I’d like to launch a new service for gay personals sites (or non-gay sites as well, but they’re none of my business): odorama. No scratching cards, no high-tech essential oils diffusers, but rather something similar to the blogger code that would allow us to know which body odors we like, and which we can’t stand. Of course, it would be a bit more complicated than the blogger code: you’d have to go to some specialized institute that would analyze your sweat and identify your odor’s components, transforming them into a text code everyone could understand—with some experience. After you have slept with a couple hundred people, knowing their respective body odor codes, you’d learn to recognize the codes you hate and those you can’t resist. Don’t you think it’s high time we restore nature’s (and in particular pheromone’s) importance in human relationships? Yeah, liking each other’s bodies and faces, and listening to Britney Spears together, it’s all nice, but I’m not gonna marry a guy who stinks!

P.S. Or maybe there’s a simpler way: you’d have to establish a network of boys you have slept with and you know you like their body odors, and then you only sleep with people they can recommend. Friendster applied to sex. Bad surprises no more! But it’s an ugly concept, and I know I couldn’t do that.

Note to self: stop playing photographers for as long as I’m single (and, considering the way things are right now, it might as well last until the next millennium). It’s too hard on my little nerves, particularly when the model is much more my style, and much kinder, than the picture I saw let me assume. I was already quite demotivated lately, as far as photography goes (well, it’s simple, I’ve been demotivated as far as anything goes for a month) but this time it’s finishing me.

P.S. I don’t know whether it’s because of heat or of a temporary bug (and I don’t know which option would be worse), but my camera has eaten one picture, and the bottom rows of a dozen others. CF Error, it said. Whatever. All I see is that it screwed me, and I’m worried about my next photo shoots.

Nothing like a TV news piece about police violence in the morning to destroy your good mood and your motivation to write about the past night. But I’ve got a blog to blog, so I’ll get to it. And this thing is long, and I’m not that motivated to translate it, but I will, unless I give up before the end, which I’ll try not to.

So last night I found out I could go out clubbing without necessarily feeling like a loser. Really. Yeah, I know, I’m a bit slow, it took me half a dozen years to find out how clubbing works. Better late than never, they say—and the good thing about my legendary avoidance of any kind of professional responsibility results in me looking way younger than I am. So it’s okay, I can still make up for a bit of the time I lost.

I’ll start with thanking Paumé for offering me to go out, and insisting, and begging me on his knees, and I may be exaggerating just a little bit, because it’s my blog and dramatization means you have to make some adjustments so it comes out more interesting, and you didn’t think I really like TV series, did you? So, I said, thanks to him for allowing me to have a good night (even though I left alone, but, well, it’s still new for me, it wasn’t gonna work the very first time, was it?) for exactly zero euro and zero cent.

I always went clubbing as a spectator (even though that may change in a near future, but more about that when it does happen) but, of course, as I stood up against a wall in a corner, I always grew bored pretty quickly—I didn’t know there was such a thing as organized spectatorship, with tables and seats, and that all you have to do is find someone who’ll pay for a bottle of alcohol, and have a couple of friends to share the experience with. It’s all so simple. Let me clarify: I don’t drink (I only tested half a glass of whisky+orange, to see how it was, and it actually wasn’t bad, even though I hate the taste of whisky, even with Coke). But who says bottle (paid by someone else, since I don’t drink, so the trick here is that it doesn’t cost me anything, now I’ll only go clubbing with someone who buys a bottle) also says free, unlimited jugs of Coke or orange juice (well, free to me at least). And the point is, it’s far less boring when you’re sitting with people and you have drinks (and ice cubes, they’re important too) at will. It’s also far less boring when you’re dancing after you’ve drunk a liter of orange juice over the night: I’ll have to try that again as well.

As a result, this is the first time I get out of the club in broad daylight. Not mild sunrise like when I’ve been waiting hours in a dark corner for the time there would be the first subway, but real daylight of six and a half in the morning in late may (damn, it’s aleady late may). Now, my clothes are in the washing machine, and even my bag stinks of smoke, but it’ll grow out of it eventually. As far as I’m concerned, I’m now thinking of conceptualizing the possibility of regularly going out. Thing is, I’m not going to get a job just in order to pay for a weekly clubbing night. No chance of that. If, at least, I was telling my sex life on my blog (for starters, I don’t have a sex life, but even if I did, I wouldn’t give out details), I could become a ghetto VIP and have free entrance. Instead, I’ll have to wait until I’m a famous gay director, and it might take a little bit more time. And then, once I’m there, I’ll be worn out and disillusioned and I’ll just look like the old pervert who comes and fantasizes on the flesh displayed there.

