“Then why don’t you go over to Cold Cabin Creek and ask Will Gorman for help?”

“Woman, he’s the shystiest trader in these here parts.”

What?

This just pegged the needle on my geek-o-meter. I’m in love.

Well, it looks as if we’ve been invaded by a mouse. I know this because as I was standing by the stove, it dashed out from under the stove, bounced off my foot, and shot like a rocket into the next room. No luck in finding it there, since that’s Matt and Scott’s computer room and the floor is pretty evenly covered by a layer of pop cans, software boxes, and fast food wrappers. Time to declare war, but we must be certain not to let things get out of hand. I only hope that we can get rid of it before it lays its eggs in our brains as we sleep.

Good. Now my correction requires a correction. The previous correction from earlier today is no longer correct as the situation necessitating the correction has been corrected. I’m dead again. Return to mourning and throwing yourselves onto my funeral pyre where appropriate. (Yes, I know I could have just deleted the correction and been done with it, but thats just not how things are going to work around here at coaxialflutter.com. Not while I’m in charge.)

The indomitable Iron Chefs have nothing on me. For some reason, I felt the need to try to cook something today which is odd given that the only things I know how to “cook” come from Chef Boyardee. I flipped through a recipe book and decided to have a go at making spicy tofu stir-fry as it seemed a simple and safe choice. I was pretty apprehensive about how it was going to turn out, but it ended up being mighty tasty. Now I can say there’s at least one thing I know how to cook.

Unfortunately, yesterday’s post now requires a correction in order to make any kind of sense. The first post was a link to a web page generated here that you could use to create a fake CNN lookalike page with a story and picture about someone’s untimely death. Apparently sometime between yesterday and today they realized that it was a bad idea to let people go about faking deaths willy-nilly. It now generates a fake pointless news story, completely ruining yesterday’s dramatic announcement. All in all though, I guess its good to not be dead anymore.

I’m dead. In fact, I have been for some time. I just thought it would be best if you heard it from me, you know? I’m sorry, this must be a difficult time for you. No, you can’t have my cds, you vulture. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson about faking my own death scams after the one that backfired so horribly on me last year, but it seems not. See, there was this great free (but not anymore) website imbot.com that you could use to send automated computerized voice messages to any phone number. I suppose there may be some legitimate uses for a service like that, but to my roommates and I it was the ultimate prank phone call tool. For some reason, I thought it would be hilarious to have it call my parents and tell them it was an automated morgue phone calling service letting them know that I had perished horribly and all they had left of me was my head. It seemed to me that this was morbid enough to be funny, but not at all believable. You see where this is going. The only one at home at the time was my sister (my poor, dear, sweet sister) who overhead the message as it was being recorded to the answering machine. Only she didn’t hear the whole thing, most notably the part about only having my head which I had hoped would be the part that made it too absurd to believe. All she heard was a computerized voice saying that I was dead, which she believed. (At this point, I’d like to take a moment to address the concern that you are feeling that I am a horrible person. You are absolutely right, I am a horrible, horrible person.) Naturally, she didn’t take the news too well, and called my dad at work to tell him to come home. It was just after that that I called home to see how everyone was taking the news, but instead of mildly amused parents I found myself talking to my bereaved sister who certainly wasn’t expecting me to call from beyond the grave. Boy, did I feel like a jackass. Fortunately, she forgave me and even still speaks to me. I only hope someone learns a lesson from this, but its obviously not me because this time I’m really really dead. I mean it.

New domain, check. New name, check. New design… no.

For the past week or so I’ve been working on ripping my whole cd collection to mp3, a fairly daunting task. I finally figured that it was worth getting around to doing though, since storage has gotten to be really inexpensive. My collection of about 250 cds should take up about 15 gigs or so I’ve calculated. Not too bad. My final goal is to save up for one of these, and be able to take my entire collection wherever I go.

The Conspiracy is Real, or so claims the most recent addition to the graffiti on the inner door of the elevator in the building where I work. I love campus graffiti. Frequently vulgar, entirely random, and more often than not unintentionally humorous, the graffiti on campus almost makes it worthwhile to go down there just to see what gets added. Until it was recently cleaned, graffiti also on the inside door of the elevator at work proclaimed boldly and entirely without context, ASSJACK! I always thought it was the most random thing and had to fight to keep from giggling each time I rode the elevator. (Yes, I giggle. Just like a freakin’ girly girl.) I’ve honestly never heard the word assjack before. Its probably some new hip slang I missed out on. Its probably also something horribly offensive. That always happens to me when I start flinging about words when I don’t know what they mean. So have a nice day, assjack.