azurelunatic

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban in 15 minutes -- yes, spoilers, and sarcasm.

Dreamed that I was here, in the apartment, and that Mama was calling from Sis's cellphone to say that hot_chocolate's successor was sick and we had to take him to the vet. At this same time, I was moving my stuff out of the living room, and FatherSir and swallowtayle were teasing each other and me and FatherSir was doing his usual running commentary on the things (regarding a MoveOn.org book, on its political strategy, "That's how it gets its hooks into you.") I was quietly freaking out in my room with the door closed, because I just could not take it any more. swallowtayle had been remixing something she'd recorded with some music from some rap song, sampling the intro and layering that over a song that was already decent and making it pretty damn awesome.

There was something going on at work. I was wandering around, and it was the freshstartwrite ladies there, having a sort of get-together in the bathroom, and I was trying to figure out how to work on P's papers that needed grading. It was sort of like my job, only we were all gaming or reading in the booths instead of being on the phone with people. Hee.

But I was stressing trying to find the papers, and not knowing what they looked like nor how I was supposed to mark them...

It was a relief when the phone rang and woke me up from more job stress while sleeping.

Talked with Darkside for nearly an hour. He was gaming. He shared the issues that have been making him a stressmonkey lately. I offered sympathy. We cracked bad jokes at each other. I told him the Tale of the Jumping Monkey, apropos of my mother cleaning my room and/or my father cleaning the glove compartment of Bonnie. Got him caught up on all sorts of things, but incompletely, as there just wasn't enough time.

I want to see him, but he's sticking close to home and driving as little as possible because he's so very broke. *ponders* Hmm...

He really does need industrial-strength hugs right about now.

If only I had my camera software installed, I could have taken a shot of me cuddling eris_raven and her sitting still and purring instead of leaping away the first moment I left her not pinned down while I was holding her.

Alas, my software is not installed.

This is the smell of sweet, sweet revenge.

A while ago, there was an unspecified and evil problem on our household's Local Area Network, making it so none of the computers were talking to each other quite right. This also meant that not everyone was getting internet access reliably.

I eventually traced the problem, with a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, to the networking switch (little device that lets computers talk to each other) that was just inside my room.

It was too late at night to go completely postal on the thing, and I'd largely ignored it for some time, but today, it was daylight hours, and I remembered it.

I took it, and the hammer, outside to the garbage area. I'd previously taken a slightly-broken mesh laundry basket out there, so I put it down in order to be able to clean up some of the mess after I was done with my folding, spindling, and mutilating.

The first few swings did very little, but I saw the plastic outer casing starting to come apart. After it finally split, I gave the circuit board inside a few good wallops, and had the satisfaction of seeing a very smashed capacitor, some unhappy small logic units, and some former LEDs that would now emit nothing but darkness. ("I attack the darkness!")

I dumped the pieces of plastic and metal into the dumpster. The green circuit board clung to the mesh. I left it there, as a warning to other small devices. I walked back inside, brandishing the hammer, smirking. As I opened the door, I inhaled the scent of Dead Switch from the business end of the hammer. Ahh, the slightly acrid smell of sweet, sweet revenge.

Darkside now seems to have some free time, but his transportation is limited (by lack of gas money).

Hmm.

I wonder how to best schedule the seeing of my best friend on a regular basis... I'm thinking me, bus, to the Fiesta Mall, and him meeting me there. That's only a little ways, so the strain on his end of things is not much at all, and I am just fine on the bus. (Me walking all the way to his house after coming to the end of the bus line is another hour, as well as the three hours on the bus.)

Found some more random Star Wars toys and parts in one of my desk drawers. Gave them to the Little Fayoumis. Opened random bucket in bathroom, found assorted cables. Cleaned up random bucket from outside, started putting craft stuff in there.

Found the old Christmas lights that I'd once had lighting my room. I started tagging out bulbs, but there were so many that need replacing that it's probably time to get spares for the entire thing come Yuletide, or just get a new one. I'm not sure which is the better option.

I'm getting started on finally putting up the star in the living room. There will be approximately 90 and a half inches between the points of the star as far as the circumfrence is concerned. (Radius of star, 6 feet, times two, times 12 inches per foot, times pi, divided by five, equals the segments of the star.)

I hatehatehatehate putting things up on the ceiling. I'm always afraid I'm going to fall down, and the stepping thing is never tall enough, and I always hurt my fingers on the stupid pushpins.

There is a time and place for plugging one's book, and ... there is not. Imagine, if you will, an LJ account created solely so that the author of a book on programming could post comments to the journals of people mentioning the subject that he wrote his book on, with the advice to go buy his book.

Creative, but so very NOT acceptable to most LJ folks.

garnetdagger got a little huffy, and ranted briefly about why you should not buy Learning Perl, by Randal L. Schwartz.

A Comparison Of Late 20th Century Religious Theory
Capitalism
He who dies with the most toys wins.

Hare Krishna
He who plays with the most toys wins.

Catholicism
He who denies himself the most toys wins.

Anglican
They were our toys first.

Greek Orthodox
No, they were OURS first.

Polytheism
There are many toy makers.

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(I added that last one.)