(no subject)

AHAHAHAHA.

One more Thing about ( Silence in the Library (spoilers!) )

Oh, Doctor. You are such a total crazyhead.

(no subject)

dyingfire pointed me to the Center of the Internet yesterday, and I must say I had a very enjoyable visit to the Exact Center before mentioning to her that it was a new location for me.

I've been to the End of the Internet many times; of an evening I like to stand at the railing and gaze on the vastness of reality which stretches beyond it, to where Realtime blazes like a perpetually setting sun. But the Center of the Internet suggested to me that perhaps it was time I made pilgrimage to the Origin of the Internet and completed the cycle.

I don't mean the "helpful" Start Of The Internet or even the Historical Beginning, which anyone can find in the great Virtual Library (where Wikipedia and Google reign on high, watched over by the Project Gutenberg Royal Guards).

Oh no, my friends. Where I am going, you won't find on any map of the internet. Not even the great cartographer, XKCD, can guide me thereto.

I want to venture past the old ruined AOL Gate, through the excavations in the ISP graveyard, and yea, even the Usenet Swamp where it borders the Wastelands of BBS. I will shoulder my flashdrive and brave the path that leads beyond the Data Mines and the ceaselessly grinding Wayback Machine.

Beyond the Fire Walls. There lies the Origin.

What will I find there? Perhaps Al Gore, seated in the lotus position, his eyes burning like LEDs of righteousness. Few have gone and fewer return.

I must prepare for my journey.

*buys Cheetos*

(no subject)

I was going to do the "Me in 1998, Me in 2008" meme that's going around, but I thought about it and, uh.

I mean.

I have shorter hair?

I pretty much dress the same and wear the same style of glasses, same kinds of shoes. And for your information I have decided to see this not as a sign that I am a loser but a sign that I am a classic.

copperbadge: Octogenarian Lawyers Never Go Out Of Style.

I guess there are less books in my courier bag now, but apparently the only things that have materially changed in ten years are the contents of my brain and my wallet. And really the change to my wallet's pretty minimal....

Anyway, someone just brought us a gift basket to celebrate our anniversary of, uh, being in the building, and since it's a basket of prepackaged snacks and we occupy several floors, I've been instructed to open everything and strew it artfully around the basket, which I shall then leave on my desk to lure my unsuspecting prey closer so that people can help themselves.

So now I have to go strew.

*steals the fruit pastilles*

(no subject)

I went up Michigan Avenue on my lunch hour.

1. Goddamn it's hard to find a store that sells messenger bags.

2. $150 for a 7x8x2 "messenger" bag? NOT ACCEPTABLE, NORDSTROM.

3. The Nordstrom Mall on Michigan Avenue has a lego store. I haven't been in it yet, but reconnaissance is ongoing.

3a. These courier bags are super awesome and very much not available in the United States. Argh. Not that I could afford them if they were.

(no subject)

Hey, so you remember when I was leaving at three in the morning to go to the airport two weeks ago and That Girl came over and wigged the hell out?

So R got home this afternoon and just woke up and asked me how if I wanted to hear the rest of the story after she left and then I left for the airport.

"No wait, you want to hear my story first," I said, and told it to him.

"Oh, we have just scratched the surface," he said. "You want to hear what happened next?" and I said YES.

Apparently the timeline goes something like this.

R fell asleep on the couch around 11. That Girl called around midnight and said she was getting off work at the bar and did he want to come over. He said no, he was tired, and went back to sleep.

Around one am, M called and asked if he wanted to come over because she had some primo North California hash to share, and he decided that going next door was, you know, less effort than going to see That Girl in Lincoln Park. So he went, and had himself a good time. He's still there at...

...three am, which is when I wake up and start getting ready to leave. At three-thirty am, That Girl shows up, pitches a fit because R's not there, and blows out again (see previous post). Apparently at this point she was drunk, which I didn't notice because 1. I'm bad at noticing that kind of thing and 2. it's three-thirty am and 3. she's wigging out.

So she kept calling and texting him after I left, this is around four. She has, during this time, taken off and gone back to the bar and run into the biggest Drama Mama in the Blues scene, which unfortunately happens to be M's sister B. They have a scene at the bar before she heads home. To do something we'll get to shortly.

At this point R is taking a walk to clear his head and then returning to the flat, where he discovers these text messages and decides to call her. R has this thing, about telephones, where he can't not call people on them. We had this problem with his last girlfriend, where she told him not to call her until he got his head on straight and was ready to commit he turned to me and said, "I'm not really interested in a relationship. Do you think I should call her?"

Anyway, he goes over to Lincoln Park to see That Girl, and she gets into it with him about how she thought he was cheating on her and she has trust issues and why would he put her through this and in the middle of this she gets a text message, and then a phone call that she ignores, and then another text message. So R starts quizzing her on these messages she's getting at what, five in the morning?

They're from her "friend", Ryan.

Yeah.

I believe the term you're all looking for here is "booty call".

Which, directly after her accusations of him cheating, was pretty fucking ballsy, so I think, not to jinx this, but I think they're over.

I'm holding off on the party, though, until he's managed to be home for a week without calling her.

Still, seriously. Her three-am visit is so much more comprehensible now.

Oh my god what the baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalls.

(no subject)

Oh man, and I just downloaded the photos from the camping trip, forgetting I'd loaned my camera to R for an evening, and there are tons of photos of him and her (Not like, naked or anything, get your minds back out of the gutter).

What is proper protocol in this situation?