Randomness Out-of-the-Blue

...so... I am lazy, and have not been posting here. Because, again, lazy. And many of my musings lately have been posted over on the looming menace that is the FB.

However, as amusing as it is to find out that FB users were the subjects of psychological experimentation and willful emotional experimentation without informed consent, the incident has also caused a slight blip of mild discontent in my weary, wary soul.

And I know of at least one person who might need stuff to read and poke fun at, who does not use FB.

*waves*

In any case, I played Final Fantasy XIV for a bit. And it was fun and entertaining, but I have found recently that, not only am I now lazy, I am old, and get tired easy, and don't have as much energy to game 8 hours straight at the computer after putting in a full 8 hours of work in front of the computer anymore. So, MMORPGs are kinda too taxing right now, and so I am not playing the game anymore. But it was fun, and I did RP a tiny healer (I'm sure surprising no one who knew me in Final Fantasy XI back in the day) fully.

(No, Talathar the Lalafel did NOT have a tarutaru accent. I did not carry that part over. The people of Eorzea were not subjected to that. Except a few choice people, OOCly.)

Talathar the Lalafel was my only character to earn her own personal chocobo. You can actually name your chocobos in FFXIV. And, just as in FFXI, chocos scale to your character's size (Hallo?? Blizzard?? Ya see this right here! MOUNTS THAT SCALE TO  YOUR CHARACTER'S SIZE?? Would be nice in that old game ya still got going... my gnome looking like she was about to fall off her gryphon into the nether void was always annoying to me...)

-ahem-

Sorry, momentary distraction...

ANYways, so Talathar the Lalafel named her chocobo. His name was Stalwart Soul. Stalwart for short. Stal for when Tala was shouting at him. Which happened a lot. Because Stalwart was roleplayed as well -- as a brave, loyal, somewhat bratty, independent-minded choco with a slight complex about his height deficiency. So, to compensate for his shortness of stature, he liked to climb things -- like buildings, and trees, and sign posts. And he didn't just run, he hopped and jumped about a lot.

...alright, maybe I just made up an RP reason to be on a chocobo's back while climbing up onto small ledges and seeing if could get on the roof of things... I STILL HAD RP JUSTIFICATION FOR IT IN MY HEAD! :P

And although I'm not playing the game anymore, I really liked Stalwart as a character. He was silly fun to write for. And I had this half-finished story I never posted anywhere... so for lack of better venue, I'll post it here.

Note: All references to Chocobos and Final Fantasy XIV belong to Square-Enix. I dun own nuthin 'bout dat. And I'm not looking to make any money off this either. Is just a creative little bit, that I had to get out of my system somewhere, to avoid creative asplodings.

Enjoy:
_____

A New Look for Stalwart

He didn't quite know what it was.

They were strange. These things the people put on top of their heads. It was a people thing.

It wasn't like what the trainers put on him sometimes, over his head, in that time before his little master had come to lead him away with her gentle hand. And it wasn't like the thing he wore with the saddle, on his head and beak, when he ran about, carrying his little master from one place to some other place.

That thing, he understood. It was so his master could better direct him where to look, when to stop, and where to run. (Or, sometimes, for her to cling onto desperately while yelling, those times he decided to jump about. Or run very fast. Or clamber up on top of things -- like tall rock formations. Or trees. Or buildings. Tall buildings.) That thing, it was a chocobo thing. He understood it.

This thing wasn't a chocobo thing. It was a people thing.

His master sometimes wore things like this on her head. Like when it rained. Or when it was hot. Or when they traveled out into the sunny-sandy place. She would cover her head-feathers with floppy things kind of like this. Or when she put on the heavy shiny things, with the pointy metal stick and big metal plank thing, she would put a metal bucket thing on to cover her face. Those things, he kind of understood. They kept his little master's head-feathers from getting wet. Or from getting too hot in the sun. Or kept her head from getting bonked by mean taller not-peoples and bad things in the forests and fields.

And this thing, this one thing that this new person was wearing, it was like his master's floppy things. But this thing was also different. It looked different. It even smelled different. It was new.

And he liked it.

It was kind of floppy, but not the same as what his little master wore. For one thing, it was a different color. More yellow. And it was shaped differently. Taller. Skinnier. More pointy. It even smelled different. Not like anything he knew. It was something new. Something different.

And he really liked it.

