Kunoichi-no-Chesterfield, or Owarai Kombi

kanzensakura's avatarkanzen sakura

It was a dark and stormy night….no, it wasn’t. Actually it was very early Monday a.m. My husband awakens me from a sound sleep with a hiss “someone is trying to break in the house”. I nod to let him know I heard and understand. He slides from his side of the bed and quickly slips on a pair of shorts and grabs the metal baseball bat. Equally soundless, I slip into my Ed Hardy tennis shoes (my favorite pair with the aqua and white stripes, rhinestones, geisha on one side, koi on the other). I slide open my lingerie drawer and pull out my sword.

We make our way down the hall in blackness. Sure enough, someone is rattling and kicking at our door. On the silent count of three, my husband jerks open the door and I switch on the light, my sword held high, ready to behead…

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There was a Java update…

…I wonder if quickpost will deign to work again.

No, it would appear not yet.  I had to use “popout” for this to post….

The post interface that comes from the drop down menu of the “W” in the upper left hand corner of the screen, does not appear to be working either.

So far, the main posting interface is the only one that works consistently.

I’m the last person…

…that should be in public life.  So why on Earth have I even considered a project like this?

Oh well.  No matter.

The pop up, or rather pop down post editor still won’t work, until I pop it out.  Not that I’d use it all that much, but I do like it for short posts, particularly on this side of the blog.

I believe it has something to do with the first time I created this set of blogs, I changed my username to something less whimsical than it was before.

I haven’t figured out if there’s a helpdesk that can address this issue but this phenomenon occurs regardless of what computer I use or what browser I use on whatever computer.

Our corrupt masters…

…are tasked to corrupt us; I think, so we will become like them. In only a hundred years, we have forgotten how different we are from all other peoples in all other countries of the world. Even now, we are not completely corrupted. Even now, our spirit is not entirely broken. We are different. Each of us. In some ways, all of us. Even those who seek to destroy us, are still like us, and can’t stop being one of us. Individual, yet also one among us.

Others may come here, and become this thing we are. But anywhere we go we can never become of that place. Instead, we produce, in all those around us, a microcosm of who and what we are.