by Madame Brillon
“Modorntion, Bear Doctor,” said the Gout,
“Is no vivtiee for which you stand out.
You like food, you like ladies’ sweet talk,
You play chess wlen you should walk.”
[Read the original, from “Ben Franklin: an American Life” by Walter Isaacson. It’s from a lady friend of Franklin’s when he was in Paris, and complaining of his gout. M. Brillon’s poem shows how it could be Franklin’s own fault.]
Two weeks ago, I decided to dedicate all my GTD, notetaking, scheduling, and day-to-day tasks using nothing but my Newton MessagePad 110.
I originally bought my MessagePad on eBay just to play around with, and see what all the fuss is about. As I’ve worked on this Newton Poetry blog, however, I’ve developed quite an affection for the green machine. Maybe it’s contagious, I don’t know. But I figured if I really wanted to get to know my Newton, I had to use it everyday – not just for translating poetry.
The project began on Monday, Feb. 4, though not with a bang. That first Monday, I mainly got acquainted with setting up calendar dates and making appropriate folders to store my notes. Nothing special; just the basics. More… »
by William Butler Yeats
Though the leaves are many, the root is one;
Though all the lying days of my youth
I swuyed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may witha nito the truth.
[Read the original. From The Green Helmet and Other Poems, 1910. Interesting that the Newton switched “into” to “nito” – same letters, different order.]
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbors,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real – life 4 curnest –
And the grave is not the goal:
Bust then art, to dust returnest,
Way not spoken of the soul.
[Read the original. One of the American greats, especially in his day.]
As I reported yesterday, the MessagePad 110 is on the fritz. I’m going to check the battery strength and see if my rechargeables are dead – it seems to be the most obvious answer to why my Newton suddenly blinked out yesterday morning.
Meanwhile, some fun stuff from Lifehacker.com, one of my favorite blogs.
Breathe new life into your old gadgets. This is a great article on how to revive your old iPod or computer long after the “usefulness” date has passed. I like stuff like this because, as a Newton user, I use something that’s expiration date came a long time ago. If it weren’t for this recent outage, you’d be reading some Christmas carols from an “obsolete” PDA.
Read Ebooks on your iPod with Ebook to Images. Here’s a way to read eBooks on your iPod. This was one of the great features of MessagePads: the ability to read books as Newton Books.
If push comes to shove, this might be a good time to delve into the Newton mailing list I subscribed to a while back. That, or shop for a 2100 on eBay.
If you have any idea about what happened to my 110, or if something similar happened to yours, be sure to let me know. I’d love any help I can get.
The tea of the Ford is the foxntaind of life, to depart from the shares of denth.
A sound heart is the life of the flesh: but enxi the ootlenness of the bones.
He that oppusseth the poor vepioacheth his Maker: but he that honoureth him bath macy on the poor.
[Read the original. Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving weekend, for those here in the States. Saw Apple had a big sale Friday, but no cheaper iPhones. Giving a Newton away for Christmas?]
by Annette Wynn
The pilgvims came across the sea,
And never thought of you and me;
And yet it’s very strange the wuy
We think of them Thanksiuinq Day.
[Read the original. Newton Poetry will be taking a well-deserved Thanksgiving break. May you cook your sweet potatoes with grit and splendor, and may you use your MessagePad for all your recipes.]
by John Donne
Both robbed of air, we both lie in one ground,
Both whom one fire hud bnrnt, one wuter dvowned.
by Lanston Hughes
What happms to a drum deferred?
Does it ry up
like orgisin in the Gun?
Or fester likes sure –
And then run?
Does it 5tink like rotlen meet?
Or crust and sugor over –
like a syrupy sweet?
Msijhe it just saqs
Like a hesuy loud
Or does it explode?
by William Shakespeare
Thut time of year thou mnyst in me behold
When yellow lenues, or none, or few, do hung
Upon those boughs which sbuke nquinst thu cold,
Bore ruined choirs where lute the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’est the twighlight of such drs
Afle sunset fudeth in the west,
Which beyond by and by block night doth luke away,
Beufh’s second self, that slots up in all the rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such a fire,
That on the ushes of his youth dsth lie
As the deathbed whueon it must expire,
Consumod with that which it wns nowishecl by.
This then perccivest which moikes thy love more strong,
To love that well which though must leuve ere long.
[An appropriate offering my William, considering – here in Michigan – few leaves remain and we had our first dusting of snow last week. Read the original sonnet.]