WELCOME TO JOKEOFALLTRADES (JoAT) v2.2!!
I’ve finally done it. I’ve gotten rid of that horrid page I designed three months ago and have replaced it with something slightly less horrid. I hope you like it. At least, I hope you dislike it less than the last version. Over the next few days, I’ll convert the rest of the site to conform to the new format, with a few additional changes in places to keep things lively. Oh, I do hope you like it!
JoAT v2.2 offers the following advantages over its predecessor:
- It looks prettier
- It’s more customizable
- It’s easier to maintain
- It makes me happier
I don’t know if you care about any of that, but I certainly do. And since I’m probably the only person who reads this page, I’m the one I care about. However, JoAT v2.2 now also features comments from readers, should there be any readers of a disposition for making comments. At any rate, readers now have the ability to leave comments, whereas before they were silenced by my authoritarian access restrictions. Links are at the bottom of each update. Comment away.
If you absolutely must use the old page, I offer you a last look here. However, JoAT v2.1 is no longer supported, so use at your own risk. Caveat Emptor.
While I was riding the city bus home yesterday, a man boarded the bus holding a newspaper close in front of his face. He proceeded to walk down the aisle to the back of the bus, using the newspaper to prevent anyone from noting the features of his face. He sat down in the last seat, slid into the corner, and continued to hide his face. And that’s when I noticed them: video cameras had been placed in the bus at regular intervals along the ceiling. He was hiding from them. I saw his face briefly as he slid the window closed—no disfigurement, nothing to hide, except the details of his identity. I don’t know why, but the mere suggestion of criminality made my skin crawl. I have never wanted to be somewhere else so desperately as I did yesterday sitting on that bus. I exchanged furtive glances with other passengers, who seemed equally disturbed by the man’s behavior. When we reached my stop, I carefully noted the man’s clothing, height, build, the headline of the newspaper page he had not turned for the entire ride, every possible detail I could imagine being questioned about in the aftermath of some horrible event. I got off the bus, noted the bus number, and walked home, relieved. I survived another day in this forsaken town, but just barely, I’m sure of it.
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