But, come to think of it, and considering I noticed 50% of faces I had already seen in chatrooms, what’s the point of going out if you end up meeting the same people?

I have a bit of trouble figuring out if the way Justin Timberlake sings Cry Me A River like a horny adolescent is sexy, or if it’s just my hormones (and a bit of my visual memory) speaking. But then, if he earns millions of dollars by making records and talking crap about Britney Spears, that’s because his songs are precisely tailored for the kind of prepubescent girls who dream of being touched for the very first time, like me. Like my prepubescent superego. Or my prepubescent id, or whatever is related to my reptilian brain.

Anyway, the day I download Britney songs, just shoot me.

I just checked my (somewhat limited) mp3 collection to see if there was any Britney, and… I won’t tell you.

Damn, have I got nothing more interesting to write about than that? Nope. Crappy week.

P.S. It’s five in the morning and I’m listening to a Justin Timberlake mp3 over and over. There’s no time to be lost, shoot me right now, there isn’t any kind of hope left.

I would delete the previous article, but it would result in two days without posting, and since I feel like I’m not gonna write much today either, it wouldn’t look that good.

I would, also, do the dot thing again, but if I start doing that every time I have nothing to say it’s gonna be too systematic and not look like a blog anymore. (Or maybe it would look too much like a blog, actually.)

So I’ll just write nothing, and say hello. Hello!

Interesting boys aren’t found in chatrooms, that’s for sure. They probably don’t hang out in the kind of public parks where you find gay men, that’s for sure too. And I don’t think they spend too much time on dancefloors either, although they might go there occasionally, but not too often, and no matter what I’m not going. So. Where does one meet an interesting boy?

Well… that’s assuming there is such a thing. And that’s probably delusional. But I feel like deluding myself these days. I even feel like waiting for a miracle to happen, because that’s the only thing that can save me from the state I’ve been in since my movie was rejected by its two potential leading actors. Oh, right, I forgot that. In order to meet interesting people, I must first get the world to recognize my own interesting-peopleness. Chicken and egg.

An interrogation of three in the morning: are there statistically fewer premature ejaculators among cut men? It would be logical. Or maybe it wouldn’t. (I’m hesitating right now, maybe I shouldn’t allow commenting on this post, to avoid the dozen comments that will want to be funny by asking whether I’m thinking about that for personal reasons.)

My eyes have only been on the page headers for a few hours, and it’s already pissing me off. You can start betting about how many hours are left before they disappear.

Don’t you agree that there was far too much color in the previous version, with its big pink header? Well, even if you don’t, it’s too late. It’s much better this way, there’s more gray, it fits me better, and I think it’s lighter this way (I’m obviously not talking about download times, as there are more and more images and nested tables, but it looks lighter to the eye).

It wouldn’t look so broken while it loads if Mozilla didn’t wait for the last second to download table backgrounds, obviously. But I don’t think anyone in the development team would care about that, considering tables have bad press these days.

My day isn’t getting any better, I should hurry and go to sleep. The second person I asked to read my script, three days ago, has finally sent me an email.

About something else.

As I said to tonight’s jerk: I need to find a better (easier) idea for a first movie.

To finish this day on a more positive note: big thanks to M. who allowed me to watch, and record, episodes 7.01 and 7.02 of Buffy. (And it should also work for the next episodes. All I have to do is not get in a fight with him for a month, but I don’t see any reason for that. Except for the karma I’ve had to put up with lately. Well, anyway.) The review will be published tomorrow (and only in French, I suppose), because there’s been too much happening since this afternoon (see previous post), and I haven’t taken notes while watching the episodes, so I’ll watch the tape again tomorrow. Feels weird being among the crowd that has seen those two episodes this week.

I don’t see what’s the point of telling your life for two hours to a complete stranger, kiss him and make out like you’re the last two men on earth, if in the end you don’t even intend to trade phone numbers with him. I know I’m old fashioned and I’m so naive and I’m not of this world. Of course, the one who really lost his time tonight was the one who spent two hours listening with attention (silly me) to the other having a free psychoanalysis session. But it so happens that I’m not of the talkative kind, so I tend to let this kind of situation linger.

