Design

In which the author remembers a designer who did not much like him, and finds he is still being taught by her fifteen years on.

In which the author, asked by his youngest for help with a cleric, finds the official character sheet wanting and resolves, with some indignation, to print a better one.

In which the author admits to a nagging feeling that computing has gone wrong somewhere, points at a tiny algebra that maybe gets a part of it right, and starts building yet another programming language. Sorry.

In which an unexpected Christmas gift reveals the quiet delight of a rotating bezel, and the author wonders why such useful timekeeping is dressed up in such macho clothing.