It's a nice way to wake up, really.

I pry myself from her arms to turn off the alarm clock, and then crawl back into bed, where she wraps herself around me again.

I kiss her forehead. She rubs my back. The bed is warm.

It's a nice way to wake up.

Outside, the sky is stormy grey and heavy, leaves on the asphalt and wind coursing through the naked trees. I stumble to the sink, shave in the darkness with a cup of water from the microwave.

She turns on her side. I wonder if she's watching me; it's too dark to tell if her eyes are open. She once said she liked watching me do "the mundane stuff": drying my hair, brushing my teeth, lacing my boots.

I hear thunder in the distance, a low rumble. She breathes through her dreams with the rhythm of the predawn world.

I dress next to a small space heater, find my wallet and keys, and put on my jacket. She likes the feeling of this jacket against her face as I hold her, likes the way it smells of cigarette smoke and soap and aftershave and whatever else. Or so she says.

Knife in my boot, keys in my hand, I'm ready to go: kitten vs world. I crouch low by the bed before I leave, eyes level with her lips. Her eyes open into sleepy crescents, and she smiles at me and fingers my jacket.

I kiss her hand, then her temple. She mutters something incomprehensible in her sleepy delerium, some inner thought culled from a time out of mind. She lets go of my jacket.

As I walk out the door, game face showing, I hear her soft voice behind me:

"Have a good day at work."

As the door closes - quietly, quietly, everything is quiet this morning - I see her roll back over, eyes closed again.

It's a nice way to wake up. It's everything I've wanted when I lay alone at night wondering what my state of affairs will be like in five years. It's simple, yes, but it's all I've wanted in my cold and dark mornings.

It's a nice way to wake up.

[ this is something i could get used to ]

[ i miss having this ]

[ please give me a chance ]

This morning was like Beatles day or something in Atlanta. Every radio station was playing Beatles songs for my entire drive to work. Even 99x was spamming Beatles covers. Don't know what that's about, but it was seriously starting to freak me out. Beatles are fine and all, but for chrissake, you don't expect them to be played continuously these days.

In other music-related news, Billy Idol's birthday is today. Which is, y'know.. cool. And stuff. Right, then.

Er. Little update here. I've just been informed that the proliferation of Beatles songs permeating the airwaves is due to George Harrison's death.

* kitten blinks

Rest well, George.. you and your mates had more fans than Jesus Christ.

I took a personality disorder test, and I'd say the results are fairly accurate. I can't comment on "histrionic", and I have only a vague idea of what it means to be "schizoid", but as for the rest, well.

Especially the dependant thing. But that should come as a shock to nobody. Anyway, the results:

Paranoid: High
Schizoid: Moderate
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: High
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: Low
Avoidant: High
Dependent: Very High
Obsessive-Compulsive: High

O ye fools. Thou hast invoked the wrath of kitten upon ye, and ne'er shall thine soul rest, excepting that ye be cast into kitten's Cathedral Of Hate, e're ye shall rot.

Expect a major essay/rant about this soon.

He comes forth like a knight in the darkness.
He divides the world into four parts.
He brings the storm.

Get ready.

So yes. Neither Bryan nor myself have gotten around to posting anything substantial about this weekend. So consider this another trailer:

[harb] So kitten was drunk off his ass, after we went to a couple bars, and he was sitting at his kitchen table, purring.
[harb] I looked over the couch and went "Er, are you purring?" "No." "You are." "Aren't."
[homeslice] HAHA.
[homeslice] Why doesn't that strike me as odd?
[kitten] Uh.
[kitten] I don't remember this at all.
[kitten] Was this when I was so far gone I couldn't move my leg?
[harb] It was a few minutes before you finally stumbled to bed.
[kitten] Oh.
[harb] Yes.
[kitten] Heh.
[kitten] Stupid leaves.
[harb] Also, you closed the door and then leaned against it.
[harb] And proceeded to slide down the door, and sit there, giggling.
[kitten] Yes, I know.
[kitten] :)
[harb] You're very strange, Andy.
* kitten sighs.
[kitten] I don't look forward to your report on this weekend.
[homeslice] I DO!
[harb] Don't worry, I'll skip over the bit with the zebra print one-piece.
[kitten] Please do.
[Dan] Pardon me whilst I vomit.
[harb] Actually, I made that bit up.
[harb] kitten is way too goth to wear zebra print anything.

