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Fucking ARIAL

Fucking ARIAL published on

I’ve just spent twenty minutes trying to download a copy of Arial Unicode for my Japanese dictionary on my brand new (really old) tablet.

Microsoft is afraid you’ll like, pirate Arial and do nasty things to it. Like rape the letters that have holes in them or whatever it is you stinkin’ pirates do. Pirating all the time.

So Arial Unicode is only available with Works, and can’t be downloaded from their website.

The tablet has some ancient, bizarre version of Works installed, but it somehow apparently didn’t come with the font. I have a newer copy of Works sitting here, and the library has the very newest one, if I wanted to walk over there – but the tablet doesn’t have a CD-ROM drive, so I can’t install either of them.

So in short, I have, theoretically, legal access to three separate copies of the damn font, but I can’t use them. I feel justified looking for other places to download it – actually, it doesn’t even occur to me yet that I need any justification, I mean, this is *Arial* we’re talking about.

But Microsoft has apparently sent C&D’s to every website that was offering the download. I just checked a couple of BitTorrent search engines. Didn’t find anything, of couse.

And so then it kind of hit me – I was just reduced to trying to download an illicit copy of FUCKING ARIAL off of BitTorrent. And I FAILED. And I wasted TWENTY MINUTES of my time TRYING and FAILING to acquire ARIAL.

Which Microsoft is afraid that PEOPLE ARE GOING TO STEAL FROM THEM WITHOUT *PAYING* OH THEIR POOR BAAAAABY.

ARIAL.

If I ever meet Bill Gates, I am going to kick that stupid little wuss-face so *hard*.

Monster of the Day

Monster of the Day published on

Rooms tend, when they reach a certain stage of cluttering, to become occupied by the Chairs that No One Should Sit In. They insinuate themselves close to the doors, gathering piles of papers in their seats in an attempt to pass themselves off as genuine office equipment. They may later, once secure in their position, begin to eat the paper, though this has never been observed firsthand; they may also make more of it. The lights tend to stop working properly once a Chair has moved in – and if they were not flourescent before, they become so.

The Chairs are always black or brown, and often naugehyde. They have headrests, but they are positioned badly, and sometimes spin all the way around. They are set low to the ground with seats that are tilted inwards and backwards in ways that subtly bend the laws of physics – it is impossible to draw an accurate image of the Chairs as seen from above. It is, in fact, very difficult to position oneself above the chairs, as their structural peculiarities become contagious after a certain amount of time, making other furniture in the room too unstable to climb on. In particularly extreme cases, the occupants of Chair-infested rooms have been known to stick cardboard under all four legs of a table. It is assumed that the Chairs are attempting to bring other things down to their level; there is evidence that they are a type of mushroom.

The inexperienced will sometimes, upon the introduction of children to their workspaces during a particularly hassled moment, feel the urge to clear off a Chair and tell them to sit in it and wait. The child will be reluctant to do so, not being able to see to the bottom of the chair, and if forced will become surly and throw up in a car fairly soon afterwards, and possibly, if exposed for long enough, bring home a C later in the week and refuse to talk about it. It is not clear what benefit the Chairs derive from this interaction, but as they all do it at least once in their lifespan, it is assumed to be important.

There is only one proven method for removing a Chair, and that is cleaning up the damn room.

This would probably be angst if I weren’t writing about telepathic dragons in the other window.

This would probably be angst if I weren’t writing about telepathic dragons in the other window. published on

When they do obituaries for people who have done something big and important, the fourth paragraph or so starts, “It all started with [a story his five-year-old daughter told him/an idle thought during a TV show/a slight sports-related urethra injury/other innocuous things, I’m tired right now, okay].” I was reading one today and not totally paying attention, and thought the “it” in “it all started” meant the guy’s death, like the “casual comment made by his wife” set off a disturbing chain of events that culminated in the discovery that his life had been meaningless, and he declined, shattered, into a state of gray apathy fading into a dry death indistinguishable from any other moment.

