I’ve gone ahead and manually coppied and pasted all my old comments into movable type. None of them had a timestamp other than day of the week and time of day, so they all look like they were made today. (I briefly toyed with the idea of having them at least look like they were made the date of the post, but it was going to be too much work.)
About halfway through the process, I got sick enough of it that I stopped coppying people’s URLs and email addresses, (at least, for those of you who post regularly) so if they’re missing here and there… well, tough shit. ;)
The bottom line: It took me about 4 hours. Four-fucking hours. Remind me never again to use any non-standardized method for storing data. Those comments were a clusterfuck. I couldn’t even sepparate by newlines, because there were (seemingly randomly) newlines thrown in on occasion!
I have yet to go over to my blogspot template and add a redirect. I’ll do that now…
“The life of every man is a diary, in which he means to write one story, and writes another.”
–Bess Streeter Aldrich (Cheers For Miss Bishop (movie based on the novel Miss Bishop))
This quote reminded me of Tiny’s dreams and rainbows post, which I always wanted to respond to, but never did because I felt I’d just be another person saying “me too”.
Well, now I wouldn’t say “me too”, I’d post that quote, proving that Tiny is actually the one saying “me too”, only he’s said it longer and better. And really, this quote (from a movie, based on a book!) probably isn’t even the first time anyone has said something like this. people say things like this all the time, and it’s like there’s this giant “me too” chorus of people, around the world, holding hands, singing it, screaming it, living it, yes living “ME TOO!!!” from the tops of mountains that aren’t high enough and at the bottoms of oceans that are really just small lakes and ponds… ponds that dry up, evaporate into cloud layers (like the one outside–clouds with imperceptible silver linings) and then rain down, in the midst of thunder and lightening, rain down on the rooftops of sleeping dreamers, and rain down occasionally in the sunlight forming rainbows out of the wrong story.
but the wrong story is the one you’re living, and you better read it, baby. you’d better read it.