I think I should definitely stop doing aries(es?), it’s bad for my health.

I think I should definitely stop doing men, it’s bad for my health. Yeah, right.

This life and this world bug me. It’s the second time in a row I get the big making-out then bye. All I’m asking is that boys who are only after sex (not that it never happens to me) don’t French-kiss me that way.

It obviously happens just as I’m going out without my camera that a brass band crosses town on a pick-up under the rain, followed by horses. But no regrets this time, because the room in my backpack was taken by something much more important: videotapes. More about that later.

I’m not sure whether my e-mail is broken or it’s just lagging by a few days, but anyway it’s not working too much, or not at all. I receive comment notices two days late, and I have yet to get the messages I sent myself, because I’m so lonely and nobody ever thinks about me and I need to comfort myself and will you hand me the chocolates please, so it’s a pretty bad sign, isn’t it? I mean, the mail. I mean the mail not coming through.

Buffy’s season 7 starts tonight, in less than three hours, on a cable/satellite channel. And I’ve got neither cable nor satellite TV. There will be three reruns next week, but I still won’t have cable nor satellite by then. I’m screwed. I’m that close to tachycardia right now, thinking that, as I’ll be watching from the corner of my eye the new Stargate SG1 episodes, the whole fr.rec.tv.series.sf crowd will be seeing season 7, and thinking that I’ll unavoidably be spoiled about the end of 7.22 before I even see 7.01 (it’s already started today, with a Dork Tower cartoon about 7.21).

Good. I’ve been meaning to do it for a while, and now I set myself to it, adding an administration script that makes deleting comments as simple as two mouse clicks. And now, I’m a bit hesitant to use it. I don’t know. I think there’s no reason I should warrant freedom of expression for cowards who have nothing else to do but coming here and bullying me (and bullying the other readers in the process) for fun. I profoundly despise those idiots who consider that, since they’re anonymous, since we’re on the Internet and everything is virtual there, they can make fun of people and attack them, and there’s no consequence. When someone insults me on a chatroom, I add them to my ignore list; so why would I let trolls express themselves here? It’s either that or I prevent non-bloggers from posting comments. The problem, on the other hand, is that I’m resolutely against censorship. I don’t know what to do…

Please note that this is not a request for popular votes: the decision will be mine, depending on my mood, and it may vary from time to time. It’ll be a surprise.

.

via ktar6.free.fr

Even at the Festival de Cannes opening ceremony they managed to put half-naked dancers on stage (and I’m not even talking about Monica Bellucci’s butt bouncing in all three dimensions in the back of her dress, good thing I’m not involved in women). They’re not helping. And there’s a public transportation strike that may never ever end (or maybe tomorrow)… what am I gonna become if all I’m left with is Netmeeting?

C’est malin : Nallé est encore plus mignon, avec les cheveux coupés. Et, comme de par hasard, il ressemble encore plus à la personne à qui j’aimerais bien qu’il arrête de ressembler. Alors, si un des loftpipoleurs pouvait le défigurer à la chevrotine, ça me rendrait un peu service. Oh, allez, ça rendrait service à tout le monde, de toute façon il ne va coucher avec personne, et il ne fait rien d’intéressant dans cette villa.

Mais comment ça se fait que je n’aie jamais testé, moi, la Danette aux corn flakes ? Ca doit être bon, forcément !

I like it when I add a section to my site, and when I have to make the page’s title picture I find out that I had already made it in advance, in case I’d open that section someday. That was all about telling you that the minilog now has an archive page. Not searchable for now, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s not so obvious: there are things that are worse than nothing. Lots of things, actually. And people. You know. Because the world is complex and all. Yeah, I’m tired.

Tonight I dreamt I was rewriting my script for Ophélie Winter. (Ophélie is… um, let’s say… kind of like… I don’t know, Christina Aguilera, only less sex-oriented, and probably with a nicer voice.) Ok and now that I spent half an hour looking for someone to compare her to, I have completely forgotten what I wanted to say here. It probably was that I’m not sure whether I should consider that a good or a bad omen. Or an omen at all, of course. This afternoon I sent the script to another reader, and now I don’t know if he really had to leave or he didn’t want to upset me with criticism. Time will tell. If you get no news from me for the next few days, check with hospital emergency rooms.

