...[A]s I get older, I feel my life slipping away. There are whole chunks of my past I don't really remember. Not like I blacked out for a year, but I just don't remember any significant events. I know where I was living and working, but I couldn't tell you any stories. Or, there are events that I remember, but I couldn't even tell you which year it was.

So most of the stuff here is just the details of my life. If you're not already part of it, this is probably all pretty boring. Even if you are, it's probably mostly boring. This is as much self-anthropology as anything else. In The Clock of the Long Now, Stewart Brand talks about how Chinese monks, to preserve a record of their culture, inscribed the Buddhist scriptures on a huge collection of stone tablets. Brand comments that,

"Better still would have been a reverently preserved sequential archive of dried monk poop, which would yield no end of data on diet, agriculture, climate, health, and racial and family lineage. You never know what people will want preserved."

This is my dried monk poop.