It was a pretty fun weekend, really.

So I get home yesterday and notice that it's a bit.. quiet. Nothing I can definitively pin down, but there's a definite silence throughout the place.

Later I discover that having grown accustomed to the constant hum of the pilot light, the cessation of which seems eerie. That's right, my gas has been cut off due to nonpayment.

Well. I'll pay them tomorrow, I think as I go to bed, and live without hot water for a few days. Won't be fun, but that's the price I pay for being a moron. It'll be expensive as hell - 300 dollars or more - but I can handle that. Yeah, this is no problem.

No problem, that is, until I attempt to check my email, and discover that my phone service has also been terminated. I owe them $272. Don't ask me how. I paid two months ago - surely one month's late fees can't be that high.

I went to sleep not knowing if my electricity would be on tomorrow to power my alarm clock and wake me up. This, ladies and gentlemen, is not a good feeling.

Miraculously, I did wake up on time, because my alarm woke me. I took a pleasantly bone-chilling, flesh-freezing shower, and microwaved a mug of water to shave with. I tried calling the power company before I left to beg for mercy, but then I remembered I had no phone.

When I got to work this morning, I called them - and was informed that their "computers were down". This, I believe, is probably code for "We're tracing your number and sending serious-looking men with menacing briefcases and slim wristwatches over to you, that's how much you owe us."

If I can just fight the hired goons off for a week, I'll be okay with that. I get paid next Tuesday. It means I won't have gas for a while, but I can live with that if I must. Phone and electricity, however, are of paramount importance to me.

I'm done now.

extreme tiredness disclaimer

Bryan is on his way back to Boston or New York or whatever. It's now 0130 and as I'm sitting here finishing off one of the many hot pockets he left behind, I realize that although I should provide yet another one of my trademark long-winded posts about the weekend, I have work tomorrow morning. Or this morning. Whichever. I'm really tired.

So, in no particular state of coherency, I am providing you, the loyal reader, with a flurry of more or less meaningless phrases taken out of context. Explanations and full disclosure to follow in a later post (possibly while I'm pretending to be busy at work tomorrow, eh).

There's leaves out here. But that's not funny anymore.

I say there, old woman!

Would you take that coat off? Would you? Is that asking too much?

Is that Princess Leia or Queen Amadala?

Wait a second, where are we?

I want some of those chicken thin.. fin.. er. The uh. Chicken, you know.

Got a shotgun under there, or what?

I really hate those fuckin' goths. Fuckin' hang around wearing black and the trenchcoats and those stupid spikes, don't know what the fuck's wrong with them.

I can't move my leg@#$%

You make me sad.

I think we're at the nexus of the universe.

If Arthur C Clarke lives in Sri Lanka, then whose glass skull is this?

With the record selection and the mirror's reflection, I'mma dancing with myself.

The Extreme Teen Bible! Bonecrunching salvation action!

Somewhere between Mars and Venus.

Ladies and gentlemen, we interupt your regularly scheduled ranting, bitching, griping, and occasional game reviews to take you live directly to #mirrorshades, where kitten and Dan face off in the battle of the century:

