Meta Wednesday, Feb 9 2011 

Okay, that should be all the backed-up blog posts from the last couple of months put to bed.

I didn’t have the opportunity to write any in the last month or so, as things have been quite chaotic. I think Mim might want to fill everyone in on that, but suffice to say, we’re on day 16 of a five-day trip to Sydney.  Both of us are exhausted and stressed to our respective limits, but there’s (I hope) good news on the way in the not-too-distant future.

I’ve borrowed a BigPond 3G modem for the moment (although Telstra were nice enough to shape me 3GB into the 7GB monthly allocation), so at least I have a semblance of Internet access for the moment.  That suggests that the usual, irregular service here will resume for the time being.


Dave’s Facebook Policy Sunday, Feb 6 2011 

Unlike most people, I regularly pare back my Friends List on Facebook: instead of actively trying to increase the size of my network, I decrease it. Occasionally, people notice this and ask me why. I’ve explained it on an ad hoc basis in the past, but never actually laid down the law in print.

Although I send messages to friends from time to time, or organise events, I don’t use Facebook primarily as a communication or social networking device. Rather, I use it for entertainment: I follow statuses and wall posts as a multifaceted, but disjointed narrative, featuring my friends as the main characters. Think of it as very eclectic, content-heavy and interactive television. Every moment I spend on the site is informed by this.

So, I limit my Friends list, choosing quality over quantity. I have a number of rules I follow in determining who my Friends are; I accept only certain people and cull others:

No minors. This is my strictest rule. I figure that people can search out my blog before they subscribe to the feed, or read my tweets before they follow me, but in the case of Facebook, they have to friend me sight unseen. Some of what I say is definitely not for under-18s, and frankly, I’d prefer not to censor myself for the sake of a couple of Friends.

Stupid and offensive. Offensive behaviour is forgivable, and ignorance is correctable, but the combination—particularly when repeated—is the mark of an irredeemable boor. I don’t watch television which pisses me off; why should I waste my time on people who do the same?

Strangers-by-choice. If you couldn’t be arsed even clicking the Like button on one of my posts in the past 12 months, then why should I pretend that we’re associates?

Strangers-by-circumstance. Given the number of federal, state and local politicians on my Friends list, I end up as something of a freak magnet. As a rule, I don’t accept Friend requests from people I’ve never met in person. I do make rare exceptions, however, particularly if we have common Friends whose intellect, taste and opinion I respect. This is my loosest rule, but it’s not unusual for me to Friend someone, then unFriend them moments later when I realise that they’re a total tool.

App requests. I’ve installed all the Facebook apps I could ever want, and even some of them shit me to tears. (Yes, I’m looking at you, Catbook.) I don’t want app requests, and if you make a habit of selling others’ identities for a Skinner box, then I have little faith in you as a human being. (On a similar note, clicking on a link in Facebook does precisely nothing to support a given cause. All it does is waste time and clog your inbox with misery porn. Count me out.)

So there you go. If, one day, I disappear from your Friends List, or I don’t appear at all, then it may just be that Facebook ate the request. Or, it could be that you’ve done something to annoy me. You work out which.

Blogging in Exile: Pigs Who Make Wolves Mad Monday, Dec 13 2010 

British Folk Tales again reveals hidden wonders.

According to the version therein, the Three Little Pigs—Biddy, Dennis and Rex, who built the straw, wood and brick houses, respectively—were turned out of their home during inclement weather, because Dennis had accidentally trodden on one of their mother’s new litter.  Dennis, at least, had had some education—he obtained the wood for his house from an old school friend—and both he and his brother Rex were pipe-smokers.

When the Big, Bad Wolf climbed down Rex’s chimney, the pigs threw Rex’s bedding into the fire and burnt the beast to death; they pulled the corpse down the chimney, cut it up and dined happily on roasted wolf chunks.  The houses aren’t there any longer, we’re told, because the pigs were taken to an old-age home, where they died.

In other news, it turns out that Goldilocks was originally a little, old woman named Silverhair.  Before that, it seems, she may’ve been a fox (of the kind that steals chickens, of course).

Apologies Sunday, May 2 2010 




Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, I’d like to apologise for the slight but notable deficiency in blog posts lately. Between my migraines, and then my flu—and caring for Mim through her migraines and flu—my new job at Centrelink and dealing with the PCYC-shaped albatross about Mim’s neck, we’ve both been falling behind on our blog duties. I’m particularly annoyed at the fall-off in Gateau Method posts, considering that I was several weeks ahead at one point earlier this year.

Rest assured that this slackness is being remedied, even as you read this. Things will return to normal, just as soon as we can work out exactly what “normal” means.

Oh. My. God. Tuesday, Feb 23 2010 


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