Only time will tell what sorts of things end up on this blog. I kind of felt like having someplace to drop random creative, semi-creative, derivative, and possibly exculpatory outputs and outlets. I don't expect to post here frequently, and rarely if ever to express my thoughts on the role of incentives in growth-oriented governmental subsidization policies, though I make no promises not to wax poetic on the use of configuration management tools, convergence, and idempotency.
Like almost nobody else on the internet, I have been accused of being a geek, a nerd, a flibbertigibbet, and "I hope that fat guy isn't sitting next to me." I have also been intermittently labelled an imp, an "ingenious mother fucker", a king of zombies, a 19th century coal miner, a Pinkerton (ironically), "that guy over there has a bottle opener" (un-ironically), and--once, for about two hours--a gas station attendant. I've shaken hands with Kevin Murphy, discussed goggle etiquette with John Hodgman, and once crossed paths with John Travolta in the back stairway of a Scientology mission. (It's cool, we nodded at each other and kept walking. I think we made a real connection.)
Regarding the "Bittered Slings" of the title: a bittered sling was once a "vulgar" term for a cocktail, specifically its historical roots as a mix of spirits, sugar, water, and bitters. I admit to a great love for the descendants of these, the Númenóreans of mixology, from the sweet Manhattans of mobsters and grandmothers to the great Sazeracs of the great city of New Orleans. Thus the mantle of the bittered sling felt appropriate for a place to scatter the sprinkles from my censer. Also the name hadn't been taken yet.
Fair winds, traveller.