[kitten] Bring it on.
[kitten] What's this trash I'm hearin'?
[kitten] You know good and well it's my rhymes you should be fearin'.
[kitten] You had your chance, you won't get another. Your rhyme skills are weak would shame my grandmother.
[Dan] Shit, you say you got mad rhymes but I ain't seen none yet.
[Dan] I've been hearin' better disses from that motherfucker Bret.
[Dan] Shut your punk-ass mouth or I'll pull out my gat
[Dan] And you'll runnin' like a nigga in a 'No Fear' hat.
[kitten] You rhyme skills are weak like pickled ham.
[kitten] You ain't gonna pass my rhyme exam.
[kitten] I don't know what you were thinkin'.
[kitten] I rhyme so hard, I'm stinkin'.
[kitten] I lap you while your turn signal's still blinkin'.
[kitten] I'll cross the finish line, the rhyme trophy's all mine.
[kitten] If rhyme skills were vision, you would be blind.
[Dan] I'm the school-fuckin'-master and I'm givin' the test.
[Dan] Yo rhymes so weak they make Vanilla Ice look like the best.
[Dan] I be rollin' with da bitches, I be rollin' in da green
[harbwerk] er.
[Dan] While yo pussy ass in lyin' dead beneath a Coke machine
[kitten] Dan, do you know who I am?
[kitten] I'm the all-time reigning king of the jam.
[kitten] They call me Mr Cash, cause I got the rhyme stash.
[kitten] Now, I gotta be frank - there's plenty of fly in *my* rhyme tank
[kitten] About 20 steps below me, that's where you rank.
[Dan] And I think you missed the reason that they call you Mr. Cash
[Dan] All the true pimps, they be laughin' cause you payin' for snatch.
[kitten] Me, pay for snatch? Think again, friend.
[kitten] I got the style makes ladies go 'round the bend.
[kitten] They all call me daddy while they suck on my fatty.
[kitten] Now step aside while I put on my hatty.
[kitten] You ain't got the flow. You're white like snow.
[kitten] You're just another freak in my bass sideshow.
[Dan] All the ladies who go 'round the bend is just dirty sluts
[Dan] And they runnin' fo' the alley so they can puke up they's guts
[Dan] Just like every bitch who sets her eyes upon yo' tiny dick
[Dan] They all laughin' while they's pukin, 'cause yo' shit's CRAZY-SICK.
[kitten] Oh, I see, so you think you're bad?
[kitten] I'm a rhyming old-school grad.
[kitten] I beat up a guy in fifth grade. I think his name was Chad.
[kitten] You keep sayin' you ain't got the time
[kitten] But then you come back with another weak-ass rhyme.
[kitten] Your rhymes are tired. Your rhymes are cheap.
[kitten] Your rhymes are so cliched they put me to sleep.
[kitten] So why not do the world a favor
[kitten] And shut the fuck up. You ain't got no flavor.
[kitten] You ain't got the flow. I'm sick of your shit.
[kitten] You rhyme like a schoolgirl, so why don't you just admit
[kitten] That your vocab is weak and your rhyme scheme is broken.
[kitten] Run along, Dan. kitten has spoken.
[Dan] You an old-school grad all right, and it shows in your style
[Dan] Yo' rhymes done missed the bus by a motherfuckin' mile
[Dan] The flow you droppin's from the 80's and ain't been seen since
[Dan] 'cause your rappin' is more ass than a video by Prince
[Dan] Now you just take your little cowboy hat an hit the fuckin' road
[Dan] 'cause I'm a mad al Queda bombah who's about to explode.
[kitten] I'm guessing you fuck as weak as you rhyme
[kitten] Which would explain why you're here, wasting my time.
[kitten] With your lyrical prose that shows ineptitude
[kitten] They have no depth, they're base and crude.
[kitten] You assult good taste with bad metaphors
[kitten] Weak analogies and forced rhymes galore.
[kitten] So take my advice and give up this shit.
[kitten] Cause bitch, you ain't down, and you ain't legit.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. It's great to be back.

#kuro5hin transforms ever-so-briefly into "kitten's support group":

[qp] There are so many things one can do with one's life, being unhappy for an extended period of time is unexcusable.
[kitten] qp: That's nonsense.
[qp] Nonsense? What's holding you down? You're young and single.
[kitten] The whole 'being single' thing holds me back, quite frankly.
[qp] Then get married, geeze. This isn't rocket science.
[kitten] Oh, okay.
[Net_Fish] kitten, sounds like you need to talk to our motovational speaker himself, tokage.
[kitten] I'll just go pick up a woman from Brides R Us on the way home, eh.
[EvilTri] kitten: it's cheaper at kmart
[qp] You could do that, but you'll end up paying too much.
[kitten] EvilTri: I figure this is an investment.
[mikael_j] www.bride.ru
[qp] Try Nuptial4Less
[Net_Fish] oh, in that case, consult Inoshiro about which realdoll to order

It's nice to know people take me seriously.

