are no comments. This is on purpose.
This web site:
There is no need for tables, javascript, imagemaps, or other fancy stuff as of yet.
All content under copyright by the author. Dancing is permitted. The strange deltic glyphs in the sand under tidal flow are a pleasure to watch in their deepening. Offer not valid in Kansas. We put it down and then we lost it. It all happens in the corner of the eye. Mail accepted for the bears in the basement. We have a dog, but we do not own it. Thank you.