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Action-packed fun stack.

*headdesk* Time to dig up paperwork and skewer the company that was supposed to be the middleman for my car payments. IT DOES NOT WORK IF THEY DO NOT MIDDLE. First, though, to contact my *bank* and tell them that the middleman flaked out for some reason unbeknownst to me, although it's becoming beknownst in a fucking hurry. Since my bank and my car loan are the same corporate entity, I rather think that I should like to slice the middleman into ribbons cut out the middleman.

When I am given a list of suggestions for an item, suggestions not intended to be applied together, it amuses me to attempt to think of the consequences if the suggestions were applied serially. For example, Target's suggestions for uses for a shopping bag. One should not carry out suggestion #8, "kitty litter liner", and then carry out #9, "tomorrow's lunch bag", in that order.

Web Geek snagged me at work2 today, as I was cruising through; I paused to BS with him, and then he borrowed me to look over his shoulder to try and hack out exactly what it was that he was doing wrong when he was trying to reproduce these results that someone had in their Access thing in pure SQL. I had fuck-all clue, but I poked with him, and I hope I helped. I had some thoughts when I was coming back home; I should see if I can shoot him an email with the design that's working halfway in my head; maybe he can get something more coherent out of it than I can.

I retrieved our old phone from the old apartment; there's less and less there for the cleanup this next weekend. Good! hcolleen has a message from Saturday afternoon on the answering machine. Chatted briefly with the Lady Downstairs, the one with the cat named Leia. She still thinks hcolleen and I are a couple, I think, and there's really very little tactful way to say that while her guess was decent, it was also wrong. Especially when she hasn't said, she's just implying.

Have called company. Have left message. Their hours compared to my work hours are just sucktastic. 9-6, EST. Fortunately, I can leave a message.

Message from V: "I'm working in Ohio for another couple of weeks and my internet access is limited, but please tell both Stacey and Michelle I said YES and I'll be in touch soon."

Have (finally) retrieved vacuum cleaner and cat food from car.

Management is going to see what will need to be done in order to get me the ability to work from home at certain points. (Management doesn't really mind the idea of me going 90% work-from home, truth be told, since it's a bit of a commute and she'd rather not have me burn up my pay in gas money, and she'd rather not have me burning out from working longer shifts when I could be doing a few hours here and there from home.) So the current game plan is to get the requirements, get Madman working for my desktop, and then get Thalia cleaned up enough that she can be used as an actual laptop and work machine. (read: remove all porn, uninstall time-wasting apps.) I already have web access to the email; I'll just need to be able to get to certain parts of the network.

Work1 today had certain moments. One of the ones that made me happiest was when the two ladies with their cookie website called in with their tale of woe: their web designer had got a website half-up, with template defaults hanging out all over and information that was just plain wrong, and then stopped answering their calls, and had been out of contact for a week. They were vexed with him, but most importantly they wanted what was up there to stop hanging out half-done; they wanted some sort of construction page up, at least. So I took a look at what was there, and hatched a cunning plan. It wasn't a regular plain website: there was scripting all over. PHP. Fun stuff. So I found the primary index page, and had them rename it from example.com/cooking/index.php to example.com/cooking/index.php1. Then I had them go out to the root directory, locate welcome.html, make a copy of it to /cooking/, and rename it index.php. The ladies just about intellectually followed what I was having them do, and were pleased as pie when they saw that their site was no longer hanging out half-done. And it's going to be a quick and easy thing to reverse, versus what they were afraid they'd have to do -- delete all the stuff up in there or something.

Because I am a dorkfish, I took ten minutes out of my evening to email the web geek the stuff my head cooked up while I was driving home. I'll have to see if the query structure I gave him is at all sound. (I mentioned I try to design things, right?) Now it is well past bedtime. I should go there.
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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