This is hardly new - it has, in fact, been going on since the first Harry Potter book came out - but the friendly folks over at exposingsatanism.org would like you to know that Harry Potter is evil and will turn your children into wizards and witches and warlocks, oh my.

Just as many adults are amused and are absorbing the content of these books. And what is sickening, Christians, or so-called Christians, are part of the fan club. I knew nothing of Harry Potter until mail started coming in asking if it was ok for teachers in Christian schools to be reading children books about mythology and witchcraft!!!! Did you read that correctly? In Christian schools!!!!!

OMG!!!!!!11 Christian schools???? Okay. Nobody panic, alright? We'll get to the bottom of this!

Are we now so far gone that the church can't tell what Witchcraft is?

A cutting question. I for one would answer with a question of my own: "Are you so far gone that you can't tell fiction when you see it? Are you so far gone that you honestly think witches exist?" Then again, I suppose believing that witches are in our midst is no more ridiculous than believing in a big invisible man in the sky..

Preachers are not doing what they are supposed to do. They are to expose this trash and inform the flock.

No, I did not make that up. He actually used the word "flock" - as in "sheep" - to describe church-going, god-fearing Christians.

Now just as Halloween is an abomination to God, so is writing books that glorify witchcraft or any kind of mythology.

Normally, it's my job to destroy - or at least, mock relentlessly - Christian theology and practices at every opportunity, but this guy is doing such an unwittingly good job of it himself, I don't think I need to say much. I would like him to explain how his Bible is less a myth than any other, though.

What a better way to introduce tolerance and acceptance of what God calls an abomination, then in children's books? If you can get them when they are young, then you have them for life. Its the oldest marketing scheme there is.

One that Christians - actually, most religions - are very adept at. How old are most people when they are baptized? How old are most people for their first Church outing, their first Sunday school lesson, where they are told "This is the only truth"?

Anyway. Go take a look at the page yourself.. my commentary cannot quite convey the absurdity of it all.

I heard that they're starting production on the second Harry Potter movie today. I'm thrilled. I may not see it - hell, I may not see the first one. But I hope they make this second one, and a third and fourth, too. And I hope every child in America goes to see it.. just to drive these religious zealots nuts.

The other day there was a spider in my bathtub.

Normally, I'm scared of spiders. And when I say 'scared', I mean dictionary-definition, full-fledged, psychological phobia. I find myself reacting in one of two ways to spiders: shrieking hysterically, or totally unable to move. Doesn't matter the size or species - I lose it.

This time, I regarded the spider with a distant consideration. There it was, crouched on the porcelian, a living, animate entity, which can trace its evolutionary ancestry, eventually, back to my own.. back to the first self-replicating organic gizmo. A single spider, which breathes and eats and reproduces and excretes and goes through all the life processes I do. Just a stupid spider, with appendages and sensory devices that, for all their differences, are not really all that dissimilar from my own.

I turned the hot water on, engaged the showerhead, and drowned the spider.

Three and a half billion years of self-replicating organics had lead up to that particular spider. Three and a half billion years of slight changes here, minor variations there, inconsequential in and of themselves. Three and a half billion years of fighting for survival against everything from predatation to environmental change to disease to radiation to simply being crushed.

Three and a half billion years.. gone.

I watched the dead spider twirl away into the drain, and felt like Roy Baty took over my vocal cords as I screamed

"GIVE ME MORE LIFE!"

Sometimes I scare myself.

Jen came over last night around 8 or 9. We took a nap on my (newly arrived queen-size bed) until 0030 or so, and then headed for the diner.

I was quiet. I find speech difficult when she's around, now. Find it hard to care about anything enough to speak about it - when I do manage to talk, everything comes out so angry, even though all I'm talking about is streetlights, or Japanese-English translations, or something equally banal. So very angry. I can hear it in my voice, edged with menace and hate and sadness and desperation.