Looks like someone set up a mountain 10 miles away from home, without ever warning me. It looks nice, but I don’t know how to ski, so I’ll have to learn, unless the mountain dissolves in the afternoon.

Okay, it’s less evident in picture than in life, maybe I’m a bad photographer after all. Too bad: you had to be there!

Ah, that’s reassuring: there was indeed a reason for me to look stupid, this morning (yesterday morning, to be correct, since MySQL doesn’t implement my 36-hour days) wishing my mother a good Mother’s Day. It’s all because of those canadians and those belgians, those ethnic minorities polluting the web with wrong dates in order to mess with the minds of good French citizens. And that’s the result. Looking stupid. Much of a change for me.

Well, I’m not gonna wish her twice in the same year, am I?!

I cut my hair too short today, my musical’s script is crap, I can’t figure whether I’ve gained or lost weight (I don’t want to weigh myself, I’ve always preferred uncertainty, in that field like in others, and sometimes experience proves me right, such as when I make someone read my script), and I’m back to sleeping at undue times. It’s all very wrong… Now I know why I changed my layout and added cams: I had already foreseen my return to full-time blogging. At least I’ll have tried to do something else. You can’t be good at everything. And when what you’re good at doesn’t involve earning money, well, you’re screwed.

Ile flottante dans une crème anglaise au chocolat. (Je n’ai pas pensé à faire une photo, j’en ferai une de la prochaine si elle ne disparaît pas du frigo avant que j’en aie le temps.) Dure semaine pour un régime.

Since there’s no way I’m going to let you read the script while I’m writing it (or even after I have finished it, I might as well warn you), I’ll give you the reaction of my composer to the work in progress (translated by me, of course):

It’s not bad… the writing is a bit surprising… halfway between literary and spoken language… I’m not sure I love the Presgurvic-like contractions, but that’s personal taste.

Since you’re probably lucky enough not to know who Presgurvic is, let me just say that I hate what he does. It’s pretty much the worst writer to compare me with. And the rest of the conversation was far from enthusiastic. Well, I knew it wasn’t great, but I still had a bit of hope left, until now. So there. I haven’t decided yet whether I should shoot myself.

Mmmmmfffiam. C’est bon. C’est pas loin du goût du Nutella, d’ailleurs, c’est dire.

I’d like to make a Daily Lechat (à la Daily Oliver or Cult of Georges), but I’m not sure I’d have the courage to make one picture a day. Well, it’s not about taking a picture, but transferring it, cropping it, etc. Maybe if I made a Photoshop script to automatically garooize pictures I could make it faster, and it’d become possible. But the other question is, how many days would it take for the audience (and me) to get bored with daily pictures of my cat sleeping? Cats don’t do anything, they’re not fun to picture everyday.

Since I’m bored, the screencam and webcam are back on the sidebar. It probably won’t last much, but, well, here they are for now. There isn’t enough sun outside to motivate me to work on more productive stuff, so I gotta get myself busy.

via geradon.be

Ca alors ! Pascal Sevran a, dans son émission, les fauteuils en plastique Starck que je veux pour mon appartement. Ce qu’il y a de bien, c’est que d’ici que j’aie un appartement où les mettre il aura changé de décor et je pourrai racheter ses meubles. Quoique, je les préfèrerais d’une autre couleur que beige. Tant pis, je ne pourrai pas meubler mon appart. Pas la peine que je cherche à gagner de l’argent pour déménager, alors, si c’est pour vivre dans des murs vides…

I don’t know why the search form has suddenly decided to become invisible. All I know is it’s still there, it still works, it’s just hidden. I’ll check the CSS later.

Apart from that, it’s not extremely spectacular, but I like. As I checked my files, I realized that the previous version was only two months old. So much must have happened during these two months, for me to feel like it’s been centuries. (Okay, not centuries, I’m exaggerating just a bit there.) Or maybe I just posted a lot.

Oh, I forgot. The page header uses the excellent backgrounds from Squidfingers. Load the backgrounds, check out the site, it’s quite impressive (particularly the latest site in the portfolio).

Here comes, in exclusive exclusivity, the site's next design that I_feel like doing, that I'm gonna start doing, that I_may be doing. With, of course, a whole bunch of <table> tags, because it wouldn't be fun without them. It's been a while since I_last changed the layout, hasn't_it?

