$msg = ""; $myaddress = "sacha" + "@" + "sachachua.com"; $page = "2004.12.06.php"; $page_title = "2004.12.06"; $page_updated = "2004-12-0622:32:3522:32:35-0500"; $maintainer = "sacha" + "@" + "sachachua.com"; require_once "include/calendar.php"; require_once "include/planner-include.php"; require_once "include/header.inc.php"; ?>
|A1||X||E-mail Terry Fuji picture and hello|
|B1||X||Reply about OnLove: E-Mail from Sean Uy|
|B2||X||Make pluggable sort method: E-Mail from John Sullivan (PlannerModeMaintenance)|
Sync'd over my private stuff and grabbed the rest from the Net. I can tolerate missing messages in my ~/Mail, but not corrupted files in my arch repositories or my Emacs directory. Fortunately, I have known-good copies on several sites.
I'm getting good at this /home restore thing.
I'll try reformatting the partition later and seeing if that'll do anything. If not, well, this new partition is actually bigger than my old /home, so...
I should lose a number of corrupted mail messages at the most, as everything else is either safe or unnecessary.
|\ _,,,---,,_ ZZZzz /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ |,4- ) )-,_. ,\ ( `'-' '---''(_/--' `-'\_)
Thanks to Dominique for forwarding the ASCII art cat in someone's sig. =)
E-Mail from Dominique Cimafranca
I'm reading my mom's very first blog post. I wish she had started earlier. These are stories I would never have heard even if I had been there. How is it that a journal entry or a letter can feel more intimate than spoken conversation or actual presence?
Was I even actually present? When I was in the Philippines, I spent most of the time in the Internet room, doing my mail, hacking on planner.el or browsing the Net. This was, for me, being in touch with the world. At some point in the evening either my dad or my mom would call up and say "Come here and talk to us," and I would try to think of whatever they might find interesting in my rather uneventful day. Sometimes I'd have lots of stories--after an exam, for example--but after the first flush of excitement, we'd peter off. Some days, the only time I saw my parents was right before going to sleep. (Don't worry, it got better after a while.)
I want to be present. I want to go beyond the anecdotes that just graze the surface of one's day. I want to delve beyond the first or second thought that comes to mind, to hear the stories from long ago or the stories hidden in today's events. I want to think about "why", too, but at a leisurely pace that allows us to really reflect instead of scrambling to answer right away.
I think that's it. It's not about being there in real life or not, but it's about presence and insight. Going beyond the obvious stuff. It's like the way that people who chat with me in real-time might find out current events, but people who read this can get an idea of how I think. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that even among my friends I think of myself as present in varying degrees.
Today's stories made me feel present.
My mom's stories today are stories that can only be told on drowsy afternoons with nothing else to do--and there's always something more to do. These are stories of leisure to be told among long silences, and we were never quite a family for long silences. These are stories meant to be told and heard at leisure; perfect for letters.
Today's letter was about a family party on my father's side. I would have probably not wanted to go to it, would've sat quietly and tried to figure out what to talk about if I had gone. I usually dread family reunions because there are all these people I'm supposed to know and yet don't really, and yet it's difficult to overcome my embarrassment at not knowing anyone and actually go and try to get to know people. (That probably didn't make sense to you.)
Reading her account of it, though, I felt more _there_ than I had been, say, during my grandmother's funeral. My mom tells people's little stories. She makes them come alive. Next time I go to these things, I'll be able to fake knowing a little bit about what's going on. I'm almost looking forward to that.
So, dear Mom: Continue writing. Protect that time. Block it off. Consider it sacred. Give yourself at least 15 minutes a day to reflect on what you did, what you could improve, and where you're going--or simply to tell us about some wonderful thing that happened that day. Writing on the Internet is this strange mix of writing to loved ones as well as complete strangers, and sometimes you'll find you can say things to one that you wouldn't have thought of saying to the other.
(Like this reflection on presence, which might not have been a conversation I would've started with you but which, now that it's out there, I wouldn't mind your comments on. =) )
(Hope other people aren't getting weirded out about these reflective blog posts. Think of it like lifehacking. I'm debugging my internal processes. Think of this as me thinking out loud, testing my ideas for coherence and sensibility. If you really find it strange, e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org what you like and don't like hearing about and I'll see if I can split off a separate feed for you. See WelcomePage for a list of my RSS feeds.)
E-Mail from Harvey Chua
Just want to let you guys know that I just finished packaging the tagalog dictionaries for ispell and aspell. The dictionary is not that big yet and we (me and Ramil Sagum) would really appreciate any sort of help increasing the word lists so it will be more usable in mainstream applications like OpenOffice, Mozilla, etc..
In your sources.list:deb http://www.unpluggable.com/debian unstable/ deb-src http://www.unpluggable.com/debian unstable/
It will be uploaded in sid once somebody sponsors it.
E-Mail from Jan Alonzo