Blogger, the blogging portal through which this site exists, has upgraded to a new version. I’ve been reticent to switch, particularly as it has been interminably stuck in a Beta stage (“beta” being the latest buzzword for “it doesn’t work but because we’re a publicly traded company we need to produce output for the sake of keeping the price of our shares consistent”). However, apparently, it’s out of Beta so I will be switching to it today.
What scares me is that the template – those bits of code which I’ve been polishing like gemstones for the last year – will require upgrading. I don’t have as much time to polish as I used to, so I hope the changes aren’t too heinous (let alone the hope that my site simply doesn’t break in half).
In any case, here it goes…
P.S. Coming Up: book reviews!
Update (05/01/07): the switch wasn’t too bad, but now that bloody Blogger Nav-Bar is at the top again. Bastards.
I don’t normally talk about “me”, because there are more than enough blogs out there that do a much better job at that sort of thing. However, it would be strange if I didn’t post an excerpt from an article that was published today in the Austin American-Statesman by Denise Gamino. It concerns the murder of my uncle in 1979, which has since gone into the territory of unsolved or ‘cold’ cases.
Link: A calendar book, a guitar and a very cold case
Michael Cahill chased his musical dream down the street, around his apartment and through the backyard.
It was the last thing he ever did.
Seconds later, he was shot to death in his driveway, a single bullet through the middle of his forehead.
Cahill was running after his beloved guitar. It disappeared into the darkness in the hands of the very odd burglar whom Cahill startled, and then raced after.
Mike Cahill died in Austin on April 13, 1979.
He was 28.
His murder is still unsolved.
His guitar is still missing.
And his family and friends still mourn a young troubadour whose poetic recordings are preserved on an obscure album pressed posthumously by friends as a memorial.
Cahill’s murder case has been cold now for 27 years, almost as many years as he lived.
It is an old Austin murder forgotten by most. Perhaps it seemed nothing more than an unfortunate, random killing of a University of Texas dropout in love with making music back when Austin overflowed with career-free hippie types marching to their own casual rhythms.
But those touched by the inexplicable killing in the Bouldin Creek neighborhood of South Austin think of it differently.
To them, it will always be the haunting “Book of Days” murder.
It’s not my intention (or preference) to speak about family or personal matters here, but Michael’s story deserves attention. This is the least that I can do for him and his memory.