I think maybe I broke my watch. It fell into the tub last night when I fell asleep, and it sat there underwater for at least a few minutes until I woke up and noticed it wasn’t where I had left it. On the front it says “water resist 50M,” and I’m sure my bathtub isn’t that deep, but there’s condensation now on the inside face, and I can’t read the time beneath it. Oh well. The band was beginning to break anyway.

At lunch, because I had a little time to kill (but mostly just because I wanted to), I bought a copy of Tori Amos’ new album, Strange Little Girls. I especially like her cover of “I Don’t Like Mondays” by the Boomtown Rats.

And finally…well, just because you might not have read this elsewhere, gentle reader: Wil Wheaton, known far and wide as the ever-annoying Wesley Crusher, will reprise the role in the next Star Trek movie. How d’ya like them apples?

If you’d like, you can comment again. I have to assume there’s somebody out there. Reblogger didn’t work, or it worked only intermittently, and I got a little tired of it to be honest. Comments were lost, internal server errors kept showing up, and, more importantly, there was never any feedback or warning when these things might happen. Even when I e-mailed to ask for feedback. I understand that it’s free and somebody’s hobby, but if it doesn’t work, what really is the point? Blogger itself works marvelously most of the time, but then it too fails miserably in some strange way, stops working, won’t load, won’t always do what I want or need it to do. But I apparently can’t run Perl on my account (not without paying more money), so an alternative like Greymatter is out. I probably wasn’t smart enough to figure it out anyway. That’s okay. When Blogger works, I really do like it.

So anyway. It’s Wednesday. How’d that happen? Last night, because I’ve given up on Kal-El’s Creek, I watched the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (thank you again, amish!). I am such a geek for saying it, I know, but I am in awe of Joss Whedon. The man’s storytelling abilities continue to amaze me, and that he has never won an Emmy is, quite frankly, a crime. This wasn’t just a silly, throw-away episode, even if the songs and dance numbers were cute and clever. There were revelations, developments, and I realized that, fundamentally, each of these characters is now alone. They are part of a group, but that group’s dynamic has changed (perhaps irrevocably), and they are, each one of them, alone. As Stephanie Zacharek writes in Salon, it “was just a little more than an hour’s worth of television, but its gently layered tones suggest something infinitely more complicated than either your standard contemporary musical or your standard contemporary TV episode. It’s an all-singing, all-dancing full-moon fever dream. Now that’s entertainment.”

In other news, today is Claude Monet’s birthday, which I know only because Google told me with their spiffy new holiday logo. Apparently (and I only know this because somebody at Metafilter told me so), Google keeps a cache of these special logos for their users’ amusement. Clever, personal touches like this are part of the reason I like the search engine so much. But, alas, it’s not all happy days and sunshine over at Metafilter. Civil liberties are threatened in England, as they continue to all but disappear in the United States, while “Big Tobacco” buys the rights to anti-cancer drug treatments. And now I’ve got to contend with this, which seems to suggest that our war with Afghanistan was planned well in advance of September 11. Great. It’s like the Reichstag all over again.

Here are some more links along the same troubling lines, sent to me through e-mail:

It’s Tuesday, and…well at least the boss is out of town for a couple of weeks. I spent most of the weekend in Maryland, visiting my sister with my parents, and while I wish I had photographs–Baltimore’s inner harbor is especially nice on a sunny afternoon–some things, alas, are just not meant to be. My digital camera has been acting hinky lately anyway, so maybe it’s for the best. Reblogger is also acting kind of oddly lately. Of course, I don’t delude myself that their are thousands of you out there desperately trying to comment, but I still would like to find a workable solution. Greymatter looks pretty nice–better archives, built-in searching, comment posting–but I’m not sure I’m smart enough to figure it out, and it would mean moving my weblog away from Blogger. We shall see. In the mean time, if you’re reading and want to comment, why not send me some e-mail?

Oh the places you’ll go… Once again, where I’ve been today:

The Spam-L FAQ: Blocking Spam

Believe it or not, I’m tired of receiving offers for home refinancing and hair loss programs (see below). I continue to filter them into my trash, but they keep coming back. Bear in mind, if you’re the one sending this stuff to me, I am not amused.

Ftrain.com

I’m on the update list. He added a photograph. So I went and looked. It’s very red.

Phobias at UselessKnowledge.com

I followed a link from Mighty Girl. Did you know: hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is a fear of long words. Kind of ironic that, don’t you think?

annotated: bec links

A weblog. There’s a link to me. What can I say? I check my logs.

How Dare They?

Sometimes, I like to imagine we live in a democracy where everyone’s voice counts and government is not in the hands of the inept and the money-hungry. And then I follow links from Alternet.org and the dream starts to fade.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail: Scene 3, “Constitutional Peasant”

I was translating it into Russian and then back again. It’s probably best you don’t concern yourself why. The results, although amusing, were not what I would call drop down dead hillarious. “I’m thirty-seven, I’m not old!” became “I thirty-seeds, I not age!”

The Most Awful Poetry in the Galaxy

Douglas Adams died too young. Yesterday’s e-mail discussion about “Jabberwocky” led, somehow, to a defense of Vogon poetry. It’s really not that bad once you get used to it. Here, let me recite some for you. Oh frettled gruntbuggly…

Rhymezone Semantic Rhyming Dictionary

Every year, my fellow cappers and I like to change our handles in recognition of the holidays. For instance, at Halloween, I went from UnReality to UnDeadality, and in the spring I may change again briefly to EasterBunReality. It’s silly, but it’s become something of a tradition. And it is next to impossible to find a Thanksgiving related word or phrase to rhyme with UnReality. Which, yeah, is what I was doing.

Liquid Pong

Even if I almost never win, I’m hooked. Just what I need–even more games to distract me from the work I don’t want to do. The Ping Pong is kind of neat, too.

Travels With the Snow Queen

An amazing excerpt from a short story by Kelly Link, found via Boing Boing because I didn’t follow the link when I saw it this morning at Salon. I now have to go buy her story collection, Stranger Things Happen, the first chance I get.

I have just been offered, for at least the third time via e-mail “the first drug-free ‘total attack’ program that aggressively combats hair loss internally and externally.” Internal hair loss? I don’t even want to think about it. I seem, unfortunately enough, to be getting a lot of spam e-mail lately, and though I keep hoping some of it will be worth sharing here for a laugh, most of it never is.