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Well that was creepy. I went to write this and happened to glance at the numbered of published posts, which is (until this is published, so which was) 666.

I’m not sure what’s more disturbing, the fact that I have inflicted my random thoughts upon the world almost seven hundred times, or that my blog has the Mark of the Beast.

Or… whatever the number is called. Once I quit my old job I sort of forgot all the paranoid conservative Christian crap I was subjected to. Although numerology in the Bible isn’t actually paranoid conservative Christian crap. It’s got a fair amount of basis in fact—numbers are used to signify concepts or as symbols. If I’m recalling my Old Testament classes somewhat correctly, when Biblical figures like Abraham were said to have lived a somewhat impossible number of years (given the life expectancy was like ten in those days) it was in fact signifying that they lived a full and complete life.

Or something like that.

I personally love numbers. I don’t know, maybe it’s not that unusual. Like the notion that most writers use odd numbers because those work better than even (which is true). Or just the interesting patterns or personalities numbers can have. Because some numbers are a lot more interesting than others. Douglas Adams knew that. 42 is just about the most brilliant number ever.

An even number, to be fair, but it’s always got an even and odd multiplier. Love that. 6×7 is the loveliest combination. So is 21×2. Or 14×3. I don’t know, they just work well. Actually, my obsession with numbers tends to infect the sites I build. There’s always a 42 pixel-wide box or margin somewhere. As well as a 13. And usually a 21. Sometimes a 77 sneaks in too.

I think it makes things a bit off-kilter. My natural inclination is to parcel out sites in increments of 25 or 10 or even 15. So the un-random randomness of including 42s and 13s in the measurements makes me happy.

Strangely enough when I’m designing print pieces it’s the exact opposite, mainly because you need to be precise when you’re setting up files to print. Or did, anyway. Nowadays it’s a little less complicated to set up files. I used to have to lay out 128-page books in signature spreads. You get a sixteenth of an inch off and you’re screwed. Plus the printer makes you feel like a moron.

Hm. Moving on.

I must confess I just don’t get the obsession with the upcoming royal wedding. I mean, didn’t we get rid of the monarchy a couple years ago?  I’d love to claim the high road, like “How can people follow every little detail of what Kate’s wearing when people are being slaughtered in Nigeria!” but I can’t. It really is just a lack of interest in the whole proceedings.

Perhaps it’s sort of a gimme that I would be bored to tears—I’ve never been interested in American celebrity gossip and/or nuptials. But celebrity gossip and me, we had an understanding: I stayed out of its way and it stayed out of mine.

But with this royal wedding thing I have to hear about it every flippin’ commercial break (I’m looking in your general direction, BBC America and PBS). It’s been annoying me so much I now am downright passionate about my lack of interest in the whole thing. I just hope it’s over soon.

And as for the aforementioned people dying in Nigeria, I take it back. I do think it’s pretty unfortunate that the general public knows more about this wedding than they do what’s going on in other, less-glamorous parts of the world. Or even in the less-glamorous parts of this country. Because it affects us a lot more than the wedding.