We went to Kroger afterwards. I bought laundry detergant. I need an ironing board. She bought the latest issue of Cosmo. I used to think that was adorable, and would spend many nights reading it with her, commenting on the stupid stories and ridiculous quizzes and answering her questions: "Says here that men really like such-and-such. You like that? You want me to do that?"

But instead I just lay next to her, curled around her, face on her neck, scared. Of what, I don't know.

Around 0430, we went to Columns Drive, the only place in the city that is even remotely dark. It's impossible to get away from the horrendous light pollution in this city - Atlanta can't hire civil engineers competant enough to keep traffic under control, so I suppose that getting streetlights that actually illuminate the street rather than the sky is asking too much. Columns Drive is reasonably dark, though, so that's where we went.

We sprawled out on a sleeping bag in a fog-covered field, the ever-present flamingo blanket over us, freezing our asses off and watching the Leonids, which streaked overhead and left bolts of green afterimages on our retinas. It was a once-in-a-lifetime show, as dramatic as I expected, and I'm glad I got to see it.

Afterwards we went to the donut shop and got hot chocolate and bagels and donuts, then back to my place to sleep until 1300.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Or maybe I do. Still, other people aren't like this, I think. There was nothing wrong with the evening, specifically. In fact I had a wonderful time. And yet, I can't let go of stuff. It all just floats around in my mind and tears at me, attacks me, won't release me, and I have no vocabulary for the emotions. I feel like I'm drowning, or under attack, something I have to get away from, or defend myself from, or just run run run until I'm safe. Adrenaline surging, I must fight.. muscles tense, breathing shallow. I'm irratible (even for me), edgy, vicious.. but there's nothing there, no outlet for all this, no specific obstacle that if I can just overcome, then everything will be alright.

I don't even know what I'm saying.

And now it's 1530 on a Sunday afternoon, a Sunday afternoon in which I have nothing to do, nowhere to go.. the hours stretch ahead of me like a prison sentence, and I sit at the beginning of it all and wonder where I went wrong.

As sort of a continuance from my last post, we bring you the latest update from the investigative reporting in #mirrorshades:

[kitten] So Dan, has Osama bin Laden fled Afghanistan?
[Dan] 'My sources say no.'
[kitten] So he's still there?
[Dan] 'Answer unclear.'
[kitten] Where is Osama bin Laden?
[Dan] 'All signs point to yes.'
[kitten] Is Osama bin Laden planning another terrorist attack on US soil?
[Dan] 'Ask again later.'
[kitten] If caught, should Osama bin Laden be tried in a military tribune, or a civilian court?
[Dan] 'No.'
[kitten] Do you believe that Muslim citizens and immigrants should be deported from the US?
[Dan] 'Answer unclear.'
[kitten] Thanks for your time, Dan.
[Dan] 'No.'
[kitten] Heh.
[Dan] CNN.com: Hard news, 24 hours a day.

Seriously. The polls at CNN.com are absolutely ridiculous. Who the fuck is qualified to have an opinion on any of this stuff? And why should anybody care what the 'majority' of Americans who answered an online poll think of the whereabouts of bin Laden?

Y'know. When I say I'm sorry about something - when I say it voluntarily, I mean, not because I'm being coerced - it is because I truly feel regret about my actions, and if it were possible, I would go back in time and make a different choice that go around. Since that isn't possible, when I say "I'm sorry", a corollary goes with it: "I'm sorry, and I won't do it again."

You ask me, apologies are meaningless without action. How someone can say they're sorry, while simultaneously engaging in the action they're "sorry" for, and having every intent of continuing the behavior, is totally beyond me. If you're sorry for $action, then stop doing it. And if you're not sorry, then don't say you are.. all you're doing is making it worse.

Nghk.

Live from #mirrorshades, a special CNN update:

[kitten] Oh, this is a great poll on CNN.
[kitten] "Is Osama bin Laden still in Afghanistan?" yes / no
[Dan] Hahaha.
[kitten] How about the third option, "WHO THE FUCK KNOWS?"
[Dan] "US Intelligence shows that Osama bin Laden has fled Afghanistan."
[Dan] Margin of error: +/- 150%
[kitten] Believe me, if I knew where he was, I'd tell someone, I wouldn't just cast a vote in a fucking online poll.
[kitten] While I'm at it, does the "Homeland Security" thing sound a bit Third Reich-ish to anyone else?
[harbwerk] Heh.
[Dan] "When asked whether Osama bin Laden remains in Afghanistan, CNN sources claimed 'ALL SIGNS POINT TO YES'. However, the source seemed to waffle when questioned by other media representatives, saying 'Ask again later.'"

