Monday, November 24
Kat program page. Kat fix bugs. Kat fix bugs again. Kat make page work.
Good Kat.
Kat sleep now.
*thump*
Good Kat.
Kat sleep now.
*thump*
Sunday, November 23
This post is brought to you by Burned Out Kat, the person who is having to redesign her mother's web order page before the pre-Christmas rush starts on Friday, including rewriting the php scripts, which would be a lot easier if she knew php.
Actually at this stage, having successfully tought myself php and banged my head against the computer enough times to have gotten something useful out of it, I'm more or less down to the hand-coding-in-the variables bit. Which I don't want to do. There's a lot of goddamn variables.
Oh, well.
Further dog photos, to make up for the lack of actual post:
This is my father's dog, Shep, with his pet fish, Mr. Fishy. Mr. Fishy was a Christmas present to Shep two years ago (along with a companion fish, unnamed, who led a brief but hopefully fufilling life before going to that great big toilet bowl in the sky) and has proved a good one; Shep adores him, reminds us to feed him and change his water, and (being a Border Collie) spends hours and hours sitting absolutely still and watching him, to the vast entertainment of the rest of the family.
You may notice from the picture that Mr. Fishy's bowl is directly under the tv. This is because at my house we don't watch tv. We watch the dogs instead. They're more interesting and don't take commercial breaks.
No, there's not much to do around here.
Actually at this stage, having successfully tought myself php and banged my head against the computer enough times to have gotten something useful out of it, I'm more or less down to the hand-coding-in-the variables bit. Which I don't want to do. There's a lot of goddamn variables.
Oh, well.
Further dog photos, to make up for the lack of actual post:
This is my father's dog, Shep, with his pet fish, Mr. Fishy. Mr. Fishy was a Christmas present to Shep two years ago (along with a companion fish, unnamed, who led a brief but hopefully fufilling life before going to that great big toilet bowl in the sky) and has proved a good one; Shep adores him, reminds us to feed him and change his water, and (being a Border Collie) spends hours and hours sitting absolutely still and watching him, to the vast entertainment of the rest of the family.
You may notice from the picture that Mr. Fishy's bowl is directly under the tv. This is because at my house we don't watch tv. We watch the dogs instead. They're more interesting and don't take commercial breaks.
No, there's not much to do around here.
Saturday, November 15
Yesterday was the first truly cold day we'd had so far. Oh, we'd had warnings. There'd been some heavy frosts, a few brisk mornings. We'd had days that I thought at the time were chilly. But this was cold. The kind of cold where you open the door at 7 am to go to work and immediately close it again, go back inside, and put on another layer of clothes. And it wasn't just cold; it was the wind. They were registering 90 mph winds not that far from us, and while we weren't that far gone, it was pretty damned windy out there. Bits of the roof blowing off and smacking you upside the head, sort of thing.
Milking was a nightmare. Anything that hadn't been washed out of the holding pen the night before had frozen solid, turning the place into a kind of bumpy-ice obstacle course, and thanks to the wind both the holding pen and the milking parlour were filled with hay and leaves and rubbish. We'd drained everything we could but one of the hoses had frozen solid anyway and had to be thawed in a bucket of water before we could milk. We had to keep the teat dip sprayer in a bucket of warm water so the cows wouldn't get a spray of ice on their little titties. The milking parlor is, of course, open on three sides, so there's absolutely no way to heat it. I kept gloves on for as long as I could, but there's no way to milk in winter gloves, and by the end of milking my hands were so cold I could barely flex my fingers.
And this is only the beginning. God, I hate winter.
Today isn't so bad - we thought for a while that we were going to get snow, but it warmed up and so we're getting rained on instead. But the wind's died down. Calm before the storm, I'm sure, but I'm going to enjoy it while I can.
We brought my baby heifers down from the top field and put them in the field behind my parents' trailer yesterday as well - today being the start of deer season, always a worry. Beer consumption is an important part of deer hunting around here, and with enough beer a 300-pound calf apparently starts to look very deerlike. We've never actually lost an animal to the idiots, but we've caught more than one drawing a bead on an innocently grazing cow. I suppose I can understand. They are brown and four-legged, after all, and in the heat of the moment a few minor details like, oh, the size, the lack of antlers, and the presence of a tail may escape the alert hunter's notice.
You'd think the eartags would be a bit of a tip-off, though.
Milking was a nightmare. Anything that hadn't been washed out of the holding pen the night before had frozen solid, turning the place into a kind of bumpy-ice obstacle course, and thanks to the wind both the holding pen and the milking parlour were filled with hay and leaves and rubbish. We'd drained everything we could but one of the hoses had frozen solid anyway and had to be thawed in a bucket of water before we could milk. We had to keep the teat dip sprayer in a bucket of warm water so the cows wouldn't get a spray of ice on their little titties. The milking parlor is, of course, open on three sides, so there's absolutely no way to heat it. I kept gloves on for as long as I could, but there's no way to milk in winter gloves, and by the end of milking my hands were so cold I could barely flex my fingers.
And this is only the beginning. God, I hate winter.
Today isn't so bad - we thought for a while that we were going to get snow, but it warmed up and so we're getting rained on instead. But the wind's died down. Calm before the storm, I'm sure, but I'm going to enjoy it while I can.
We brought my baby heifers down from the top field and put them in the field behind my parents' trailer yesterday as well - today being the start of deer season, always a worry. Beer consumption is an important part of deer hunting around here, and with enough beer a 300-pound calf apparently starts to look very deerlike. We've never actually lost an animal to the idiots, but we've caught more than one drawing a bead on an innocently grazing cow. I suppose I can understand. They are brown and four-legged, after all, and in the heat of the moment a few minor details like, oh, the size, the lack of antlers, and the presence of a tail may escape the alert hunter's notice.
You'd think the eartags would be a bit of a tip-off, though.
Friday, November 07
Ta-da.
Welcome to my biggest and best example of cat-vaccuuming *ever*.
In the practical sense, though, this means some changes. The blog will now be moving to here, which will at least get rid of the skanky banner ads and let me upload some images. As far as I have been able to tell, this page (kfeete.blogspot.com) will remain, but will not be updated. This post will be at the top for ever and ever, in other words. So if the last few posts haven't turned you off on my deathless prose for life, you'll need to go to the new site....
(Addendium: to the person who will come in and click on the above link within the next five minutes, while I am still fighting with technical issues and trying to make the blog work, and helpfully email me to tell me that the link is broken: Die.)
Welcome to my biggest and best example of cat-vaccuuming *ever*.
In the practical sense, though, this means some changes. The blog will now be moving to here, which will at least get rid of the skanky banner ads and let me upload some images. As far as I have been able to tell, this page (kfeete.blogspot.com) will remain, but will not be updated. This post will be at the top for ever and ever, in other words. So if the last few posts haven't turned you off on my deathless prose for life, you'll need to go to the new site....
(Addendium: to the person who will come in and click on the above link within the next five minutes, while I am still fighting with technical issues and trying to make the blog work, and helpfully email me to tell me that the link is broken: Die.)
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