The picture above is a glass of mostly whisky at the Make-Out Room.
whaddaya know, other folks have DNS problems too.
I'm back to an XML backend for this site. (managed by Blogger, of course.) Things will be in flux for a while. Flux is good! If you're interested in the Blogger template I'm using to generate the XML, you can take a look. If you're interested in that, you might also be interested in the resulting live XML file. And when I'm happy with this page, I'll probably release the ASP code I'm using to parse it. (scripting is fun.)
cryptic posts unglue the footlocker.
This certainly was a long day. I found myself in Silicon Valley at a cool company meeting even cooler people. (ev and matt were there as well. and we all know how cool they are.) I guess a company is only as cool as the people working there. Oh, did I mention they were cool? ;) We also made a quick stop at Exodus. ahem. I got my hand scanned, man.
I woke up around 5:30 this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I have a feeling this is going to be a long day.
we just had some good sushi with the deepleap crew and a quick stop at the sanrio store. I got a funky little Badtz Maru cell phone dangly thing.
In the late 60's the Haight in San Francisco was a place where people were rejecting one culture and building a new one. Today it is a place to buy shoes. There are a surprising number of shoe stores on Haight street. I visited all of them this weekend in search of cool shoes. And I was unsuccessful. Why? I have a theory. I'm not a very fashion conscious guy. I predominantly wear jeans and t-shirts and hiking shoes. And this is what I was wearing as I walked into the store. I found a pair of smart looking campers on the shelf. I walked over to the salesperson: an energetic young woman in camouflage, dreadlocks, pierced and pierced again. Her eyes were sparklers burning tracers into the air as she moved her head, darting. I walked up to her with the shoe in question. She sized me up in one glance, and her expression said, these shoes are too cool for you. She went into the back for quite a while. She was making it look good. She returned, glancing from side to side, and said, "um, we don't have those in a size twelve. sorry. you might try next door." I smiled and thanked her. I knew she had just played her *real* role as fashion monitor; matching up shoes with their proper owner. And I didn't fit the profile. A scene like this was repeated in every store. It was somehow satisfying not to spend money there. And the lyrics of the Grateful Dead came to mind as I walked past the Ben and Jerry's on Haight and Ashbury, I don't know, now, I just don't know, if I'm goin' back again.