The person was talking to his little master, as she sat on his back, while they waited idly. He didn't know why they were waiting. He only knew they were waiting. Because she wanted to wait. It was enough of a reason for him -- at least, for now. Because this new thing was keeping him distracted. So instead of shifting about, or hopping from foot to foot, or puffing up at the taller chocobos, or looking for tall places to climb, or climbing up to tall places, he was eyeing this new thing this person was wearing.

He wasn't on his chocobo, the taller person. His little master was just about at eye level with the taller person, sitting on his back like she was. But that also meant that the new yellow-pointy thing was at his eye level. Or close enough to it.

So he reached out. And grabbed it. Took it in his beak and plucked it off the taller person's head. The person looked a little shocked, furry ears flicking a bit in surprise.

"STAL! No!"

His little master scolded him, but he pretended not to hear her. He had lots of practice doing that. She scolded him a lot.

"Bad Stal! Give it back!"

She tried to reach over and take the yellow floppy thing from his beak, but he turned away, keeping it out of her reach. She stretched out as far as she could to reach it, the floppy thing held firmly in his beak. But her short arms could not reach far enough. She leaned over on the other side, to try to reach the yellow floppy thing from that side, but he just turned the other way, and it was once again out of her reach.

By this time, the taller person was trying very hard not to laugh. And failing.

"It's fine, Tala," the taller person assured her, eyes alight with clear amusement. "Let him keep it, if he likes it so."

The wee Lalafel blinked. "But, is not Stal's hat ta take!"

"Then I will make it a gift to him," came the easy reply. With a gentle hand, the hat was taken from the rambunctious little chocobo's grip, only to be placed on his fluffy head. "There you go. Quite the dashing fellow you are, Stalwart."

The little beast look quite pleased with himself. He tried to flap his wings enthusiastically, which of course only caused his little passenger to be bumped about on the saddle uncomfortably.

He liked it. The nice taller person had placed the yellow floppy thing on his head. It was his now. And he would wear it to keep the bright sun from his eyes. And to keep the rain off his head feathers.

And to make him just that much taller, too. And that was the best part.

Brach's Butterscotch Disks

Today, I found some Brach's Butterscotch disks.

I stopped by to get a "get well" card for a family member, who is in the hospital right now. We, as in my brother and I, were going to visit, and I wanted to take something at least. So we went to get a card, the least we could do for a man who watched over us a lot when we were bratty kids growing up.

And then I saw them. Brach's butterscotch. I hadn't seen them in years. There have been other brands of butterscotch for sale, but never the Brach's. Needless to say, I bought some. Because Brach's butterscotch candies are special. 

They have a fuller, more buttery taste than a lot of the other brands. And the butter flavor tastes more natural than the cheaper brands as well - like real butter, instead of whatever flavor chemical combination the chemists concocted in the lab to approximate the flavor of butterscotch. It's a flavor full of nostalgia, and memories. And a few tears.

Because butterscotch was always Grandpa's thing.

He always - always! - had some Brach's butterscotch candies hidden away in his room. Whenever we'd go visit, when Grandma wasn't looking, he'd wave me over and sneak a couple to me, grinning mischievously as he'd tell me not to tell Grandma. He showed me where they were hidden, and told me to always only take a few, and always leave some for him.

I always did.

Grandpa always had a sweet tooth. When he was still a gardener, he would always get boxes and boxes of See's chocolates every Christmas, and he'd always share with everyone. We'd save the cherry-filled and marshmallow-caramel ones for him, because they were his favorite. And he always had ice cream in the freezer - popsicles, push-ups, orange creamsicles, drumsticks, those Mexican-brand fruit popsicles with the real bits of fruit in them, rainbow sherbert from Baskin-Robbins. 

Thanksgiving time meant a lot of things, but it most especially meant pumpkin pie. And Grandpa did love his pumpkin pie. He liked any fruit pie, really. But pumpkin pie was once a year, and special.

Grandpa always had hard candies on him, even when he went out. At the grocery store, everyone knew him as "the ojiichan with the candy," because he'd hand them out to everyone he came across. Because everyone deserved a smile, and how can you not smile when you get candy?

I always smiled. I still do.

He had all sorts of different hard candies. Japanese ones mostly, ranging from minty flavors, to honey-lemon, even some ume (pickled plum) ones. But one candy he didn't have was butterscotch. Because he said the Brach's butterscotch was the best, but we couldn't find them anywhere. And the other brands just weren't as good.

I can't believe he's been gone almost a year now.

