Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do. Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.
– Mark Twain
Introduction
While we’re busily ferreting away some of that lovely work—come to think of it, there’s even a naughty formulation by the name of Parkinson’s Law which would have us believe that work expands so as to fill the time available for its completion—I say it’s time to take a break from scaling walls of text (over here on our blog, that is).
Hear ye, all those present, especially those seeking refuge, if only momentarily, from the digressions we do here—mostly the doings of your truly—this is your moment. Revel in this fleeting freedom that is now yours!
Yep, we’re going visual this weekend.
Heh, lest your jubilation be an overextended one—and before you run that jubilant victory lap to celebrate this respite from digressions—let it be known that the good stuff (digressions, what else?) can return unannounced any day now, at a moment’s notice…
This Is How It All Began
Anyhow, it all started—this thing about erring, iterating and recursing—innocently enough, with an old chestnut to the effect that
To err is human; to forgive, divine
Hmm… Given the compact size of the saying above, more a walnut than a chestnut. But I digress (already!)
Forgiveness Morphed Into… Recursion!
Curiously enough, that old chestnut about erring and forgiving—most likely having been waylaid by recursively zealous computer science aficionados such as the soulful-eyed, innocence-feigning one in the pic above—morphed into the likes of how
To iterate is human; to recurse, divine.
Oh my.
It Was Off To The Races
Along came your blogger—a self-styled essayist of sorts—and then we were cooking with gas. Speaking of cooking, and should you have the stomach for this sort of thing, I say, let’s sally forth and witness the results (Ahem, all at your own risk, I hasten to add).
And in the process of reading (and digesting) what I’ve cooked up for you, should you cringe, please remember: We’re merely on a visual binge.
So there.
Disclaimer: Every single variation (on that walnut-of-a-saying about erring, iterating and recursing) which follows are my doing—thereby adding to my sins of commission, taking a break from those of omission—and nobody else’s. Yep, nobody does this sort of thing better, amirite?
To net time might feel inhuman; to waste it, you just go online
To woo and rue is altogether human; to moo, bovine
To have our vision blur is but human; to C#, Go Forth unto sunshine
To deburr a roof aloof is human; to woof, canine
To demur is human; to concur, applaud the divine
To splurge is human; to purr, feline
To read essays is human; to write them, mighty-fine
To bedraggle in WET software is altogether human; to keep it DRY, oh-so-frontline
To nab a saboteur is human; jab one, and you get a whine
To curse is bad enough already; to re-curse, asinine
To do bland cuisine is de rigeur; to haute cuisine, there’s kelp and brine
Ah, to head for the mezzanine and get that no-frills seat number nine; but to do it with style and quills, best to have a porcupine
If the 80s were, well, the 80s; this must be (multicore) cloud nine
Our Rickshaw Drops Us Off
I mean, we’ve tortured language enough already; it cried uncle, for crying out loud. Plus the rickshaw driver won’t have anything more to do with us anymore. You know, the driver of one of those turbine-powered turbo vehicles? As in growlingly ferocious turbine, beloved the world over by felines and even more so by canines of any stripe you care to define.
Concentric Circles Of Carp
What’s up with the design, I say? It’s mighty fine and all that. But, really? Salmons go up the incline, while I pine for streams that could be mine (and definitely not thine). And you? Oh well.
A Room With A View
Reserve one for me, will you please? Send me the bill, which I will neatly underline, refine, and—goodbye dollars—sign.
Oh, and just in case you’ve trudged to the very end—it verily betokens the end of our tether—I must spring forward and congratulate you; you are far braver than I.
