I just got my genealogy database back online. I’d been putting it off for ages. There’s always so many other more important things to do. But yesterday was the day. My uncle, Allen Lovelace, died on Sunday. I owed it to him to mark his passing.
Yup. A young woman took a photo of David Gilmour on the beach, and posted it to Instagram as her “photo of a random man & his dog”.
I’m cautious from past experience, but overall I’m easing into a new year with a sense of hope and determination. Now that New Year’s is out of the way, I can get on with it. Let’s see what’s around the corner.
I won’t be shedding any tears over Lemmy Kilmister. He was a hard-drinking, hard-living Rock & Roll animal who probably lived well past his natural expiration date. He wasn’t a particularly gifted lyricist, but he had a wry sense of humor that always crept in Motorhead songs.
When I saw this article, I immediately thought “Wil Wheaton is right”. I expected there would be plenty of people posting comments about how Wil Wheaton was a spoiled Hollywood celebrity, and belittling artists who expect compensation for their work.
I expect to be around for a while yet, but I don’t see myself reaching a ripe, old age. That kind of sucks when you consider that I already feel like I’m thirty years behind schedule.
For longer than I would care to admit, logging in to Facebook has been part of my morning routine. I don’t know why. It just is. I seem to know a lot of people there. Or at least there’s a lot of people there than I used to know.