I discovered that certain fonts were displayed in weirdly different sizes, and my beautiful mellow yellow was screamingly fluorescent, depending on which PC was used to view the blog.
I think I’ve fixed the problems, at least for those using IE. I’d appreciate notes from other browser users – do you see the flowers, does the colour look nice and unfluorescent, and do the fonts seem essentially uniform? I may try experimenting with browser-friendly code, if necessary.
Oh, and praise whatever higher being seems appropriate for MT user support forums!
According to Kaspersky Labs, the MyDoom virus most likely originated in Russia.
Does this explain the three hits this blog has had from Russia?
Both the SCO Group and Microsoft have posted rewards of $250,000 US for “information leading to the capture and conviction of the individual or group responsible for the release of MyDoom.B.”
In the last week, I have received more than the usual number of infected e-mails, but my various virus thingies appear to have quarantined all the nastiness.
Go to Microsoft if you think your computer has been hit.
Just what is the point?
Yesterday I got the distinct impression that one of my colleagues was having a bad day – my naturally keen senses picked up on the subtle signs, which included slamming doors and saying things like “I’m fed up.”
So, in an effort to make this person’s morning a little brighter, I took a few minutes at the end of the work day to take care of a couple of little things that otherwise would have been up to this person. I figured that at least today would have a slightly brighter start than yesterday.
Reaction? Nothing. Nada. No thank yous, no sighs of relief, zilch. In fact, I got the feeling that this person was not entirely impressed with the way in which I did these little things – all of which are things I’ve done before, the same way, to rounds of applause and gushing gratitude.
End result: now both of us are grumbly. Hmph.
Of course, the moral of the story is f— the rest of the world, they don’t appreciate you anyway.
Believe it or not, I’ve been working steadily on the site – granted, no recent entries, but I’ve been salvaging archives, tweaking the template, and adding and editing links on the student resource pages.
Work, work, work…
I’m sitting in my office (did I mention, yay!!) gazing across the snow-covered football field, dazzled by the winter sunlight. Cold it may be, but beautiful, too.
The semester is going very well so far – all three of my class groups are responsive and to date, they all seem to be reading the assigned texts. Of course, there’s always that one student whose mission seems to be to make me question myself, the one who sprawls rather than sits, rolls his eyes and mutters, and manages to convey his complete lack of interest and his disdain in a single slouch…
I look forward to grading that paper 😉
Dina wanted new and improved – voila. New, at least. As for improved, feel free to let me know if there are legibilility issues, or if you’re just freaked out by the huge flowers.
Of course, compliments are also welcome, should you have any.
Since a recent entry was devoted to the bon mots of my older son, I felt it necessary to point out that my younger son, Robert, is capable of reducing his parents to giggling fools, too.
Case in point: Dr. T and I have always tried to be very frank and open about body parts and their related functions (which has led to several inadvertent witticisms from Colin, but this is Robert’s entry). As anyone with small male children will attest, at some point all small boys discover the joys of their own penises. Robert is at that stage.
We have not told Robert that he can’t touch himself, only that his penis is a private part, and, as such, should (a) remain in his pants whenever possible and (b) be touched only when he’s alone.
The other day Robert was, um, occupying himself with his penis while I was putting away his laundry in the same room. So I said “don’t forget, Robert, that you should only touch your penis when there’s no one else around.”
Robert’s reply: “Ok, Mummy, you can go away now.”
Today’s Gazette, front page, above the fold: 4-column pic of heartwarming mother-daughter-the-daughter-has-a-terminal-disease duo. Readers are directed to a different section of the paper for the actual story.
Below the fold, one column (which amounts to 3 sentences) is devoted to the story of a West Island doctor who is ‘considering’ banning the use of hospital resources for private, profitable plastic surgery.
The three remaining columns? How Canadian impersonators are responding to a new Prime Minister.
Meanwhile, on page A7, if you’ve read that far: Colin Powell admits that there might not be any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.
Colin, my six-year-old son, has some interesting ideas. This afternoon, I asked him to look for a pair of nail clippers (the cat is too sharp these days). He returned empty-handed, and announced that he thinks that “God is taking our stuff.”
Later, he read a note from his school, which ends with a reminder about next Friday’s ped day: “Day care activities must be registered for.” Colin read this aloud, raised his eyebrow, and said ” ‘For’ what? I think this is backwards.”
Alas, yes, my son has determined that sentence-ending prepositions are something up with which he will not put.
Bennifer is dead – again.
I thought the engagement was off last fall. Apparently now it’s off again.
Thank goodness for media coverage, or we’d never know all the fascinating details of these people’s lives.
At least Ben and Jen are easier on the eyes than Wacko Jacko.
Winston Churchill’s parrot is still alive and cursing the enemy. Apparently her favourite expressions are “F— the Nazis” and “F— Hitler”.
According to the Mirror article, Churchill deliberately taught the parrot to swear a blue streak – and she does it in his voice.