In other news, this article explains how two missionaries in Afghanistan were finally released after having been imprisoned by the Taliban for preaching Christianity.

Yes, I am appalled by the Taliban's mindless theocracy and hate of all religion but their own. Yes, I think it's a travesty that people were imprisoned for their beliefs.

But what nobody else seems to be seeing here is that this is yet another example of why it's not a good idea to preach to people without being asked, or when they've made it clear that such preaching is unwelcome. These missionaries marched into a country controlled by a theocracy that is well-known for intolerance of other religions, especially Christianity. The missionaries ignored this, and preached anyway, knowing full well what the Taliban would do if they caught them. They got caught, were thrown in jail, and then acted like they were innocent victims.

[Dan] I acknowledge the fact that they were stupid for going to Afghanistan with the sole intention of talking a moment about the Jebus.
[Dan] But that doesn't mean I'm "angry" at them for doing so.
[kitten] I'm angry that they act like they're total innocent victims.
[kitten] I'm not "angry" at Kevin Mackle for tipping a Coke machine on himself.
[kitten] I'm angry that his family refuses to put the blame where it belongs.
[kitten] You tip a Coke machine on yourself, you die. You go to a Taliban-controlled country and preach Christianity, you get in trouble.

Now that they're free, their plans involve strapping several pounds of filet mignon to themselves and walking into a den of wolves. If they survive, they are rumored to be kicking around the idea of standing in front of an oven and griping about the heat.

Jesus is the operator on the switchboard of my life.
Am I to assume that the connection is infallible?

In fact, he's so great that I want to spread his word with every step I take.

However, with all of his phenomenal cosmic powers and omnipotence, you'd think he'd be able to design a website that wasn't physically painful to look at.

Then I turned my head to the sky and lo: I heard the voices of many harpers harping with their harps. - Rev xiv 2

All I can say is, it's about fucking time.

I honestly don't understand what takes so bloody long with these things. From what I understand, Lucas has more or less had the scripts ready for all three movies for years. Cast them, film them, and let's go.

The last one was, what, early summer 99? So we're talking about three years for one movie. I cannot imagine what could possibly take that long.

Of course, I should be thankful - we had to wait eighteen years for Phantom Menace. Or however long it was.

But yeah. At this rate, I don't think Lucas is going to be alive to film the final three - assuming he even cares anymore. If he was wise, he would get an apprentice and reveal all relevant knowledge and super-double-ultra-top-secret-classified scripts and notes unto him.

That'd be kind of ironic.

andy zebrowitz. I've learned that it's impossible to get by, socially, without a myspace page I never pay attention to.

I'm tired of all this.

I'm tired of having nowhere to go, nothing to do. Tired of trying to find meaningless, trivial, ridiculous things to occupy myself - not because I'm really interested in them, or derive any pleasure from them, but only as a way to kill time until I can fall asleep and be unconcious again.

I'm tired of how, no matter where I go and no matter what I do, I'm reminded of how it used to be. I'm reminded of things I once had.

Tired of how I don't enjoy anything. Going to the riverpark on a Sunday afternoon, wind and waves and sun, radio in the distance. Movies and fireplaces and quiet nights. Autumn leaves and soft words.

I used to enjoy these things. I still do, in a twisted and distant way - but the emotion is a mutated, ugly version of how I used to feel, and so overshadowed by other things that I can't even pay attention to it. Things like these.. I'd look forward to them beforehand, revel in them during, and memories of them kept me stable afterwards.

And now, these same things have the same effect on me as a wood chipper has on a tree.

I had this idea for a Coke commercial.

Jesus is in the desert with the apostles. He's turned the water into Pepsi, and they're all praising him - "O Jesus, you're so great" - bowing down and so forth. Jesus looks upon them with satisfaction.