Today, I found some Brach's butterscotch hard candies at the store. I bought them. I took them home. I slowly worked the wrapper off of one disk. As the buttery taste flooded my mouth, memories of grandpa came flooding back as well. And with tears in my eyes, I smiled.

I miss you, Grandpa.

More Random Letters of Complaint...

Dear Non-Player Character at the Blade's HQ in Oblivion,

Yes, I understand that you may be frustrated at a no-name ex-convict such as my character. But really, is it necessary to throw a big plate of venison at my face just as I walk in the door? Granted, I look like a big bipedal cat and all, but really, I think it's kind of rude.

Please refrain from doing it again. Else I might take offense, and poop in your boot.
_____

Dear Parents of Kids Littering the Front Lawn During Obon,

If you see you kids throwing stuff onto the lawn, please tell them to stop. Would YOU like it if some random kids came to your house and threw candy wrappers all over your yard? No, I thought not. Please try to be good role models for your kids.

Thanks.
_____

Dear Marketing People Who Came Up with the New Prius Commercials,

Ew. Just ew.

Dear Drivers and Car Owners...

Dear Guy with the New "Front Spoiler" on His Car:

Being able to come up with creative solutions is usually a good thing. It shows a clever mind that is capable of thinking in new and innovative ways to accomplish goals. It is a sign of an individual unconfined by the stifling walls of established normalcy. It shows strength of character.

However, sometimes it just makes you look like a cheap dweeb.

Despite what popular urban myth may lead you to believe, duct tape is not the solution to everything.

If you want a front spoiler for your car, please go purchase a front spoiler and install it on your car. Or at least go find a front spoiler at your local junk heap.

Really, how blind do you think we are? We can all see your so-called "sporty" spoiler is really nothing more than layers and layers of black duct tape applied to the front bumper.

And no, we don't think it's cool.

Not even if you're sporting a matching duct tape "leather" jacket to go along with it.
__________

Dear Random Driver in the Parking Lot:

Yes, I know that in your country of origin you drive on the left side of the road. And honestly, I understand it can take a little time to get adjusted. But please understand - here, in this country, we drive on the right.

This is the new reality that you must adapt to. We're sorry for the incovenience, truly we are. But no amount of hostile glaring, rude gesturing, and muttered comments under your breath in a non-English language is going to make this reality change.

So please, stop trying to make my brain assplode with the frightening mental powers of your hairpiece, and try to remember to drive on the right side of the road. Yes, even in parking lots. I'm sorry if the extremely large painted arrows on the asphalt indicating the directionality of traffic flow were somehow not making things clear to you.

Thank you for your time.
__________

Dear People Driving in California:

Please remember that some traffic signals here in the area have those wonderful camera accessories, which the local authorities use to take pictures of you when you try to run a red light (or sneak through on a yellow, as we drivers are sometimes wont to do).

For your convenience, these intersections are rather blatantly marked by signs (not to mention the really obvious cameras), which have been placed beside the road to kindly remind you that maybe speeding through the upcoming intersection perhaps isn't the best idea.

Of course, if you're speeding down the road at 65 mph, you may find the sign just a bit difficult to spot. So maybe slowing down just a bit might be advisable.

I mean, unless you're just trying to be helpful and provide the city of Los Angeles with a little bit of money during its time of deep financial crisis and all. Which I suppose really is quite civic-minded of you and all, but I think you could probably find a little better way to donate money to a needy cause. One that won't net you a $350+ citation and a black mark to make your car insurance premiums higher.

But hey, it's up to you.

Of Poopies and Supermarkets

The Following is a Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Goodaru Health Habits and Poopy-Free Supermarketarus For Everypeoples Everywhere:

Dear tarutarus and taller peoples who visitaru supermarketarus with puppy doggies of all differentaru shapey-wapeys and sizies.

Please remember thataru having a puppy doggy is notaru a righty-wighty. Itaru is a privilegey-wigely, andaru a responsibilitaruy. Also, if the doggy is notaru trained to go to the potty-wotty correctaruly, you should NOTARU bringy-wingy the doggy to supermarketaru.

The supermarketaru is where tarutarus and taller peoples go to buy foods for eataruing. Itaru is NOTARU HYGENIC for you to letaru untrained doggies to go poopies or peepees insidaru the supermarketaru.

Doggy poopies have badaru e.coli, andaru that is VERY-WERY BADARU to be near foods for eataruing. It can makey-wakey tarutarus and taller peoples sicky-wicky in the stomach, andaru that is notaru very-wery fun.

