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Yeah. We’re around 3 inches and counting here at casa de loco. Wonderwife said it was damn near a whiteout where she’s at, and she wanted me to bag it. Me being me, ehh…not so much. So hopefully I’m not going to be doing anything damned silly.

I’m pretty sure this’ll qualify me for being more then half crazy. Hopefully I’ll also make it home tonight in less than an hour.

Also, a misclick got me a theme update, which blew up  a couple things that I had tweaked. This is my “Unhappy with the ugly” face. At least I have something to do tonight.

And there are pictures.

New fishtank, 25 gallon. Now sitting next to me, and I have totally forgotten to post any pictures or do anything awesome to celebrate. So now…pictures.

So with that, there’s a chance I’ll be getting rid of the tiny-tank, right? Oh you crazy crazy kids. Nope. The tiny one is going to become the holding tank for when I’m cleaning out the other two. And I should now be able to get that whole process done faster. Life is indeed good.

Now that I’ve said that on Friday the 13th, there’s no way anything can go right. Stupid Murphys’ law.

Wonderwife is trying to kill me.

How you ask? Knife, poison in the coffee, peanut butter and salmonella sandwich?

Nope. Softball. I mentioned that there’s a softball team thing forming, and she mentioned she thought it might be a good idea for me. Fresh air, exercise, getting away from the computer for a few hours…

It’s like she doesn’t know who she married sometimes. Sports are for watching. They’re the things that other people do. I’m quite happy to just, y’know. Watch. And kick and scream in agony as someone tries to get cute with the puck yet again, which leads to a turnover and a 2 on 1 the other way and ends up with our goalie getting faked out of his pads on a goal you couldn’t design any better if you had 3 days and a supercomputer.

But I digress.

I may…actually try this thing. Of course, I’m going to have to get a glove. Maybe a bat. And shoes. and a hat. And sunglasses. Cause goddamnit if I’m going to spend an afternoon pretending to be one of the boys of summer, I’m going to look good doing it. And I will, until something happens where I have to be athletic. Then I’ll be faceplanting hard and fast as i trip over one of those…things. Green, sharp…grass. That’s what they call it right?

Now I have to giggle a little bit. But then I found a posting about it, and oh my goodness was there badness. Once the site is actually back up, I’m going to have to check out some of the claims made by others. IE only, stating that firefox is insecure, that kinda thing. And then I’ll join the horde of angry pasty nerds who are going to have to educate the state on this travesty, and Why You Don’t Trust Your MS Sales Rep.

In a just world, they’d hire me for web development. At least I have a spellchecker.

So this is interesting and funny. NASA is asking for the publics’ help in naming Node 3 of the ISS. Thus far, the leader is Serenity.I like it. It’s good, and it’ll be spiffy painted on the side.

But a new challenger has arisen. Stephen Colbert. He has asked his most loyal and devoted followers to help name it, naturally, “Colbert” by using the suggest your own name section. And they have responded. Last night the leading suggested name was Xenu. 10 hours later, leading suggestion is Colbert.

The Scientologists are gonna be honked off.

Why do people call 911 for shit like this? Not once. Not twice. Three times. I mean it. So I did some checking. Most relevant thing I could find in 5 minutes is the Department of Management Services.

So, public safety announcement. If McDonalds decides that you need to get shanked because they’re out of McNuggets? Don’t call 911. That’s not their point. They’re not a goddamn waitstaff because something’s wrong in your world. They’re there because you need…help.

Although I’m pretty sure this woman does need help.

So the boy wanted to get the PS3 online. That’s not exactly a technical challenge, but hey. I needed an excuse to go digging.

So I go into my cable bin. Yes, I have a bin with a collection of cables. Phone cord, co-ax, AV cables, and other miscellaneous items. So I check, start pulling cables out of the bin. Nada. At this point, a 3 foot radius around me has the appearance of a radio shack explosion. The Boy comes into the room, takes one look, and says “I don’t know you…”

He’ll thank me when I save the world using co-ax and AV cables twisted around a 50-foot phone cord.

Also – to the consultant whos’ client called me today? I hope like hell you didn’t charge them for the two hours you spent looking at their network like a monkey trying to fuck a football before leaving and telling them to call me on your way out. I fixed their problem in 4 minutes.

Y’know, it’s not like I’m running out of material on this thing. But I keep having this weird feeling like I’m being judged by my wordcount.

So I’m mucking around with catching up on things. The D&D session podcasts with Penny Arcade are officially awesome, and I have reading to do for friends. And then I have a friend who wants me to watch his improv skills. So yeah, that plus working and commuting makes for far too much fun.

Root: Okay…so listening to a podcast of Wil Wheaton and the creators of PVP and Penny Arcade playing D&D rates a what on the nerd scale?
Friend: On a scale of 1 – 10?  54,345,756,234.005
Root: But they’re swearing!
Friend: Oh…okay.  In that case, 54,345,756,234.003

But it’s a damn good Podcast.