The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
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Daily Blah FAQ
Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
Praise for Daily Blah:
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Daily Blah for... Sunday, July 31, 2005
23 Days Later
No, I haven't been eaten by a rampaging flash mob of zombies. I've been on an intense, life-changing non-vacation vacation. Task one, finding a new house to rent, was completed a couple of weeks ago. I nabbed a lovely three-storey turn-of-the-century townhouse in a cul-de-sac right by the Presidio. The landlords, who own the wax museum in Fisherman's Wharf, live right next door. The house's most intriguing feature: one room is filled with a fresco depicting the San Francisco skyline, painted in 1933 by Suzanne Scheuer -- the Depression era, DPW-commissioned artist who also did this mural at Coit Tower.
It's task two -- packing and moving -- that has been taking my time and causing grief ever since. The new house is tall and thin with tiny staircases and a living room is on the top floor, meaning it'll take a crane or winch to get my couches up there. I start my new job tomorrow, the day before the movers arrive. And packing itself is always a pain, but especially so when you have to get rid of five years' worth of accumulated electronic junk. I've made many trips to thrift stores and bookshops, filled a couple of dozen giant garbage bags, foisted all manner of games and other swag on friends and given two carloads to one friend to sell on eBay. It feels good to purge and I'm glad I had the time to do it. Throwing, say, boxes of old cassette tapes in the trash is good therapy for a born pack rat. It reminds us that nothing is forever. Pain and loss is a part of life. And the time must come when we all let go of our tinny old copies of "Bat out of Hell".
Still, it seems, I'm left with more stuff than I could ever possibly read, use, watch or play in a lifetime. The tyranny of choice still holds sway. I'll probably feel differently when it's all unpacked at the other end, of course, but right now I would very much like to go off into the woods and become a Bhuddist monk. Minimalism is key. Posessions, indeed attachments of any kind, equals suffering. Especially when you have to keep paying more than a thousand bucks to cart them around behind you.