Remember when I mocked up ur doin’ it wrong, as a place to make snarky commentary about bad dancing? Well, someone did that—for real—for applications that ignore Apple’s Human Interface Guidelines.

It is beautiful.

Took out decaying plant matter early this afternoon, in between rainstorms. Lots of it. Totally waterlogged. Totally disgusting. Worst of all: I wound up smelling like sauerkraut.

Been kinda tired lately. Today I went to work without my belt—eep!

Fun fact: I never wore a belt when I was younger, and when I started wearing one I would constantly forget to zip my pants. It’s like my brain thought “you need to do two things with your pants,” and “button them” and “apply belt” met that criteria.

I-hope-this-is-a fact: I no longer have that problem.

Snow! Sticking, in November!

I can be trained: using Outlook at work has taught me to hit F7 (check spelling) before sending any email. I now do that at home, on my Mac. F7 does nothing in Mail, which automatically checks my spelling as I type.

Pisses me off every time I do it, too.

Now even the spammers are mocking me:

I wish more sites would put so much time into their website.

Jerks.

Anyone else miss The Good Old Days, when the fact it was Friday the 13th was a good enough reason for at least one cable channel to run a Friday the 13th marathon?

This week at dance practice there were two fans in Barry’s and my traditional haunt. (One of the previous weeks we just had a box fan that some kind soul brought in, so this was a definite step up.) I commented on the scenario by way of witty (?) internet meme: double fan!

After replying “what does it mean?”, Barry asked me if I had seen the autotune version. I had not, but I have now. It’s totally worth it.

A little earlier I got a call from Brian, who needed cigars quickly for a bachelor party. I (er… Google Maps) directed him to the nearby Smoke Shack, whose reviews informed me they have a convenient drive-thru window, and they sell Cocaine (apparently some energy drink?).

Brian just reported back: the Smoke Shack sent him to Tobacco Town, where he “was quite possibly served by someone on drugs.”

For what it’s worth: I tried reading again the next day, and found it much easier going. Maybe I’d driven myself to distraction, as I originally postulated—or maybe I was just suffering from a hyperactive brain that day.

Regardless, Gosick is actually pretty good: the story is interesting enough (credit to the author), and reads well (credit to the translator).