No-hitters graph (through 2012)

The annual feature returns. The 2010s’ errors-per mark is up slightly from last year, the walk rate is down, and there have been more perfect games from 2010 onwards than in any completed decade.nohitters 2012

Bookworm’s Soliloquy

So, @ranjit programs his glorious robot to cull spam floods. How, you ask? In lipogram fashion, with inspiration from…um…yours truly.

This is such a glorious honor that, obviously, I must post lots of lipograms, such as right now. Starting with a bit of angsty writing.

I am still trying to know who I am,
to find out without guilt,
how what is not can touch what is.
Not just distracting it,
pulling us away from work and from duty
only to drop us off following a short duration of play
without changing how our minds focus.
And not distorting it past what it is,
I am not so cool and hip as to
latch on to any passing fad,
throw away faith and truth for casual doubt.
No, it is how I can look into a book
and latch on, and find it latching back
so that I am caught up in it all,
having to find out what occurs
(though nothing occurs)
and caring, caring too much than I think I should,
frustration, mourning, loss,
an itch to craft my own finish,
a fool’s laugh–
what audacity that I’d know so much!
That I could find what I want–
but who can know what I’d want, but I?
And a crushing guilt,
an iron, unforgiving sound intoning
“bad you, bad you for caring
and not caring about a world full of pain.”
So I pull into my soul, out from this too-full world,
afraid to talk to anybody
(anybody would laugh at this stupid prioritization, I am paranoid),
trying not to cry.


Tell me what you want from me
All that I should do or be
Next time I am what I was.
Tell me what to do because
I do not know what is right
I’m not like you, I’m not bright.
Tell me how I shouldn’t count
Any summitting amount.
Tell me how I shouldn’t add
All the totals that I had.
Tell me how I must subtract
What is myth from what is fact.
Tell me not to multiply
Joy increasing, balls that fly.
Tell me how I must divide
Myself from what might bring pride
Because it still might bring shame,
Tell me to ignore the game.
Tell me I control the fate
Of the future, with force great,
So if we get something wrong
It’s since I followed along.
Tell me that my job is large.
Tell me that I am in charge.
I will know what to do then
Next time I’m seven again.