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Scrapbook of a Friday

As I chatted, nearly singing, suddenly there came a ringing,
As of someone gently pinging, pinging at my fir'wall's ports.
Distinctly I remember, it was in that long September
That eternal, bleak September when morons flocked like flies on Usenet's friendly boards

Dear Mountain Dew,

Extreme sports are more fun as a participant sort of thing. I prefer participating in sports like Extreme Programming, except for that part where I don't like to share a computer. (And Jackson Hole the sporting resort always makes me think of Jackson's Whole, and I think I'm staying away from anything that reminds me of that place.)

You're missing your target demographic,
the Lunatic

theferrett gets political, talking about the massed opinions of the US. I get political too, in the comments, and my thoughts on the war (rather not-PC for a Good Little Girls Raised Quaker) come out.

Pandora is awesome. I have to admire the sheer Geek of the Music Genome Project. These music geeks with too much time on their hands decided to go ahead and analyze songs for their component elements, and recommend stuff to their friends based on the elements in the favorite songs of their friends and similar elements they found in other random songs. Then they wound up taking it to the 'net. Much streaming internet radio has audible ads, which are t3h suxx0r. This does not, and it is a thing of joy and beauty unto the ears and the heart. (This has iTunes and Amazon.com search links for each song, and an ability to save a list of favorites for later perusal.)

I went Out today, for a new bus card, for the returning of slightly-overdue library books, and whatever other mild not-quite-trouble I could get into. This turned out to be clothing-shopping. I now sport a new skirt (tiered, comfortable cotton/elastic blend, ankle-length) and two new bras (also with a high cotton content). The bras, marvels of structural engineering that they are, manage to be attractive and comfortable as well. For the first time in far too long, there isn't uncomfortable plastic boning poking into my sides as the bra inevitably twists around. (Some bras without underwires have side-boning, which can get painful.)

The skirt is gorgeous. It's full. It swishes. It's not quite full enough to swirl, but it gives the illusion of being able to do so. It's full enough for me to pose in my usual tomboy poses and not have it ride up to my knees. ataniell93's discussions of fashion have been rubbing off on me and resonating off my childhood reading (the Little House books, Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery, et cetera) and reminding me that short skirts do nothing for my legs and less for my hips, and long skirts make that glimpse of well-formed ankle and calf that much more tantalizing.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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