Haha, that Junichiro Tanizaki sure was a funny guy. OMGWTF. I actually couldn’t remember what that acronym meant for a second just now.

So what do you think, is it really in character for the Imperial Wind Dragon to *help* bury the Mad King alive? I’m still thinking he might back off and leave the mafiosi dude to it, not dirty his talons and all.

Pointy

Pointy published on

“The truth is, Red,” Marsowen said confidentially, leaning closer to Scarlet, “I really don’t like you much.”

Scarlet’s first impulse was to say, Well, I guess I’ll just have to live with that – but abruptly he realized that that was something like exactly the opposite of what Marsowen was saying.

He dropped to the floor just in time to avoid the pointy clockwork ferret jumping at his ear.

Jadeite loves what Marilyn Quayle is doing with her hair.

Jadeite loves what Marilyn Quayle is doing with her hair. published on

We watched the live action Sailor Moon series in anime club today. I think my IQ dropped a few points; my heckling is generally at least slightly more coherent than, “Oh, my god, *why* – that doesn’t even make sense! Oh, god, you can see the puppeteer’s arm – did that cactus just go through *mitosis* – oh, no, *why?* WHY ARE THEY SINGING?”

As I was walking back to the dorm just now, a girl ran across the street to avoid me. This was not a coincidence – she was staring at me with her eyes bugged out, and she slowed down immediately once she was past me. I was, of course, wearing a long black coat and fedora…

…But, I mean, I’m kind of *small*. And this girl was something like a foot taller than I am. Also, I’m female, and affluent and Jewish, though I guess I couldn’t expect her to know the second two, but in any case, I am definitely not in any of those demographics that get a lot of violent crimes pinned on them. I now know how it feels to be a large black man.

Seriously, I’ve been sitting here trying to figure out what I was doing that might freak out someone twice my size, but I think I was pretty much just walking – a few minutes before I’d suddenly thought of Negaverse hair and giggled, but there were shrubs and crap in the way and she wouldn’t have seen that. So I’m ending up falling back on stereotyping myself, and have decided that she must just have been an Eastern European international student.

This is because two of the Eastern European international student girls I’ve met have had weird phobias, and my broad generalizations strikes hard and fast like lightning. If it makes sense for a broad generalization to *strike*. But anyway, I’m guessing that her particular silly-East-European-girl phobia must be of fedoras, since if it was the black coat she’d have been hospitalized by now – there’s just way too many of them running around campus – and the same goes for short smirking people and little oval glasses.

I’m pretty sure she came out of the freshmen-only dorm that’s right next to mine, so I guess I’m going to have to run into her again, and presumably scare her again, since I do kind of wear trenchcoats and fedoras a *lot*. Hopefully this will give her the courage to face up to her fears and break out of this terrible East European girl stereotype that an uncaring world has created for her.

I think I’m going to fall asleep on the keyboard in a second.

I’m Captain Harlock, and I can breathe in space.

I’m Captain Harlock, and I can breathe in space. published on

Galaxy Express 999 is completely insane. I think I’ll watch it again and see how many times the kid yells “Maetel!”

In the bathroom last night there was a little black worm lying in the black space between the tiles, where it was invisible until I kicked it accidentally. It writhed itself back into place, and went still again. It probably is not an entirely new species of worm which evolved entirely in the SAE women’s restroom into a form perfectly adapted to sitting motionless on the grout – but I *wish* it was.

It’s moved now, I don’t know where it is. *Ominous.*

I am going to kill you so hard.

I am going to kill you so hard. published on

 

I was forced to leave this note in the kitchen this morning:

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“To the individual who, sometime Thursday morning, took my soup out of the fridge, spilled some on the floor, put it back without covering it properly, and left without cleaning up his spill, thus causing me to stumble barefoot into yellow liquid at 9:00 AM while nauseous:

When I find out who you are, you will suffer torments new to experience of man.

For a lesser food-crime than this, in Kentucky a man lies in a shallow grave, the fondou he did offend against smeared across his sightless eyes, his mouth still agape in an expression of faint shock. This fate and worse await you. Settle your affairs and compose your mind and spirit.

