Strange maps.

Report on transgender-related health priorities. (PDF)

Encyclopædia of the unusual at Wikipedia, including some of my favorites — Banksy, Navel lint, Trojan room coffee pot, Utah teapot, and Cadigan.

this made me think of you.

Famous people who were once homeless (Mirror)

Hyperinflation Banknotes. My mother’s family lived in Argentina through the seventies, eighties and ninties, and have seen the currency reforms.

Gluster, free cluster-computing software. Potentially very exciting to me as it develops.

Links for autodidacts. Thanks, chris2.

Quantum mechanics making a (qu)bit of sense.

FDR and the New Deal can bite me. I work entirely too hard to spend this much of my life figuring out what 12.4% of my income I need to give the Social Security Administration.

The nbtsc.org server should be back up now. Its power supply died, and it took a while to get up there to fix it. Sorry ‘bout that.

Me: Why are you grinning?

Bailey: I’m not! I’m upside-down so frowns look happy!

Dear political activist organizations,

Will you please start focusing on the issues, and not your organizations?

Sincerely,

Aria

P.S. you suck.

A customer just called and said “Hi. Actually I need AOL’s phone number.”

Please document your code and put the documentation on your website. If you’re writing a Javascript library, you’re creating an API. You know how frustrating it is researching browser bugs and the ways they don’t follow their APIs? You create the same frustration when using your libraries when you don’t document them. Thank you.

Joshua: #{expletive :conjugation => ‘imperative’} #{pronoun :person => 2, :number => ‘singular’, :case => ‘accusative’ }

Naka Ima from a student’s perspective. Honesty is good. Canadians think it goes well with Aikido.

I nic’d hand.d!

Hotel Room Nudes is among my favorite blogs; relatively classy yet brash stuff. DNSFW, but FTW.

Breakfast Nook

Gurgitate-mail is up to 1.8.1. Go procmail! Go far away!.

Make onionade!

Or onion smoothies anyway.

Blend an onion, 14oz of crushed tomatoes, with the juice, a pinch of salt, a pinch of garlic powder, and a dash of vinegar until smooth.

Serve cold.

Apparently there was a 3.3 magnitude earthquake 14 miles west of here today. I missed it, but might explain why I suddenly felt anxious.

Kid walking into the coffeeshop wearing sunglasses, which fog instantly: Is there anyone here?

I stand here, at the kitchen counter, listening to you read stories, other people’s, telling about their lives, growing up – they’re stories of fear, of silence.

I’m sorting blades, and pen tips – hundreds of sharp edges, a mistake will make me bleed. I never do.

I know you’re reading stories of other people, but they’re your story, too. All of the stories are about you.

I think about the box of blades and pens, I look at what to me are innocent tools, and I know that they can represent to much more. Precision tools, precise symbols of things that can’t be said aloud.

Now you tell of your own story, and of wanting to be done telling it, for the story to have an end. The end isn’t written yet – is anyone’s? – and you go on, even if you are just searching for how to close the chapter, wondering if there’s another one after.