I’ve converted most of the things that I currently run on VMs into containers, including the web service that I’m using to host this blog. Some of the services require custom images, so I can’t quite move them out to the cloud, yet. That remains an intriguing possibility.
I expect you shouldn’t notice anything different. If you do, though, please let me know.
An acquaintance who had up until relatively recently avoided Irish Whiskies posted a photo of a single-serving bottle of Teeling small batch Irish whiskey. I was intrigued.
I’ve particularly enjoyed Jameson 12 yr and Redbreast, previously, and so I was going to ask “sweet or smoky?” But then realized I had, right here in my hands, a marvelous artifact of magick connected to The Machine That Knows All Things (TMTKAT). I believe it’s called a Googol Machine, or The Machine That Goes Bing.
Leaving aside the conversation about whether a true Irish Whiskey gets near any sort of smoke, I knew I must inquire of TMTKAT, for whatever opinion I may have on the topic, there are distillers that produce one sort or the other; and so I asked. TMTKAT replied: “sweet/vanilla/honey/caramel.” And that precise moment was when I knew that I must add Teeling to my list.
He leaned back, took a long drag on his cigarette, then snuffed it under his heel on the stage. “If they only knew,” he thought. “If they only knew.” You see, what they didn’t know — couldn’t know — is that his once promising career as lounge singer was cut short. Tragically short. He sighed… best not to think about that right now. “So there’s this guy I know, a cabbie,” he continued.
The audience responded with a blank stare. In fact, it seemed as if the funnier his material was, the less they got it. It was funny material. It was good material. He’d saved it for just this kind of night.
When he finally stumbled off stage he knew he’d done this for the last time. “Scotch, neat. Better make it a double,” he told the bartender. The bartender mumbled something unintelligible. It might have been a question. “Yeah, whatever,” he responded. It was time for some serious thought.
What did he want to do when he was a grown up, he wondered? Who did he want to be? One would think that a 42 year old man would know this by now. And yet, he didn’t. Besides, if forty is the new thirty, then surely forty-two is the new thirty-three and one half. There was still time.