Just so you all know - commenting should work properly on cat.net now. Suffice it to say I'm a dork, and I should be a bit more careful when I upload files. Carry on. Comment, or something. (I already hear you getting ideas, Mr. Cavanagh. Quiet, you.)

While I have your attention, I'd also like to note that should I get my hands on the previous owners of this house (preferably while in the jurisdiction of a country that has no laws on murder) I really should do some unspeakable things to their corpses.

Just to make a point.

Stage one: amputating Aggressive Floral Wallpaper™ from the wall. (For complete understanding of my hatred and loathing, see the entry from two days ago.)

November. Just as I've celebrated the putting-away of shorts and other warm-weather clothing, along comes a day with a high of seventy-eight. The sweaters will have to live one more day in the back of the closet.

Since I've had absolutely nothing of interest to write about for the past few days, I'm going to open up the forum in a rather dangerous manner. I've been thinking of marking 'cat.net as "out to lunch" for a few days, to take something along the lines of a quickie vacation from daily writings. (Most of you know I do that a couple of times a year.)

There are, however, some options. Just because I'm bored with my standard non-fiction doesn't mean that a couple of my oh-so-disturbing fictional columns can't come back for a few days.

Welcome to Day Two of Ask Domesticat - the advice column that is neither columnar nor containing any actual advice! [What is Ask Domesticat?]

Everyone needs some Monday morning humor. Unsurprisingly, mine came from yet another Huntsville-area native who felt the need to be, well, inane.

I admit it. I'm old school. I post a link to my website in my profile. If you haven't even looked at it prior to contacting me, it's going to show. Questions like "how are you?" are questions that will be honestly answered if they're asked by a friend. "How are you?", when asked as an opening gambit because you don't know anything else about me, virtually guarantees that you've gotten off on the wrong foot.

Sorry to bust in yet again on the gleeful fun that is Ask Domesticat, but I have a small little feature change to Quarto (and, therefore, the entire site) that I think some of you might want to take a look at.

Yep, registered users can now set all posts and comments on 'cat.net to the timezone of their choice. Just because I'm in Central time (GMT-6) doesn't mean you have to be. However, you won't see any changes if you don't set up a time zone; Central time will be the default choice for the lazy amongst you. In other words, status quo.

Past the "recently on winamp" list, I rarely acknowledge when a particular piece of music is flooding through my mind as I write, despite the fact that it happens often. Tonight—an exception. You can pick up an MP3 copy of "Story of Your Bones" at jennifernettles.com (it's under 'media'). She's an independent artist based in Georgia. Might not be to your taste, but it's worth pointing out.

You just thought I was teasing you with a subject line such as "eggbeater Jesus." Trust me. I'm not.

You know how every town has its share of odd and bizarre landmarks? We've got our share. If you ask most residents about the most memorable landmark in Huntsville, anyone who has been here for five minutes will tell you that the full-sized rockets standing upright by the Space & Rocket Center are the most memorable sights in Huntsville.

*Anyone who has been here for five years will laugh at the idea of Sprocket being the most memorable landmark in town. Any old town, they'll tell you, can put up a fake rocket (see also, that little visitor's center on I-65 at the Alabama/Tennessee border just north of here). They'll drive you down I-565, turn south on Memorial Parkway, take the Governors Drive exit, and tell you to keep looking to your left.

It takes a truly special town to have an Eggbeater Jesus.

In the time when man reckoned his life by season and snow, it was called the hunter's moon. The hunter's moon meant many things, sinking low in the sky, gravid with the promise of winter; the time to procure the beast and fowl that, preserved, would be the mainstay of winter.

In the time of rapidly shifting electrons, it is nothing more than an impediment to the Leonids.