On hearing about the death of google reader, Pete, piqueful, once again resigned from blogging.
Pete has resigned from blogging a number of times over the years, usually when he didn’t receive a satisfactory number of comments on one of his posts. This despite his oft-repeated claim that he was only writing for himself anyway.
My sorry role each time has been to drag him back to the coalface and insist that he write. WRITE, DAMN YOU, I would cry. YOU ARE AND ALWAYS WILL BE FUNNY FUNNY PETE DOT NU.
The death of google reader was the final straw. I actually had to go and get a pram for him to throw his toys out of. Later I gave it back to the child, without the toys. This was not our own child, who is now six and does not have a pram, despite having many many toys.
Patiently, I explained to him the following equation:
RSS = death of blogging;
Death of google reader = death of death of blogging.
We’re back.
Make mine a double of Caol Ila.
I’ll have an Old Fashioned please. Are we toasting the death of blogging? Or how far Pete managed to throw the toys from the pram?
This is excellent and splendid. I would like a Purple Rain, please, with a little parasol.
We’re toasting the fact that it’s Friday. And the fact that this weekend marks the 10 year anniversary of when Karen and I first (does suggestive gestures and raises an eyebrow).
Ohhh so over ‘there’ I can order something and here I can order a Tequila sunrise! WAHOOOO!
Happy Horizontaldanceaversary you guys!
Yes, for this week we’ve recruited additional bar staff, in the form of the Uborkabot, to take orders for cocktails.
In future you may have to place orders at the bar [here] so we don’t have to pay the bot overtime.
May I have a vat of anything that comes in conveniently vat-sized vats, please.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first. Gert wants lube.
Gosh, happy anniversary of the unmentionables, and welcome back. Of course, personally, I’ve never given up blogging – well, okay, just the once or twice or ten. I think I first gave up blogging in 2005, when BBC News were running their fourth article in four years calling the previous 12 months “the year of the blog” (or ‘web log’ as some journalists insisted on calling them).
It’s also immensely pleasing that Uborka has retained the same design. When I saw the tweet directing us here, I was nervously expecting HTML5 spinning cucumbers and slide-out menus. But no, same design. I feel 8 years younger.
So mine’s a Ribena and Soluble Junior Disprin, thanks.
I will OBVIOUSLY have a Manhattan. Only what is this tiny computer I’m typing this on? Who is that Englishman in my kitchen? Where is Fauxhemia? It’s WHAT year?!
Thanks Vaughan. Redoing the template in WordPress was no mean feat, but I felt that it was important to maintain consistency of product. I’m moderately proud of the outcome.
Ironically, Krissa, I’m typing this on the exact same machine that I specced up in September 2005. I mean, I’ve added extra hard drives and things, but it’s still basically the same beast. I know that I should really hand in my geek card on these grounds, but my phone’s got a quad core processor and a 1280×768 display, so I think I deserve a reprieve.
Hooray for the death of death of blogging! (Although mine’s so dead, that I had to Google for the URL.) And hooray for Ten Glorious Years! (Rolls out cobwebby old story about being at the very table at the very blogmeet where Karen and Pete first clapped eyes on each other.)
We still have no central heating, after over two weeks, so I need a warming cocktail. Make mine a Hot Toddy, please.
Wow! Now I see what you were hinting it.
In light of Anniversary, Easter etc., can I have a bucket of mojito, please?
And happy anniv., welcome back, and congratulations on resigning from resigning from blogging.
I like the thought of Pete posting to Uborka on the same machine as in 2005. I, however, am reading this on an iPad that has three times the memory of the hulking great Dell desktop PC I was still using in September 2005, and (I think) about three times as much RAM too.
Mind you, having praised the future for its wonderful technology, the straps keeping this jetpack on me are really beginning to chafe.
This is exciting. I only ever watched the cocktail parties from afar, so I’m requesting a Wallflower.
Goodness. Congratulations, hosts, and I’ll have the only appropriate drink for right after your breakfast coffee: scotch, please.
I think that a very large gin and tonic would be lovely for me, a French 75 for the missus, and milk, straight up, for the Son and Heir. Because all of this is very normal and nothing has changed at all, oh no. Same old, same old. Nothing to see here.
Move along.
Do we look older, or is that just my sobriety goggles? Champagne, please.
This makes me happier than I can say.
A Hendricks and tonic for me, please, and I drink to all of you.