Today is the 660th anniversary of the battle of Crécy, wherein the French got their collective ass handed over to them by Welsh archery, suffering a humiliating defeat and going on to start the appropriately named Hundred Years’ War (and you thought Iraq was dragging on).
Today is also the 26th anniversary of Tex Avery‘s untimely death, to the greatest relief of talking ducks and horny wolves the world over.
I’m pretty sure something else happened on that day, but I just can’t remember what.
I think I may have solved two mysteries at once.
A clue?
It’s small, got round ears and no longer scurries above my ceiling…
Also, it doesn’t pay rent.
Any suggestion on Disney-sanctionned ways of ridding one’s home of uninvited critters? that doesn’t involve camping out in the middle of the leaving room day and night, flashlight and hammer in hand?
Programmers who can’t spell…
Dear unknown person who produced this unspeakably awful batch of code I have to work with:
While I realize your first language is not English, and even though I have my doubts about your French spelling abilities for that matter, could you please make an effort and not spell it ‘avaliable’ in a few hundred files and templates?
I know the code works all the same. It just bugs the hell out of me.
On my way to work this morning, it downed on me that what the world so desperately needs right now is yet another Human League electro remix, and that I may be the ideal candidate for the task.
Unfortunately, my project-manager, on the other hand, seems to think that what the world desperately needs, is another 3000 lines of code by Monday and that, incidentally, I am the ideal, if not only, candidate for the task.
I think I may be a sell-out.
OK, here is one for the Agatha Christie crowd out there:
I come home after a long day at work (and at the pub) to a supposedly empty apartment.
There are three small, oddly shaped, puddles right in the middle of my living room and, although it has been raining today, I live on the 4th of 6th floors (that is: neither under the roof, nor potentially close to any heretofore undiscovered Parisian groundwater spring). The wallpaper-covered ceiling above said puddles shows no trace of humidity.
[…]
Can anyone please point me to an explanation that doesn’t involve an incontinent Siberian tiger breaking into my place during the afternoon and currently sleeping on my bed in the back?
This morning before work, I had to put my bank in Paris on the phone through to my bank in Tokyo.
I seriously don’t know which one of the two spoke the least English.
Today was the 6th of August, a special day for the Japanese people (I blogged about it a year ago).
Threading on this very tenuous connection, here are a few links of interest to japan-curious readers:
In case you are wondering (you probably aren’t) about this sudden surge in Japan-related material: it’s not [just] me getting all mushy on a Sunday evening and missing people and places 10,000 miles away…
You see, August is also the month where one has to send in their application to take the JLPT in December. Being a glutton for punishment, and despite standing absolutely no chance whatsoever, I have decided to go for Level 2 this year. Well, I think I have. I still have three weeks of studious browsing of the Japanese web to convince myself that this money would be much better spent on cheap imported shochu.
Say no more!
We have what you need:
Behold, the
Wear one at the office and get envious looks from all your coworkers (possibly a few sexual harassment lawsuits too).