Also, no tarutaru or taller peoples wantarus to step into a pile of green doggy poopies on the slippery floors insidaru the supermarketaru, where tarutarus and taller peoples go to buy foods for eataruing. A tarutaru or taller peoples mightaru slippy-wippy, andaru fall down intaru the doggy poopies.

Thataru would be very-wery unpleasantaru.

So please remembers - doggies that don'taru know how to go potty correctaru should notaru be taken-waken to the supermarketaru where tarutarus and taller peoples go to buy foods for eataruing. Thank you.

This concludarus this Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Goodaru Health Habits and Poopy-Free Supermarketarus For Everypeoples Everywhere. We now returny-werny you to your normaru bloggy-woggy viewings.

Kill Me Now

So I decided that I wanted to make myself some ramen this weekend. Got the package out of the innermost recesses of the pantry and got a pot boiling. Got the noodles cooking, then got out some veggies, chopped them up, and sauteed them with a bit of pepper, a dash of garlic, and a splash of soy sauce for flavor.

Noodles were done, so I strained them in the sink (yay for the new "hangs over the sink" strainer). While the water was draining, I filled the now-empty pot with water and set it over the stove to prepare the soup.

I hit the noodles with some cold water, to stop them from overcooking, then kind of used a tossing motion to get rid of the excess water once they were cool. Divided the noodles into 2 portions (I can't eat all that in one sitting). Divided the sauteed noodles into 2 portions as well, and topped one serving of noodles with the veggies. Got some leftover steak from the night before, sliced it thinly, and added it to the mix.

By then the water was starting to bubble, so got the soup base packet and emptied it into the pot. For this particular brand, there is also a liquid soup base packet, so opened that to add it also.

And then, noticed something strange. There in the liquid portion, there was a hard, non-yielding mass of something. I didn't know exactly what it was, so kind of held it in one upper corner. I took it to the sink and eased it out of the package to look at.

It was a piece of glass.

I dumped the soup. The noodles seemed safe, as I checked them over, I didn't see anything in them at all. I know the veggies and such were safe, so didn't worry about them. Still, kinda lost my appetite.

The Following is ANOTHER Public Service Announcementaru...

The Following is a Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Cleany-weany Office Spaces for Everypeoples Everyplaces:


To Everypeoples in Any-Office Everywheres.

Here are justaru a few helpful suggesty-westy-ions for how to use the magical heat-up-the-foods box.

1.) Please remember to putaru the covers over-wover your foods, justaru in casey-wasey you forgetaru and heat up your foods for too longy-wongy and makes the foods assploded all over.

Don'taru have a cover? Use a paper towel.

2.) If you DO forgetarus, and makey-wakey a mess of assploded foods, please clean itaru all up. Don'taru be a messy-wessy taru!

3.) If you DON'Taru want to clean up the mess, DON'TARU MAKEY-WAKEY THE MESS IN THE FIRSTY-WURSTY PLACE!

This has been a Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Cleany-weany Office Spaces for Everypeoples Everyplaces. We return you now to your regular blog viewing.

The Following is a Public Service Announcementaru...

The Following is a Public Service Announcementaru, broughtaru to you by the Windurst Coalition for Cleany-weany Water Closetarus for Everypeoples Everyplaces:

-ahem-

When a tarutaru or bigger peoples (even long-eared dhalmels) go to the water closetaru (also knowny as "the bathroom" or "the john" or "the can" or "the toilet" or "the head" or "the potty"), aftaru the peoples finish their businessy (either poopies or peepees which ever the peoples wentaru into the water closetaru to takey-wakey care of), the peoples should ALWAY makey sure to flushy-wushy the tolietaru aftaruwards.

'Cause no taru wants to findaru what you didy-widdy aftaruwards.

Tarutarus and bigger peoples everywheres thankee everypeoples outaru there for this littaru considaruation.

This concludes this public service announcementaru - we will now returny-wurney you to your normaru blogging viewing.

Battle Cry

Of late, there's a song that keeps playing over and over in my head. It started with just the music itself, but now it's the words as well. Over and over, like some kind of subconscious battle cry, echoing over and over inside me.

The first time I heard it was over the holidays, visiting family. My younger cousins brought their PS2 over, with the rather addicting rhythm game known as "Guitar Hero III" - which they insisted I try out. They were very insistent about it, and one cousin even presented the controller (shaped like a guitar) to me on bended knee, arms outstretched and head bowed.

