over here: crankreport.tumble.
As you can see, I’m playing around with themes and general housekeeping. I’ve finally ditched the old crankreport.org index page — instead going to the main domain just directs your here. I’m also going to start the process of moving all pages into WordPress, my blogging tool of choice. If you see something funky along [...]
The comment spam is gone. I think I’ve got things set up so that it won’t be back. Or if it is, it won’t require me mucking around in myPHPadmin. That wasn’t pretty. Of course, some legitimate comments are gone too and I’m sorry for that. And I’ve got a theme installed that I can [...]
Well, I’ve finally gotten off of my rear and started upgrading this site. I spent a weekend away camping at it reinstalled some vim-and-vinegar in me regarding a few non-work related projects (and some work-related ones as well). And those non-work related projects require me to get this old site functional again and get the [...]
In my ongoing effort to keep spam from showing up in the comments, I’ve started requiring registration to post a comment. I had a bug in (ie, I forgot to check a box) but I’ve fixed that and you all should be able to register and post comments.
Really. Really kicking my ass. What a damn spoiler.
So, I’m fighting spam comments (about 20 a day). And I’ve just flipped on the option that only allows a previously approved comment to make a another comment without approval. What does that mean to you? It might take a bit before you see your comment on the site.
I can mark whaleboat rowing off the list. Terrific fun.
Another view of the bathroom Originally uploaded by gorickjones.
It’s been a rainy winter and spring here in the Bay Area and we’re rewarded with a spectacular array of colors. My favorites, California poppies, are out in full force. The house we recently purchased has a big backyard. And, while the poppies are regretfully non-existant, we have tangerine, lemon, and lime trees. We have [...]
"He stopped commenting on this oddness of hers. She said the news clippings she sent to friends were a perfectly reasonable way to correspond. There were a thousand things to clip and they all said something about the way she felt. He watched her read and cut. She wore half-glasses and worked the scissors grimly. She believed these were personal forms of expression. She believed no message she could send a friend was more intimate and telling than a story in the paper about a violent act, a crazed man, a bombed Negro home, a Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire. Because these are the things that tell us how we live." -Don Dellilo, Libra