I mean; why am I writing this. I guess the initial reason is I wanted to rant about getting started with a particular programming language but no one around me really cares about that – so vent to the internet. Now I've written a couple other posts, and left a gap. Maybe I've already posted my last post, or maybe I'll finish this one out, but man I don't know what else I want to talk about after that.
There's stuff going on in my life; I've got a family and we're buying a new house (well, unit in a multi family, but it's roomier than what we're in now). I guess I'd like to talk about that, but it feels weird throwing it out to you, the internet (although, as a practical matter, I probably know everyone reading this).
There was a blog post I read earlier today, which I guess is why I'm writing now. The author is a psychiatrist whose blog was popular enough for the New York Times to come around looking write an article. The blog was written under a pseudonym, the NYT found the author's real name without much trouble, and the NYT declared their intention to publish the author's given name as part of the article. Much sadness ensued.
The author has returned, and wrote a blog about their journey (framed around the slightly modified lyrics of "I'm Still Alive" by Jonathan Coulton, which is a touch I appreciate). They quit their day job and are now writing under their given name. In this 'still alive' post is a link to yet another blogger's post comparing the New York Times to an evil octopus. The author appears to be a crazy person, but there was a part that resonated – being afraid of writing, or more specifically publishing, because someone is going to point out I have irredeemable asshole opinions, and once those cats are out of the bag there is no herding them back. I don't understand what the New York Times has to do with that. It's the internet – it's all here, forever, and if you take it down the Internet Archive will have it nevertheless (do they allow retractions? Oh why did I ever donate to them ?) The sinister conspiracy is just your current self against your past and future selves because there are a suit of actions we are no longer able to forget.
Which brings me back round. A couple of soporific rants about a moderately popular JVM language are not going to cause any stir in polite society, but I have held (and presumably still hold) briefly considered and personally convenient opinions which I'm sure would spill out if I hold forth outside those narrow confines.
So. I guess I'll keep talking about my experience with Clojure? I am having fun with that, and it seems the right amount of impersonal.