On a less happy note, I had been wondering for a while why almost all of Rebecca Borgstrom’s protagonists are brave children in great danger. I suppose her column today is an answer of sorts.
Category: Angst
Further Keyhole obsession: I’ve finally proved to my satisfaction that New Circle Road in Lexington is not a circle, but a teardrop-shaped gob of snot headed southeast to Richmond.
For the record, I am SO WATCHING YOU.
Update 1040 hrs: I just spent like half a damn hour playing with this thing, flying all over Louisville and trying to figure out what looks like what from the air. I never properly understood how huge the (now-closed) Showcase Cinema parking lot was. Is. Also, if you get driving directions and superimpose them on the satellite images instead of the map? Things don’t quite line up, so to get anywhere it is apparently necessary to tear up a lot of lawns and drive directly down the median of the highway.
Sin City
Yeah, I saw it already, because I’m better than you.
And I gotta tell you… man, there’s a great movie in that footage, but that wasn’t it. It was a decent movie, an extraordinarily pretty one, and resolutely faithful to the original (as everyone’s pointed out). Cut all the voice-over monologues, I mean all of them, and you’d have a good movie. Cut the length of every shot in half, shrink Michael Madsen’s speaking parts (why, Michael, why? He sounded, as Maria pointed out, like community theatre), lose the stiff wire work and actually put the music from the trailers on the soundtrack–then you’d have a fucking magnificent balls-out bug-eyed noir-fu motion picture. I would watch that movie every night.
I hope there’s a director’s cut, or an editor’s cut, or a pirate renegade interweb cut, or something; I don’t think I’ve seen anything that needed it worse. Last night people were giggling when they should have been gasping, and all it would take to fix that would be a sharp knife and time.
I’m dumb
Oh, duh, Apache rewrite rules. Um. (Now I just have to learn how to write them.)
I need PHP to go up one level of a directory, then go back down several more, to include a file. I don’t know how to do this, but I’ve been getting around it by using a URL instead of a path; now Dreamhost is turning off the option of using URLs in include statements, for (good) security reasons, so I can’t do that anymore.
I also absolutely can’t find a way to do it the path way. It won’t work with an absolute path from the root directory, nor from the highest web-accessible directory (I’m in a Linux / Apache environment, if you hadn’t guessed). I can’t use ..s to ratchet up, or do any other kind of relative movement I can think of. Does anyone know how to get what I want?
Actually, Lisa, I think you’re the only PHP programmer who reads this, so maybe I should have just emailed you. But I might be wrong.
Update 0224 hrs: Never mind. I found out how to do it, but it doesn’t help, since I need to have Apache parse the file (a NewsBruiser portal CGI, if you hadn’t guessed) before I grab it, and an internal include obviously doesn’t do that. I’ll have to use the curl library, once I figure out what it is.
And I know I’m a bad programmer for going with this setup in the first place, but I had the choice of frames, meta refreshes or dumping a load on PHP, and it was rocks and frying pans all over.
There’s a section of Barret Avenue (on my bus ride) that is apparently being cleaned up by a volunteer group, or has pledged to reduce its emissions, or something. As part of some city PR rep’s bright idea, they’ve demarcated it with signs as “The Green Mile.”
Which is a nickname for the walk to the electric chair.
Let’s see if LJ picks it up this time
In case you can’t read the text on the second one (which would be the back), it’s the Devil’s Dictionary 2.0 definition of “blog,” so of course this would be pending Mr. Knauss’s approval.
Seriously, if I got a couple dozen of these printed up, would anybody else be into it? I know my bitter, self-mocking iconoclasm is somewhat uncommon within my circle of readers, but there is a time and place for the ironic acknowledgement of one’s own participation in an overhyped and crass medium of expression. Like, say, concerts.