this week i

fixed hunger at cardamomo then powershell git, github credential by adding these lines to the end of `C:\Program Files\Git\etc\gitconfig`

    name = Anthony Damico
    email =



sketched diphtheria serum hero as alternate to pack of huskies, gunnar kaasen as santa.  what's the murder of crows equivalent for reindeer?


wrote rome sans sauce.  "had my conspirators arrived armed with tomatoes instead, the red taste would have been no less surprising" -julius caesar

asked kevin stroud about enemy.  but portuguese now.  brazilians say hooch and hosie for ruth and rosie, write bisexual bi sex uau, "bi sex wow"


read the trial by franz kafka.  max brod refused to perform the holocaust (posthumously published against last wishes).  as the trial, according to the author's own statement made by word of mouth, was never to get as far as the highest court, in a certain sense the novel could never be terminated

he went to a wall-cupboard where he kept a bottle of good brandy, while he filled a glass and drank it down to make up for his breakfast, and then drank a second to give him courage, the last one only as a precaution, for the improbable contingency that it might be needed

she pointed to the captain's door, underneath which showed a strip of light - "he has turned on his light and is amusing himself at our expense"

a phonograph which had seen long service in a better quarter of the town began stridently to murder a tune

"do you think you'll manage to improve things?"


"the guilt lies with the organization"

"but i refuse to be bribed.  i am here to whip people, and whip them i shall"

then a sound from the entrance hall as of breaking crockery made them all prick up their ears.  "i'll go and see what has happened," said k., and he went out, rather slowly, to give the others a chance to call him back.  hardly had he reached the entrance hall and was beginning to grope his way in the darkness, when a hand much smaller than his own covered the hand with which he was still holding the door and gently drew the door shut.  it was the nurse, who had been waiting there.  "nothing has happened," she whispered.  "i simply flung a plate against the wall to bring you out"

for the proceedings were not only kept secret from the general public, but from the accused as well

the painter was lolling back in his chair, his nightshirt gaped open, he had thrust one hand inside it and was lightly fingering his breast

pettifogging lawyers

how the lawyer was humbling himself before k.!  and without any regard for his professional dignity, which was surely most sensitive on this very point.  why was he doing it?  if appearances spoke truly he was in great demand as a lawyer and wealthy as well, the loss of k. as a client or the loss of his fees could not mean much to such a man.  besides, he was an invalid and should himself have contemplated the advisability of losing clients.  yet he was clinging to k. with an insistence!  why?  was it personal affection for k.'s uncle, or did he really regard the case as so extraordinary that he hoped to win prestige either from defending k. or - a possibility not to be excluded - from pandering to his friends in the court?  his face provided no clue, searchingly as k. scrutinized it

the client ceased to be a client and became the lawyer's dog

this chapter was never completed

 he was very tired, for he had spent half the night studying an italian grammar

the scriptures are unalterable and the comments often enough merely express the commentators' despair

flies struggling away from the flypaper till their little legs were torn off

chuckleheaded young man

an old ball-dress bedizened with trimmings

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