Today marked the first time in as long as I can easily remember (which I admit isn’t saying much) that we had to deal, company-wide, with an email-borne attack. I don’t think it was a virus, per se; I suspect it was more along the lines of a phishing scam. Still, I haven’t had to send out one of those “don’t open attachments” emails in quite some time.
Hmm. Now that I think on it? I don’t really miss those days all that much…
Would you say that a listening session during which I go from Duran Duran to Daft Punk to NIN to Peter Gabriel to Limp Bizkit to Spiritfall to Yuki Kajiura back to Duran Duran on the way to Jethro Tull and then Garbage and Rammstein and The Space Brothers and finally landing at a track from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack counts as moderately eclectic?
No? Damn. I’ll have to try harder next time.
This is what I get for making the “little grey duck” the national animal of Karelingian Miniscule. Check out one of the positions on the latest issue to come up for my review:
“Banning little grey duck hunting would be the end for centuries of tradition!” wails esteemed aristocrat Dave Washington from atop his steed. “The thrill of the chase, the baying of the hounds, the little grey duck scooting through the undergrowth – it would be a travesty! We provide much needed stimulus to the local tourism, and you can’t deny that little grey ducks are pests – killing farmers’ livestock for example! I propose that little grey duck hunting be encouraged, for the cultural – and economic – benefit of the nation!”
For the record, not once have I killed farmers’ livestock. Honest.
(In case you’re wondering, I took the “less cruel, instantly lethal” position. It’s hard to argue with a girl assembling a trebuchet, you know?)
Via collision detection, where they had this to say:
One of my favorite parts of early, monster-infested first-person shooters was the names they’d give to the levels. Every time I reached a new level in Quake — “Dimension of the Doomed”, “House of Chthon”, “The Ebon Fortress” — I would quiver with laughter at the I’m-being-ironic-well-maybe-I’m-not aesthetic of John Romero.
I present you the First-Person Shooter Level Name Generator. It provided the title of this entry (because I hate having to do real work, donchaknow), as well as several minutes’ worth of amusement. Enjoy, won’t you?
Have you ever stopped in your tracks on your way to do something and realize just how many things you normally do that you’ve completely let slip because you’ve been so caught up in dozens of other things that need doing?
Yeah, I had one of those today. I managed to take care of part of one of those long-forgotten things (checking the anti-virus system!) but was pained to realize how many other things I’ve let slip thorugh the cracks. Bad SysAdmin, no donut. Le sigh.
This doesn’t mean I’m not glad it’s the weekend, mind you…
Tonight, on a Very Special Episode ™ of CSI ™, Nick Stokes tries to save a little girl who everyone else is convinced has already been killed, but… he can hear her voice in his head, leading him from clue to clue.
Gah. I hate Very Special Episodes. I like the character of Nick well enough, but c’mon. First the two-hour season finale, now this. Are they setting him up for a write-out, or did George Eads just work this kind of thing into his contract back when he was threatening to quit the show a couple of years back? Feh.
Ah: It pays to Google, my friends.
The plot of this episode was modified at the last moment to accomodate for a sudden change in William Petersen’s availability — originally, Gil Grissom was going to be the CSI convinced that the younger daughter was still alive. (Source)
Fair enough, then… but still. Can we get back to our regularly scheduled mayhem next week, please?
