kespernorth: (lolcats)
A: This isn't mess, just so you know, I've just got it out so that I can index it.
B: I thought the mew had already indexed it?
A: That's different. This is going on the Internet.
B: But she is a search engine! Doesn't she automatically put things on the Internet?
A: Her database is proprietary.
B: Oh, so she's like Lexis/Nexis. How do we get a subscription?
[ profile] day_the_elf: Salmon treats!
B: Ah, okay.
A: Her metadata is really hard to decode, though.
B: Yeah. And her API is really poorly documented!
kespernorth: (Default)
I just tested my work email address because I haven't gotten any work email in three hours, and I was afraid the server had gone down.

Need I really say more?
kespernorth: (Default)
"Cute! Cute iPods! They're like kittens!" -- Allyson, enthusing about the new line of multicolored Nanos.
kespernorth: (Default)
A: I want things. It's what I do.
B: You are made of want.
A: So is the mew. I think that's why I want the mew so often -- I want this thing that wants. It's meta-want.
kespernorth: (Default)
A: Saga is sideways. Do you like to be sideways, Saga?
(cat squirms)
B: You do not like sideways? Are you a merlot?
kespernorth: (Default)
Me: "I blew away the httpd.conf, but it's still doing it. Must be something else."
Other dev: "Nuke the site from orbit?"
Me: "Did that too, but turns out the queen alien was still clinging to the belly of the dropship."
kespernorth: (Default)
"It looks like a tube," says Allyson.
"It does?"
"Yeah!" She picks up the loaf of freshly-baked bread she's just made and waves it about. "A tube!"
"It is not a tube," I say, frowning at the loaf of bread, which bears a remarkable resemblance in shape to an AirPort access point.
"It's a series of tubes," she says, cutting off another slice.
"It looks more like a disk to me."
"Yeah, that's what I meant."
"What? A tube is like a disk. It's a geometric shape."
kespernorth: (happy irken logo)
(Disclaimer: Dialogue heavily edited for amusement value. There was a lot more swearing, a lot less coherency, and I didn't really call Allyson a wench.)

Let me tell you of the events -- the DIRE EVENTS -- that unfolded this last Fourth of July.

I regret most deeply having not had the opportunity to tell you of this sooner, but I have had to wrestle with the dread beast SLEEP and attend to the DEFROSTING of the UNHOLY SPINACH.

Let it first be known that we had some of Allyson's coworkers over for a party involving exotic meats such as caribou, ostrich and elk. This
went well. And then we watched the fireworks of Kirkland, Bellevue and Redmond from our balcony, and this, too, went well.

And then everyone else left, and Allyson and I began to get ready for bed. So I went to get a glass of water. Such a small, simple thing, a glass of water -- yet it can lead to a man's downfall.

It was with the best of intentions that I opened the refrigerator door, thus intending to obtain the cold-Brita-filtered water within. Yet when I did so, a glass casserole dish that Allyson had just put in the fridge (rather precariously, because the firdge is overfull with food intended for an SCA event banquet this weekend) FELL OUT and DASHED itself upon the bottom shelf of the fridge, SHATTERING into FIVE HORRIBLE PIECES of such EXQUISITE SHARPNESS that one could, indeed, concievably cut one's self upon them.

And these HIDEOUSLY, VICIOUSLY JAGGED SHARDS did fall even further, and yea, one glanced fleetingly upon my foot, leading me to say: "Ow."

The others smashed to the floor and divided themselves further, into a million glittering splinters.

And thus I said, "God damn it, why didst thou not ensure that thy foodstuffs were properly balanced within yon fridge?"

And Allyson spake unto me, "Ist thou unharmed?"

Thus I said "Yea, but yon Tomatoes and Lettuce are now rendered useless by your folly. Bring unto me yon broom and dustpan, wench, and begone with thee, for there are many sharp objects here which may impale thy feet."

And thus Allyson fetched the Broom and Dustpan, and turned on the Lights. And there was Light.

And Allyson looked upon the Light, and said, "That's a hell of a lot of blood."

And I looked down, and lo, there was blood EVERYWHERE!

A veritable TORRENT, SPURTING FORTH from the main joint of my BIG TOE, upon which a shard of glass had briefly touched, and then gone the way of all material things. Such a quantity of blood was there that I did feel my knees become weak, and my head become dizzy, and I said unto

"Well, fuck."

And thus did Allyson tell me to Sit, and ignoring my DIVINE COMMANDMENT to Not Come Any Closer Lest She Step On Broken Glass, she did make use
of her extensive first aid training to stainch the blood with paper towels and sterilze gauze, then competently tape the vicious wound upon
my toe.

The GUSH of my PRECIOUS BODILY FLUIDS thus staunched, she went back to bed at my behest, and I set about the task of sweeping up the broken
glass and bits of tomato and lettuce leaf and other sundry casualties of this APOCALYPSE of BURGER TOPPINGS.

Then I got a glass splinter in my foot.

Here endeth the lesson.
kespernorth: (Default)
Looks like someone's gone and hacked YouTube. Heh.
kespernorth: (happy irken logo)
I got my open water scuba diving certification when I was twelve and living in Colorado. I did my first real (i.e., not in a pool) dive cold March morning, in a frigid and murky reservoir with about a foot of visibility at high altitude. Colorado is known for producing very good divers, as it has some of the worst and least interesting diving conditions possible and you have to be both competent and committed to learn to dive there.

"You're a reservoir dork," said Six, as I related this tidbit.

I don't quite recall what we were listening to at the party, but it prompted Six to say:

"This music is asymptotically approaching disco!"

Funny, eh? Now I can delete those notes from my Treo.
kespernorth: (happy irken logo)
Allyson is ironing some linen she is going to sew. Saga attempts to index the iron as it is heating. "No, Saga!" cries Allyson. "Not for mews! This is a very important not-for-mews distinction!"

I say, "It is VERBOTEN."

Allyson says, "Ah, but she is DEFEKTIV. She may not understand VERBOTEN."

Last night, we went out for fondue with Six. The dessert course was a tasty composition called a Flaming Turtle, wherein Bacardi 151 is poured over and mixed with milk chocolate, caramel and pecans. As we were enjoying this, Allyson accidentally drips some chocolate on her chest, and a graceful rivulet of chocolatey sweetness arcs down the curve and swell of her alabaster cleavage. I point it out to her, and she deftly wipes it up, delicately licking her fingers.

Six is quiet for a moment, an admiring expression on his face, then says, deadpan:

"...I'll be in my bunk."


kespernorth: (Default)
Kesper North

February 2011

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