Blogger, look out! Here comes TypePad!
Guardian article
Meanwhile, screenshots of new Blogger interface
As a beginner, I loved Blogger as much as the next girl, but if Movable Type had been an option from the start, I don't know if things would have gone the same way.
(via kottke.org and plasticbag.org)
The rest of the California photos can be seen here (Los Angeles and vicinity) and here (Disneyland).
Enjoy!
Self-serve truth blogging/It's the truth, I swear: Same blog. Different format. Go forth and post the truth! Now with all new orange. Er, orangish.
I'm so glad that the frat boys on the ground floor were able to retrieve their football from the porch below ours, where, with a thud and an "Awwwww...," it became lodged on Saturday afternoon. It's one of those footballs that makes the noise like we're under missile attack and I'm JUST SO GLAD for them. So glad, in fact, that I'd like to shoot one of those boastful, sweaty, sweary frat boys, sniper style, from my dining room window.
1. net art : adwords happening
The cost of words and Google adword economic censorship
via Harrumph!
2. Eating Meat on Fridays
Despite what my mother would have me believe, a by-the-book Catholic wouldn't do it.
3. Crock Pot Apricot-Glazed Pork Roast and Stuffing
Easter dinner menu item
4. stay tuned
Pictures from the first part of our trip, the Palm Springs-Twentynine Palms-Joshua Tree leg, are now available for your review.
These are the first official pictures (not counting one practice roll) I've taken with my new Lomo LC-A. I highly recommend the camera for quirky, off-kilter photography. Not the camera for the perfectionist, as I'm sure you'll notice. I haven't made any adjustments to these photos at all; they are exactly as printed with standard processing. I hope you enjoy this gallery as much as I do.
Disneyland and LA galleries to follow.
1. I refuse to perpetuate the weather myth.
2. The constant and overwhelming urges to leave my wallet in El Segundo and ask passers-by the way to San Jose.
3a. Time-zone math.
3b. Weird "live" TV rebroadcasts.
4. Overavailability of cameras produced in Communist countries.
5. Despite all that keeps me away, the fact that I had so much fucking fun and can't stop talking about it. And the ensuing hoarseness.
I patently refuse to go to bed before 10. Refuse!
Oh, wait. Daylight Saving Time.
1. Lorenzo Lamas was right when he said that thighs that touch are better looking than thighs in LA.
2. If it's good, there's a line. If there's not a line, it's because traffic is heavy and you're not there yet.
3. I am allergic to the sun. I don't know how this can be, and I'm not trying to be cute. There are hives involved.
4. Tall people get more sun. Really. The sun rises earlier for us, or so I hear. The sun definitely sets later for us. Do the math.
5. You must not pet the teddy bear cactus, or the teddy bear cactus will pet you.
There are times when a vacation is just what you need. Even if you're not technically escaping from anything, and life at home is actually pretty darn good.
Then there are times when you're sick from the moment you leave home. By the time your plane touches down, you're on the verge of puking. A few hours later, you are, by the grace of God, in an emergency room somewhere in the desert, rehydrating fluids literally coursing through your veins.
The vomiting will stop -- things will be looking up. A doctor will prescribe for you some antibiotics, to deter the progression of what might or might not have been a minor infection. All will seem right once again.
You will venture out into the desert, where you will be badly burned by the sun. You will spend the next few days prickly and miserable, hot and cold, and itchy.
This has been one of those vacations.
Regardless, I'm having a grand old time. We spent two bad days and two good days in Twentynine Palms, seeing friends and visiting Joshua Tree, and now we're in LA. I made Marc stop at a place called Cyberjava because I couldn't walk anymore. He's a good guy. He says he believes he suggested stopping. I say nobody's supposed to walk this much in LA.
Erik's put us up for the night at The Standard, for which we are really not attractive enough. We're pretending we're eccentric celebrities. I'm regretting the hasty explanation I provided for the valet who delivered our luggage to the room: "We don't usually travel with Saltine crackers..."
A few steps away is the Hollywood Walk of Fame, so now I think we'll go for some more walking, and try to guess what some of those more "mainstream" celebrities are known for.
I'm using my new (and tragically hip) Lomo camera to document this adventure, so I probably won't be posting pictures unless I can convince Marc that we need a new scanner. We do have one, but it was a hand-me-down and we've never found a suitable power adaptor. Actually, we're staying at Erik's from tomorrow on, so maybe we'll take advantage of his generosity and use his scanner.
I just had a heart attack.
They are testing the sprinklers in the building today (as they are wont to do every week-or-so here). I was planning a simple morning of laundry and a shower, before I head out to run errands.
I was standing in the laundry room, naked, sorting, when they apparently decided to test the fire alarms, too.
Two problems: first, I was naked, and being surrounded by clothes would have been great, except that they were all dirty, and I wasn't about to evacuate (my natural response to hearing the fire alarm) in dirty boxers and yesterday's running bra. Second, the fire alarm features the loudest and most ear-piercing buzz-screech combination you can imagine. In this apartment, the sound happens to be based about six feet up the laundry room wall. Coincidentally, my ear happened to be located about six feet up my naked laundry sorting body.
That first alarm, thankfully, turned out to be just a short blip. I'm guessing that's an indication that I'm not about to be burned alive. I feel safe because the one time that we really did have to evacuate, that godforsaken alarm rang for about twenty minutes straight, and then some fire trucks came.
I am thinking that it's probably best to wait until the alarms cease to start the laundry and jump in the shower (so I've put my robe back on, you'll be glad to hear), because the sign downstairs about the sprinkler testing did say something specific about discolored water, which also happens to be one of my greatest shower fears (along with water bugs, black mold, and being suddenly and violently wrapped and smothered by the shower curtain).
Now they are just sounding the alarm for about a second every minute or so. I can hear the collective jump of my fellow tenants. On second thought, that might be the collective jump of my internal organs.
Is there anything quite like a) starting your day with carefully timed jerks of panic, and b) eventually desensitizing yourself to the sound of the fire alarm?
Please welcome back, in a far more beautiful design than ever before seen here, artfully executed by my brilliant and handsome husband, for your pleasure and enjoyment, the color orange!
Welcome to a hard know to think., V. 3.00.
You've probably already seen the weblog, but have you read the fan fiction?
An excerpt, from Foreign Exchange by "Laura..."
She was startled into awareness as her hairband snapped. Her thick black hair fell softly to her shoulders. “I—I have a boyfriend,” she said, backing away.
“Franzen is a pussy,” Neal said. But how could he—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of Neal’s lips crushing down on hers. His heat fogged her glasses, and as he pulled away, she took them off. He looked at her. “Take off your sweater.”
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