There’s been no Mac G4-optimized Firefox builds of the latest Firefox security release from the usual sources. (new priorities.) But I located one here.
Six Apart: “Later this year the open source version of [ ] Movable Type will be released under the GPL license.”
Desmond walked out of the tube station, past Charlie, paying him no notice. When it started to rain, Charlie packed up his guitar and ran off. Then he saw the mugging, ran into the alley and chased off the purse snatcher.
As things played out in the version of the events as Desmond relived them after the portal exploded, Desmond saw Charlie, confronted him and delayed him long enough so that he likely never witnessed the mugging.
Now events are falling into place as Desmond predicts them, except that Charlie doesn’t die. Desmond’s flashes of Charlie’s deaths follow his relived version of the events. But due to some twist of causality in the way that things actually played out (or simply due to karma Charlie earned by preventing the mugging), Charlie doesn’t die.
Tricia showing
Jeff practicing with Ever
Baby kicking
Our boy is due in just over four months. I did some stealth blogging about the pregnancy in November and December, and I’m making those entries visible today.
Häagen-Dazs ice cream is on sale. But the selection has already been picked through. The popular flavors are gone. Only a scattering of pints in bland varieties remain: creme brulee, walnut, and two kinds of vanilla. The only chocolate left is in the English Toffee. But there’s a blind spot in the ice cream freezer display where the frame of the door blocks several varieties from view. The impulse shoppers were too quick to notice. These flavors are almost fully stocked. It’s like finding Narnia, except that the forgotten stash of Mint Chocolate Chip isn’t an allegory for Jesus.
I’m shifting books around in my storage unit. I hear the elevator door open down the hallway. The sound of footsteps echoes around the hallway, then the sound of a key being selected from a key ring. A lock is removed, a latch opened , and the garage-style door of one of the storage units is lifted. The visitor makes no sound for about thirty seconds. Then a piano plays. It goes through a complete song, one I don’t know. The final note is followed by a silent beat, then the door closes and the lock goes on. The visitor speaks: “It’s out of tune.” That sentence echoes around the hallway. The elevator doors whisper open and then shut, and it’s quiet again.
We had an ultrasound on Monday. The baby is looking healthy. He (or she) is active — rolling around and kicking off the side of the uterus.
If you’ll indulge me, here’s the highlight reel. (1.6 MB Quicktime, about 5 minutes to dowload on dialup)
The second trimester begins on Christmas day.
There are no lights on anywhere between Ikea and the I-90 tunnel on Mercer Island. Out the other end of the tunnel and looking across the lake, the only lights that can be seen are the headlights of a few cars and lights in the tops of skyscrapers peaking over Capitol Hill. I drive onto the bridge; the skyscrapers dip out of sight and the only headlights I see now are on the road around me. Over the bridge and up toward the (well-lit) second I-90 tunnel, I can make out little flickers of candlelight in nearby windows.
The power is on on the other side of the tunnel. It’s like it’s a whole different city here.
Some of the best personal writing on the web was written by Leslie Harpold at The Hoopla500.
Tricia goes out for early errands. She comes back with bagels as I get out of the shower. I’m having a slow leisurely start today. I turn on the radio and learn that many of my neighbors are hardly having an average morning: More than half the city is without power. Trees are down and buses are delayed. The daily papers weren’t even printed this morning.
Last night, after the rain and before the wind, we had dinner at our neighbors and talked about names. We’ve found some good girl names, but haven’t agreed on any boy names. I’ve stopped campaigning for “Duncan” and am favoring “Alex” now. But Tricia says that one of her friends already named her son “Alex”. “‘Alex’ is taken.” Someone looks out the window at Denny Way, “Did you see the street earlier? The water at that low spot was up to the car windows.”
I sort through a pile of business receipts and put them into files. It’s difficult. So many of them pull an emotional string in me.
A receipt from a bookstore in Kent: I remember waiting in the Court House for two days to find out if I’d been chosen for jury duty. This was just after we Found Out.
An invoice from the book fair that I did in October: There’s a mix of excitement and disappointment associated with that weekend and now there’s a nostalgia for Before.
I pick up an official-looking document with decorative borders. I assume at first that it’s my business license, but then I read the title and I panic. It’s a birth certificate. It’s my birth certificate, but for a moment I think that it’s my child’s and that I’ve forgotten that it has already been born.