If I’m telling in advance, instead of making it a surprise like I’ve usually done, it’s just for the sake of using the scanner. USB scanners are weird. No need to turn it on, it’s always on. No need to reboot, it’s not SCSI. Feel like scanning a picture? Just scan it. I know, it’s been working this way for, like, ten years, but until last week I never had an opportunity to enjoy that comfort. It really makes me want to try and start a webcomic (after all, some people who draw worse than me have succeeded), but I have to focus on my current priorities.

Note pour un lecteur que je vais avoir beaucoup de mal à me retenir d’insulter, mais je vais essayer : dire que la suite d’une certaine série va être encore plus déprimante, et en particulier l’évolution d’un certain personnage précis et nommé, ça s’appelle un putain de spoiler, bordel de merde ! Pourquoi c’est si compliqué à comprendre ? Si vous voulez faire les malins à montrer que vous en savez plus que les autres, ouvrez votre propre blog, et laissez aux autres la surprise.

Ou comment se mettre de mauvaise humeur dès le matin…

Why are dreams so often destabilizing and distressing? Does it mean that I’m unstable and… Shut up. But now, seriously, are there people who only ever make pleasant dreams? (Among those who remember theirs, of course.) Or should I see a shrink? (Regarding my dreams—I already said, and actually it’s written in bold type on the comment form, that you’re not here to comment my life.) Anyway, I guess such people wouldn’t be reading blogs, would they?

If I’ve been posting a lot for the past few hours (although some of it was French-only, so it’s not as impressive in the English version), it’s not that I’m sick, but just that today I managed to write three or four stanzas for my short movie’s songs. The writer’s block seems to have jumped off, and now there’s a whole lot of words and sentences rushing out of my mind at once, schpluhargh, that’s the noise made by big fat slimy sentences getting out of my brain to land on my blog. It’s funny how once you start writing you just can’t stop.

All I can hope for now is that this block will be gone for good, and the rest (of the script, not the blog, because the blog is cool and all but that’s not what’s gonna make me a star) writes itself tomorrow. I don’t know what’s gonna happen tonight, maybe cerumen will permeate my skull and spill between my neurons and block it all again. Or maybe what I wrote today is just crap. That’s a possibilty.

Anyhow, today, I’m so motivated I even had an idea (inspired by Xarro) for a fiction blog. I’ve got the characters and general outline. I just don’t want to disperse my, uh, talent, yeah right whatever, so I’ll just wait until the idea makes it way all around my brain, and either dissolves or becomes so strong I can’t help but realize it. But I like the idea of a fictionlog that could turn at any time into a webcomic.

C’est marrant. (Haha). Je viens de corriger (name removed to protect witnesses) qui m’écrivait sur ICQ je vais le noter par acquis de conscience. Parce que ça s’écrit acquit de conscience. (On acquitte sa conscience, on ne l’acquiert pas.) C’était la minute culturelle du jour, mais ce n’est pas pour ça que je le vous le dis, vu que vous l’oublierez aussi vite que moi, sauf que non, pas moi, mais un peu quand même. Je m’explique : je suis absolument épaté de savoir ça. Je suis convaincu que j’aurais fait la faute si j’avais voulu utiliser cette expression. Que je n’aurais pas hésité une seconde à la faire, la faute. (Je viens de chercher dans mes archives et sur Google Groups, mais ça n’a rien donné.) Sauf que, là, ça m’a sauté aux yeux. Sûrement qu’on m’avait corrigé une fois, et c’est revenu d’un coup, et ça repartira comme c’est venu. Sûrement que je ferai la faute un jour. Mais, aujourd’hui, la correction est venue toute seule, comme si un prof de français s’exprimait par mes doigts. Peut-être parce que, justement, quelques minutes plus tôt, la conversation portait sur l’orthographe, et que ça a mis en éveil une certaine partie de ma mémoire ? C’est marrant. (Haha).

A l’époque où les sucrettes Canderel étaient la grande mode (et à l’époque où le lobby du sucre arrivait à nous faire nous demander si ça n’était pas cancérigène, ces choses-là), je me disais qu’on devrait les parfumer, que ça ferait des petits trucs sympas à sucer. Et voilà que, la semaine dernière, Monoprix met un (unique et solitaire) présentoir de Smint près des caisses, et c’est exactement ça. Bon, il s’est écoulé dix ans entre temps, mais mieux vaut tard que jamais. C’est moins fort et globalement moins violent que les Frisk, donc on doit pouvoir en avaler plus avant de se sentir ballonné. Et puis le design de la boîte est très intelligent (y compris dans le fait qu’elle contient 40% de vide). Voilà.