Have a nice day,
SRP”

I think my handwriting sort of lends an air of legitimacy to death threats.

Halide halide halide halide, lide

Halide halide halide halide, lide published on

I was listening to The New Pornographers before chemistry lab. I am now fairly certain that Bleeding Heart Show is about halides. Also, that the phrase “lead-two acetate” is in there *somewhere*.

I keep following Jenan’s advice about Chinese Lit assignments and getting C’s. I think I will stop doing that now. Bad Jenan.

*Panache!*

*Panache!* published on

Today there was a most excellent thing in the dining hall. For some reason, they called it “Vegetable Panache.”

Yes, I’m sure this dish does have more panache than most served there. It also has more moxie, more poise, more √©lan, and probably more Kool-Aid Points. And “Veggie Moxie” would have been a much better name. So I am left wondering, “why?” Why panache? Why use that specific word they don’t understand, when out there in the wild outer reaches of the English language there are words like “agglutination” and “fandango?” Why don’t they serve this more often? What does it take to get a correctly cooked piece of broccoli around here?

My mind may never be at peace.

Maybe I could *ask* them to rename it “Veggie Moxie.”

panache1

panache2

 

 

I have actually seen Advent Children this time.

I have actually seen Advent Children this time. published on

1)

Okay, anyone know what the fuck happened?

2)

Spoilers:

…Okay, I guess they had to bring Sephiroth back. But, but – shouldn’t he have had, like, EVIL DEEDS to do or something? Who, upon being resurrected after being dead for two years, hangs around and taunts Cloud? Why would you *do* that? There are certainly situations in which taunting Cloud is appropriate, nay, *required* – but immediately after miraculously coming back to life?! No!

I need a good dose of Kefka to clean out my system. Hey, remember how in FFVI, the villain, like, MADE FUN of the good guys when went got all inspirational-speaker? Sephiroth read the self-help books just like everyone else. (And why the hell is fucking *Vincent* the one to give Cloud the first big inspirational speech, how does that even work.)

3)

Reeve, man, do you have some body image issues you’d like to talk about?

I am so much smarter than you that it is *physically painful*.

I am so much smarter than you that it is *physically painful*. published on

My immense genius has naturally afforded me many opportunities in life that others, less-gifted, would never have the joy of experiencing. Today, for example, my brilliance led me not to check what was in the sink in the chemistry lab before I turned the faucet on, causing a mysterious blueish chemical in a tub to splash up onto my face, some of it getting into my mouth. I have spent the last forty-five minutes spitting and pondering whether my stomach is cramping because I swallowed some of it or because of the placebo effect.

You people who aren’t *smart* don’t even know what the placebo effect *is*, I’ll bet.

I’ll be skipping dinner. If I don’t show up for work tonight, you have permission to break the door down with an axe. ’cause that’d be pretty cool. Us smart people *appreciate* axes.

$66

$66 published on

Yesterday I gave my paycheck for this week plus $5 to the Red Cross. Today the internet tells me that Homeland Security is keeping them out of New Orleans, because the people still in the city are all just there because they’re too dumb and lazy to leave. If food and medical care are kept *just out of reach*, surely *then* those silly dying people will pick themselves up and get out.

“Meta”

“Meta” published on

So meta-data is data about data, which is the copyright page. And meta-knowledge is knowledge about knowledge, which is supposedly what philosophy class was supposed to be about, except it was mostly the guy saying “but we don’t *know* that this podium can’t think” and people looking at the podium.

But I still don’t know what the hell a metamorph is. Or Meta Williamson. Maybe Meta Williamson, in some ineffable way, physically indicates the properties of some other Williamson somewhere else, so that when someone who’s been to Meta Williamson one day stumbles upon this place, they will realize that Meta Williamson was nothing, only a marker leading them to the true Williamson, where they will experience a Williamsonness that mundane meta-reality has never before offered them. There will probably be a McDonalds.