Of course I had to try at that point. I mean, how could a fantasy-loving gamer such as myself resist such a powerful entreaty?

After much fumbling (accompanied by laughter and encouragement), I started to kind of get the hang of it. Still, there were other cousins about, and I relinquished the controller to others for their turns.

That's the first time I heard the song, as the cousins (and my brother) battled it out good naturedly, plastic guitar-controllers in hand and swaying to the music.

I don't know exactly what it is about the song. The refrain echoes in my mind, over and over and over. Resonating in my soul.

The band - Rise Against. The song - Prayer of the Refugee.

...and I can play it at Hard setting, and hit 94% now. Oh my poor blistered fingers and cramping hand.

...wtf...? o_0;;;

There's a commercial that's been playing on the radio out here. To summarize it, there's a pleasant-sounding lady commenting on how her husband has expressed doubts about whether or not he is the father of her daughter.

...and how a new genetic testing service can show the truth.

...umm...wtf...?

Okay, reality check here.

1.) I have a problem believing that any woman who's husband expressed doubt about the parentage of their child is going to take the whole thing pleasantly. I mean, come on, seriously!

2.) Any woman who doesn't take what is basically an accusation of promiscuity as an insult must be guilty of said crime. (Although even so, I can't see anyone taking such an accusation without a lot of angry and vocal protestations going on, guilty or no...)

The scenario is just so utterly ridiculous to me - every time I hear it, I roll my eyes and switch the station, or even turn the radio off.

...of course, I suppose a realistic scenario would probably not be the best way of marketing the service... might be more entertaining though.

I must say this though - it DOES stick in your mind. Annoyingly.

And the Moral of the Story is...

Okay, so I'm sitting here watching TV. The story line is that there's this psycho psychiatrist out there who's killing his patients.

All of them have certain phobias that they were trying to overcome. He tells them that he can help them, but instead kills them using the very thing that they fear.

All of his victims are newcomers to the city, having moved away to a place where they have no family and no connections, trying to make a new start for themselves. Making them especially vulnerable.

And what city are they all newcomers to?

Portland.

Moral of the story: therapist are teh ebil.

About the Wii...

Played Wii Sports for the first time this weekend. I've had it since I got the system (all of... like, 3 weeks), but never took the time to try it out. Was much too distracted by the novelty of running around swinging a sword and shooting things with arrows while wearing a stylish green floppy hat.

But finally did get around to trying out the game that came with the system. And truly, it is fun. Silly fun. Something that you'd only want to play around open-minded people who understand the geekiness of bouncing around and gesturing wildly while playing a video game version of tennis. Or worrying about the follow-through of your swing with a virtual baseball bat.

It's fun. Really fun. And pretty intuitive to control. And it's not really something you can play while sitting on your ass. You want to be up and moving, even if it's just to go through the motions of stepping up to fling a digital bowling ball down a non-existent lane towards imaginary pins.

The only game I haven't tried on it is golf. And I think I'll just leave it at that. Rather not end up flinging my Wii-mote out the window while cursing the screen, thank-you-very-much.

Next up: Smash Brothers. (And yes, Torias, I'll be bringing it with me when I come to visit, unless Nintendo delays the release date of the game)

I Still Hate the Lost Woods.

The music plays on and on... and on... incessant cheery piping, droning on and on. Accentuated occasionally by the intermittent chirping. Underscored by the occasional grunt of pain. Accompanied by the steely slash of metal cleaving air.

And occasionally something a bit more resistant.

But the music. Haunting, cheery, over and over and over... as you wander to and fro, seeking escape, seeking silence. Seeking the elusive and diminutive skull-masked figure giggling in the shadows, while dodging his summoned puppet minions.

I hate the Lost Woods. Almost as much as I hate underwater dungeons. But that's a whole different rant.

WARNING: This post contains some violence.

GRAAAAHHHHH!!!

*gnashes teeth as mouth froths with rage*

AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!

*thows things across room just for the enjoyment of hearing breakage*

RAAAAAAAAAAWWWWRRRR!!!

*takes sword and starts chopping furniture, as splinters are strewn across the carpet*

...

...

...

*stands a moment in uffish thought*

...

...

...

... I've run out of things to say...

...

...

...

*ponders a moment*

...

...

...

*shrugs and goes to see what's on TV*

Random Thoughts from the Labor Day Weekend

1.) The Left Lane is for Passing - Key word there is the "passing" part. You're not going to get the best results passing when you're only going 2 mph faster than the semi that you're trying to pass.

