eor

I have been following the recent uproar here as a spectator. Hell, most of us were spectators when it comes right down to it.

What amazed me was not the stupidity of a corporate entity, that wasn't surprising at all. I've seen too much corporate stupidity to be surprised by something as run of the mill as this was.

No, I was amazed by the self-destructiveness of the community at large. Let's face it, when it comes to journalling there are plenty of sites out there. Many of them are better adapted to writing, or pictures, or a host of other things. The value in LJ is not the software, the interface, or the history. The value of LJ is the ability to interact with the people who are there: the community. Taking your ball and going home allows you to have your one little page, which people may or may not remember to visit. But being able to pop open the f-list is of value. Really, it's the only thing of value unique to LJ. If you try to transplant that it will die.

That said, because I like my content to be my content, not someone else's, I made a tool which makes mirgration fairly simple. For a proof of concept see here. The migration process has some caveats so I'm not going to throw my meager code out for the world to tear apart. I would consider moving the content of friends even though I don't favor a mass migration off of LJ. Life being what it is, comments can't be reasonably moved. I am working on another tool that does the same kind of thing for comments, but the output of that would be a static HTML page.

"Yes, it's bread that we fight for,
but we fight for roses too."

With the new engine and clutch, recent transmission, improved tires and wheels, and even improved bumpers, the van is a much changed vehicle. It's strange to go out in the morning and assume it's going to start. It's downright odd to have to take it easy on the accelerator in order to gradually take off from a stop, I used to have to floor it just to get rolling. To stop for gas without the gut wrenching fear of not being able to start again is novel.

But... but it's a different car. It's like waking up to find the acerbic drunk you've lived with for years has a Martha Stewart smile and drinks nothing but V8. Over six years I'd gotten kind of use to the abuse, in a sick masochistic way. Now it's different.

"There was nothing left of mine inside,
not even the broken radio." - John Wesley Harding "The Red Rose & The Briar"

I can get used to it. It will just take some time to adapt.