Week 49 (14)
A
side note, as I continue to work on something else.
Thursday. 11:27
A great secondary use of Google is checking the spelling of a common phrase from another language; discovering that other people have misspelled it the way you were about to before double-checking is but a lagniappe.
(Yes. I’m procrastinating. What’s it to you?)
While
I’m working on something else.
Thursday, 11:24
There’s just a certain je ne sais quoi to bizarre Japanese Flash-animated music videos about heaven. You’ll need Shockwave and a passing interest in Hello Kitty iconography—aw, heck, even if you don’t know from Badtz Maru, you’ll still find it endearingly creepy.
But you’ll still need Shockwave, darn it.
The
North Pole?
Thursday, 09:12
I mean—a certain degree of metaphor and simile is to be desired when you’re writing about sex. You’ve got to watch it—you’ve got to be careful—because this is a topic which we think about in highly coded ways, and you must always be vigilant that the logic of your metaphor or simile—the pattern of the code you’re using to write about sex—doesn’t overwhelm the reality of what you’re writing about. —All too often, we write about the sex we’ve read about, and not the sex we’ve had, and you do that too many times, it becomes a game of Telephone, and what comes out the other end makes no sense, and has no bearing on reality. On fucking qua fucking.
But—for God’s sake. The North Pole?
Drop
everything.
Monday, 17:31
Forget all that I just told you, actually. Or do all that, but first, go here and read what’s there. Good stuff—naughty stories by the singularly nymmed oosh; each worthy of thought, care, consideration, fogged glasses, hitched breath, swallowing of excess saliva, a faint sheen of perspiration on the brow, a moment’s adjustment of one’s posture in the chair, suddenly grown uncomfortable; a little murmur, to oneself, perhaps.
David Chess has (temporarily; knock wood, cross fingers, squint over your shoulder and spit) lost the ISP hosting his scintillating log—lost? Well, no. Not exactly. It’s not like he looked up one day and said, honey, have you seen the ISP? It’s not the sort of thing you leave in your other pants, after all. But what else would you call disappearing with no warning and not even a forwarding phone number? —Anyway. His log’s currently being quasi-hosted over at ceoln.pitas.com. Best wishes for a speedy recovery.
Proving
I read Metafilter.
Monday, 17:21
I’m gonna join in on “Everybody link to KPMG day.” I agree; their policy of requiring a formal agreement between both parties before “allowing” links to their site is silly, antithetical to the nature of the web, detrimental to themselves, and utterly and unequivocably unenforceable. Links away!
nicholas urfé
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