It's even less effective when you move to the passing lane AND THEN SLOW DOWN so that you're only going 2 mpg faster than the semi that you're trying to pass.

Geez, people.

2.) Deer are F@CKING stupid - Dear deer: you do not graze on concrete or asphalt. So why the hell do you wander onto the median of a busy interstate highway?

I understand that maybe you want to avoid hunters getting eager for the upcoming hunting season, but seriously, getting hit by a car is NOT MUCH BETTER than getting shot. Either way, you're gonna be dead. And the other way wouldn't cause heart attacks in innocent interstate travelers just trying to get away.

3.) El Pollo Loco = Goodness - SO WHY DOES OREGON STILL NOT HAVE AN EL POLLO LOCO! DAMMIT!

4.) Sometimes I Just Miss the Sunshine - I mean, I understand the whole rain = green thing. Just looking at the natural landscape of Cali shows how much of a difference the rain and clouds make on the environment. Yeah, I know all that.

Still, sometimes basking in the sunlight on a nice summer day is worth the sunburn.

It's uplifting. I need that sometimes.

5.) Deer are Still F@cking Stupid

GAH

I can't seem to focus on anything but the negative right now. Well, I know I have a natural tendency towards the negative, but right now it's worse than usual. The overflow of negative has predictably resulted in isolation.

Which really is deserved. I can't blame anyone for it but myself. No one wants to talk to someone who's always feeling miserable and borderline self-destructive.

So I'm going to stop.

Until I get to a better place in my head, I'm just not going to talk about it.

Just before the bottom drops out...

After months of submitting my resume everywhere, I actually got a call back. The very next day.

Summer's promise fades
Faint embers of hope linger
Anticipation

On the Edge

I never thought I'd be so near the end of my rope.

I thought it was hard before, at my old job. Insecure managers with no people skills. Overbearing co-workers who openly get away with sexual harassment without consequence. Demanding procrastinators who put the blame on everyone else. It was a very unhappy place.

That was nothing compared to this.

Wavering between sleeplessness and complete collapse. Headaches. Exhaustion. Anxiety. Frustration. Hopelessness. Fear.

Chained by responsibility. By guilt.

I don't even have the energy to game. Or write. Or anything.

I'd scream if I could. Or cry.

There must be something wrong with me. Everything I touch falls apart.

Taking teeth to wrist
Gnashing, gnawing, biting through
Pool of red release

Randomness

Latest MMORPG experience: Lord of the Rings Online.

Good points:

1.) Lots of lore. Heck, it's based on Tolkien!

2.) I get to be a short healer again. Yay!

3.) Also get to be a short tank. A REALLY short tank. More yay!

Disappointing points:

1.) Weapons aren't proportional to the size of your character. Thus, my short tank drags her sword along the ground. And a two-handed sword appears to drag THROUGH the floor.

I guess that's why the Shire has a lot of farms - you can just strap a big sword on all the adventuring hobbits and have them run across your field. Instant furrows everywhere, ready for planting.

2.) Characters don't walk - they mince. It's like there's something is wrong with their feet, making them physically unable to move a foot forward in a normal stride, unless running.

I don't see my hobbit in a kimono, so watching her walk that way makes no sense whatsoever.

3.) Auction House Interface - you can't use the "tab" and "enter" keys in the auction house interface to move from field to field. Not even if you're trying to, say, enter a bid of 10 silver and 55 copper. Instead you have to click into the silvers box, enter "10," then click into the copper box and enter "55." THEN to bid you have to go click on "Bid."

This is a minor annoyance. And happens every time you visit the AH.

Ah well, guess I'll just vendor everything. >_>
__________

Tired tired tired tired tired.
__________

"Creature Comforts" is hilarious. Really really hilarious. Presented by the creators of "Wallace and Grommit," it has all the quirky humor that I so love.
__________

Still tired.
__________

So, putting the company's magazine together for the first time was quite an experience. A couple weeks with several 9-hour days (and skipping lunches), followed by one hellish 12-hour day.

Everything that could go wrong, just about did.

The Mac had a nervous breakdown and froze. All attempts to get it working were failing, and I was frustrated almost to the point of tears. My former boss had to be called, and managed to coax the machine to work well enough to get the project finished - but by that time it was past 8pm.

Turns out the HD was almost completely full. Just had to clear out a bit of space, defrag the disk, and soon it was back to normal.

I wish fixing my brain was that easy.