The only thing is that, since I use Miranda, I make much, much more typos. I don’t know if that’s because I’m writing in dark grey, but I don’t even care to correct them. As if I was using a different keyboard everytime I’m in a Miranda window. Oh, by the way: since a few days ago, sometimes, when I rename a file, my keyboard switches to English—only while I’m typing the new name; it doesn’t stay that way. Windows is so weird that way.

I finally managed to capture video correctly (the previously posted catvid was captures in low resolution). Premiere crashes when I try to access the camera; Windows Movie Maker pretends everything’s fine and then displays an error after the video has been captured; DVIO weighs 32 KB (no typo) and works perfectly, making video files I can import into Premiere, trouble-free. So I’m all set, ready to work, make my movie, get famous. Oh, right, I forgot, I still have those damn songs to write. I’ve got one stanza down, out of a dozen. It’s better than zero, but at that pace I’ll still have to work for a month. Which isn’t that bad, come to think of it.

Yay! I’ve got a Firewire card and I can upload videos on my PC. Yay! Click the picture above to download a moving image of my cat (and it’s not only the cat that moves, but also the camera, and the lighting and bad, so don’t come and criticize, because that’s just a technical test, thanks a lot). If it doesn’t work, you’ll need to download the latest DivX codec (and have Windows; I have no idea how it can be used on other systems).

As a bonus, I’ve got a scanner, which allowed me to digitize the card from Patterson that I regretted I couldn’t show you:

Video. Capture card. DV. All working. Yay! A great thanks to Marc who’ll be responsible for my drowning you under videos of my cats. Uh, no, for allowing me to shoot my movie. Yay!

Two little things while we’re at hardware: I met the new iPod, that I thought looked so strange on pictures, really looks like them, because buttons have been replaced with a tactile thingy that senses you through the white glassoid, and it’s amazing. Go to an Apple Store and test it right away. I also met, in real life and functioning, the little gadget that recognizes your fingerprint on your computer, which I would never have thought could be of any practical use: it seems to work fine, so I’m recommending it for families. Touch the sensor, and Windows XP identifies and logs you on automatically, taking advantage of Fast User Switching. Classy.

It’s frightening. (Well, alright, it’s three-am kind of frightening, as in, half my neurones have left for a holiday in the woods and they’re getting slain by young scared virgin booby-girls.) Since it’s pretty clear I’m losing half the email supposed to notify me of new comments (and it’s not just me, matt is hosted by the same company and has the same problem) (well, actually, I also wrote his scripts, so maybe it’s just me, but it’s not me because it just ain’t, and I’m a PHP genius, so it can’t be me, period) (I said, period) (I mean, don’t argue with me) (and anyway it was working perfectly before and I didn’t change anything) (woah, that’s a total loser’s argument here, I really need to get to sleep, but I have to make this English translation that’s losing all the style and grace of the original posting because, yes, my blog has style and grace, only you can’t enjoy it, and it’s a good thing you don’t understand French so you can’t check for yourself) (oh and by the way, for new readers: yes, sometimes I press return and start a new paragraph; just not today). So I was saying something. Since I’m losing email, I decided to add a page listing all comments in reverse chronological order—basically for my own use, so I don’t miss out on any, but I might as well make it available to readers. So… Crap… I just lost all upercase letters on this text because Treepad bugged. Be right back. Good thing I wrote all those parentheses, they didn’t need uppercase. So, I open my index.php to add the option, and what do I find?

   case 'comments':
       $page_contenu = 'comments';
       break;

See what I mean? I mean I already had that idea, and I already planned to code it, and it looks like I didn’t. And all of that happened so long ago that I completely forgot about it.

Okay, I warned you: that’s only frightening when it’s three and a half in the morning and I’d better be in my bed than posting crap on my blog. But you know as well as I do that I’m at my best here when I’m half comatose. And that part’s really frightening.

Oh, by the way, the comments list: it’s in the sidebar, on the right. Just a little drawback, it also lists comments for posts that have been deleted. I may or may not have to think about solving that, we’ll see another time. Hence the absence of previous / next links, so you can’t go and search the archives. You nosey people.