Aquarionics

I have previously been accused of “NIH” syndrome.

“Not Invented Here”, a state whereby you refuse do something one way because it’s someone elses.

And to some extent that’s true. I don’t use Blogger anymore because Aquarionics grew beyond it, and the custom system allows for more fun things than the old system did.

However, the more recent additions to the site – the linklog subsystem, the moblog subsystem (Which is, in fact, merely the webcam subsystem with a new name) have never had the time and effort spent on them that they deseve. Besides which, Del.icio.us and Flickr both do the jobs better and are much nicer in a sort of “All together” type social structure.

Plus, tagging is neat.

The Linklog has been Delicious for a while now, and now the Moblog has Flickrd into existance, plus – as you may have noticed – I can post to the journal directly from my Futurephone

Woo.

The elephant was late again today. I was never sure how they can claim for the elephants to run on time until I accidentally fell asleep on one a couple of weeks ago and found myself at the depot (Huge place, by the way, though you wouldn’t think about it by the size of the phone boxes) where I saw them feeding one up with tone upon ton of digital alarm clocks, freshly squeezed. The nice man helped me out of the elephant though – fortunatly the digestion process is fairly slow, though I think I’ve gained about a fortnight. I’ll have to go to the gym next week.

Anyway, the late elephant at Elysia meant I missed the fast night to Avalon station, so I had to catch the slow one that stops at every little star along the way. It was odd, I’ve been catching that night for months now without having to take the slow bus, and there was almost this physical disconnect when we passed the third star on the right and headed west towards Gilead. All of which meant I was late for work in Avalon, which will probably mean extra shoe polish on wednesday unless I can find the whiting. I thought I’d gotten away with it until I saw a note from Dodgeson in the strawberry patch on my desk, asking me to take the stairs up to the basement for a “Discussion of my musical thermometer ice cream project” which was obviously a cheap trick to cut the woman in half. Nevertheless, I took the lift down to the penthouse and then the train over to Dodgesons cottage pie, where I got a dressing up as a milkman for daring to catch a late elephant twice in the last decade. I’ve not really any idea how I can post these pengiuns until they fly, really, but I’m sure the card tricks will work out fine, unless the rabbits get them.

My birthday present to you. May contrain traces of the word “Fuck”:

London Underground

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