From beyond a dune, we hear the snap-hiss of a soda can being opened. The apostles fall silent and all of their heads swivel in the direction of the sound.

They clamor over the rise of the dune, and look down to discover the source of the sound.

Elvis is standing there, Coke in hand, cooler full of Cokes by his side.

The apostles rush down the dune and grab Cokes, begin praising Elvis: "O Elvis, you're so great", bowing down.

Jesus scowls, Elvis smiles into the camera and the screen is plastered with a caption:

CHOOSE YOUR KING

It's a wonder I haven't been hired by advertising agencies yet.

Hey, do you remember when I could write?

..Yeah, neither do I.

I think all the men will agree with me that the Catholic schoolgirl outfit is the sexiest ensemble ever created.

What I can't figure out is, is this outfit sexy unto itself, or is it sexy because Catholic schoolgirls wear it?

Truly, a puzzling issue. But what the hell - we takes what we can get when we gets it.

I'm beginning to understand why people hate webdesign so much.
I've been working on this one particular project for about a week, here and there. Learned how to use CSS, hacked up the stuff my boss gave me because it was GoLive HTML crud what sucked, and had it looking superl33t and clean. All in all, it was a site that I thought was a laudable first attempt at webdesign.

[kitten] My HTML rules.
[kitten] Okay?
[kitten] My fucking website here?
[harb] Okay?
[kitten] It fucking kicks some ass.
[harb] Lemme see.
[harb] It's got that whole "I'm a warez site" feel.
* kitten hangs his head.
[kitten] You know.
[harb] I'm not being mean, just offering suggestions.
[kitten] I worked hard on this.
* kitten pouts.
[harb] Constrain the tables underneath so they fit..
[kitten] Well, my boss thought it was about the damn coolest thing ever.
[harb] Makes it easier to read.
[kitten] Eh?
[harb] The black on blue is hard to read, as well.
[kitten] Black on blue?
[kitten] wtf
[kitten] I don't think you're seeing the same things I'm seeing.
[harb] Probably not. :)
[kitten] Give me a screencap.

And wow, did it look like shit. Fonts were stupid, links were even more stupid. The table was rendered all wrong, and my source code - which wasn't that great to begin with - was raped by GoLive. In IE it looks fine, but apparently Netscape and Mozilla make a mess out of the entire thing.

Which is annoying. "Oh, it looks okay in IE, but Mozilla can't understand it, and Netscape is still a piece of shit. How do I compensate?"

I don't know. Maybe I should go back to waiting tables.

I'm beginning to understand why people hate webdesign so much.
I've been working on this one particular project for about a week, here and there. Learned how to use CSS, hacked up the stuff my boss gave me because it was GoLive HTML crud what sucked, and had it looking superl33t and clean. All in all, it was a site that I thought was a laudable first attempt at webdesign.

[kitten] My HTML rules.
[kitten] Okay?
[kitten] My fucking website here?
[harb] Okay?
[kitten] It fucking kicks some ass.
[harb] Lemme see.
[harb] It's got that whole "I'm a warez site" feel.
* kitten hangs his head.
[kitten] You know.
[harb] I'm not being mean, just offering suggestions.
[kitten] I worked hard on this.
* kitten pouts.
[harb] Constrain the tables underneath so they fit..
[kitten] Well, my boss thought it was about the damn coolest thing ever.
[harb] Makes it easier to read.
[kitten] Eh?
[harb] The black on blue is hard to read, as well.
[kitten] Black on blue?
[kitten] wtf
[kitten] I don't think you're seeing the same things I'm seeing.
[harb] Probably not. :)
[kitten] Give me a screencap.

And wow, did it look like shit. Fonts were stupid, links were even more stupid. The table was rendered all wrong, and my source code - which wasn't that great to begin with - was raped by GoLive. In IE it looks fine, but apparently Netscape and Mozilla make a mess out of the entire thing.

Which is annoying. "Oh, it looks okay in IE, but Mozilla can't understand it, and Netscape is still a piece of shit. How do I compensate?"

I don't know. Maybe I should go back to waiting tables.