Digital Photo Relics

What's the oldest digital camera photo you have on your computer? When is it from? Let's see it!

Not really a relic at all.  I only got a digital camera in February.  The oldest digital photo (actually taken with a digital camera, not scanned from print) that I have is this one, taken by my more technologically advancced friend Felicia in October 2004. 

She was up from Miami to visit her brother in Chicago, and one night she and I and my then boyfriend (who was a vegan) went out to eat at the Chicago Diner, which is a vegan diner, which is better than it sounds.  And they have margaritas.  Mmmm.

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finding my way

So, I just figured out that this QOTD I keep seeing everywhere stands for "question of the day" and is not the initials of some Latin phrase I ought to know but don't.  (I spent four years studying Latin and Greek in college, plus a few other years here and there, but the extent of my ignorance of these matters continues to amaze me.)  What I haven't figured out is where one finds the question of the day.  Clearly, I haven't quite learned my way around this whole Vox landscape yet.

I like it pretty well so far, though.  When I first started putting things online in 1999, I wanted desperately to be discovered.  Nowadays, not so much.  This is a nice sort of compromise.

Now, though, I'm going to go spend a little time in my physical neighborhood.  I've hung my laundry out to dry (on the porch railings, since I haven't gotten around to rigging up a clothesline yet), and I'm off to spend some time hanging out in the coffeeshop.  Then I'll see if the small machine repairman can fix my vacuum cleaner.  O the joys of Saturday!

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hello world, hello voice

I think most of you reading this know me either in person or online, so this may be redundant. . . .

I'm a librarian in northwestern rural Wyoming.  I've been here for about four months now, and it's fascinating and wonderful, if sometimes very strange.  I'm originally from Iowa City, Iowa and have lived in Poughkeepsie, NY (during college), the suburbs of Chicago (right before I came here), Indianapolis (during junior high; a time best forgotten), and a few months each in San Francisco and Minneapolis.

I love cities, but I also love living now in a town of 351 people, even on the days when it's strange.

Yesterday most people in town were either elated or downcast: hunting licenses arrived in the mail.  The elated had elk tags; the downcast, nothing.  On the 4th of July (a holiday I usually avoid–I used to have an anti-4th-of-July party in Iowa City) my boyfriend (who is a particular fan of the holiday, either) convinced me to spend the afternoon hanging out at the reservoir.  Since that's the sort of thing I feel I never did enough of in my youth, I went, and I had a fairly good time sitting around and drinking beer and enjoying the stillness.  Yet it was odd–many of the other people there had not graduated from high school, or had only barely graduated, but they work in the oilfields and pull in as much as $70,000–more than twice what I make with 1.75 masters' degrees.  I would like to be better at integrating the worlds I live in.

I have some other online presence, most of which you can find via my website, The New Rambler.  But there have always been things I wanted to write about, like the bit above, that don't seem to fit in any of my other spaces.  Perhaps this will be the one where they do fit.

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