*boggle*

More of the same weather - cold rainy gloomy. *purr* Not much doing today; for the past few days Chris has been out doing tech support practically reinstalling everything on this poor guy's computer, but he's home today and doesn't have to go out there again until Saturday.

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Kicking myself to finish unfinished projects, too. Slow going, but I'm sure it'll get better. This is my kind of weather, really - not snowy (shudder, hate snowy) but not too hot at all. Cool and cloudy. You can really tell; I've been very productive this week, I actually have energy. Of course, this could be something else, too. But I shall not argue. Maybe this weekend I'll hunt up my sewing stuff again and break out the new machine. Curtains are in my future. With carp on them. :-) Woot.

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Also have many new icons. I need a better Portland one. I want a picture of the signpost in Pioneer Square, but I'm not sure my camera's up to the task.

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From diepunyhumans: I try not to be judgemental, but ... ooooooooooookay. (probably not worksafe.)

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And the Barsuk Records 'treats' sampler is really quite good.

I want one

Or a few dozen.
From boingboing_net: Molecular Model Kits.
(I'm thinking of nihilistech and hitchhiker here, but I'm sure there are more of you.)

Yoshimi ... you wouldn't let those robots defeat me ...

tallin and I have this ongoing argument about Yoshimi and the Pink Robots. He says they're merely machines turned to an evil end, and that because they're programmable, they can't really be evil, they're just misunderstood.
I say they're evil, because otherwise, why would Yoshimi be trying to whip their pink robot butts?
Fiction writer vs. programmer - deathmatch!
(The reason we're married is that no one else would have either one of us, we're both individually too weird for anyone else to cope with. We spawned. Ph34r us.)

*strangles*

I swear, if I find one more website/program that sacrifies actual usability for aesthetics, I'm going to find the jackass web designer and kill them with my bent stick. (Yes, I have a bent stick, why do you ask?)

Yes, javascript is pretty and useful in some instances. But perhaps instead of using your ridiculous little javascript bullshit whatever that doesn't work properly in Firefox to do such difficult things as download a .pdf file (which I hate for an entirely different reason, but that's another matter), perhaps I might like to be able to right click and download the file myself. It's not that /hard/ to download a file. I mean, really now.

Oh right, that's not /pretty/, not does it enable you to show off your l33t javascript skillz.

*beats the bastards to death with a wet PHP manual and a copy of MySQL*

it's all about details (drabble: ryan)

(note: shadesong was the one that originally inspired this piece, so ... yeah. Partly her idea, partly mine. *mwah*)

Rigel Prime was the glitziest, glaringest planet this side of Darvan II; a place more Vegas than Vegas, more decadent than the Romans, built on money and impenetrable consumerism and the flickering fog of constant fads. It was a place where dreams came true. At least they did if you had enough money to throw at them. That was the secret.

The young man who was headed down the main drag of Rigel Prime's capital city seemed positively ordinary. At least he was earth-ordinary, which was only mildly extraordinary here. Boredom was a spectator sport on Rigel, with its participants constantly caught up in the proverbial battle of who could care less. If Godzilla and Mothra decided to have their epic battle here instead of Tokyo Harbor, the Rigellians would just yawn and turn to the next page of their menus.

Yes, the only things not ordinary about him were the satisfied grin on his face, the pleased little wiggle in his walk. He was carrying a secret behind those yellow-green eyes and in that patchily highlighted hair, and that, if anything, was what made most of the passers-by look up at him. Secrets were currency, after all. The populace needed something to be bored about.

He turned into a large building and found his way up to the second floor, circling nearly around the entire outer donut of the dual-ring structure before he reached his destination, which was a door unremarkably like all the other doors.

The receptionist took a moment to survey him as she looked up from painting her claws and inclined her head toward the back room. "The doctor will see you, Mr. Yarrow."

He smiled and nodded and disappeared into the inner sanctum.

"Ah, Ryan." The doctor nodded briskly and opened a file on his tablet computer. "Did you ever manage to decide what it was you wanted?"

"Yes. Yes, I think I have."

"You understand this is terribly expensive." he cautioned. "And your insurance won't cover it, of course; it's completely cosmetic."

"I realise that."

"Just making sure." He nodded briskly. "So. What are we doing today?"

Ryan pulled a picture out of his pocket; a tattered, folded earth-photograph, years old and light years distant, of a grey-brown tabby cat lounging in a faraway window. "This. I want the tail. Just the tail."