(no subject)

I just finished reading Snow Crash.

I'm suddenly rather glad that I can't code for beans. Safer that way.

I'm also vaguely creeped out by a few things: the surfacing of a line from my women's Torah commentary about how for four hundred of the six hundred* years that Solomon's Temple stood in Jerusalem, there were Asherah statues in the sanctuary- well, that's the big one. Followed closely by:

"Now, are we actually gonna go before a federal judge, and tell him that some moldy Babylonian God is going to drop in on Central Park West, and start tearing up the city?"
"Sumerian, not Babylonian...."
Evo Shandor just got a lot more scary.

No more than that. No spoilers. Well, okay, one thing:( Partial spoiler for stuff to do with Raven )

.

Having said that, I've got work to do. More later.

*I may be remembering the numbers wrong, as I have not been able to pick up said commentary or a Tanakh since the idea occurred to me, but that's the best I can do.

Dear superpages.com:

Thank you for giving me the address of a yarn store walking distance from my office. 55 East 52nd Street is easily reached from here.

However.

Please have a word with the people you hired to link your listings with Yahoo Maps or Expedia Maps or whatever. I clicked on your site's 'gimme driving directions' link. Said link failed to pass its zip code to the map database and there are two 55 East 52nd Streets available in the New York City area. The one in Brooklyn comes first alphabetically. Walking to Brooklyn from this office is not an option.

Pass the damn zip code next time. Thank you.

Because I can, really....

Sophronia Toops smoothed down the front of her robes with both hands, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. Oh, sure, she would be spending most of the Feast at the head table, where no one could see but the two teachers on either side of her, but- well, these new robes wrinkled so, and she couldn’t be stopping for a Pressing Charm every few minutes. Why had she ever let Madame Malkin talk her into linen?

"Oh, Sophie, do stop fretting," said the amused, grey-haired witch beside her. "You do this every year, and it never helps."

"Well, I’m sorry, Rolanda, but I’ve got an image to maintain," Sophronia snapped back. It came out a little harsher than she intended, she bit her lip. "Er. I didn’t mean it that way."

"It’s all right." Hooch laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. "Honestly, though, it’s just the start-of-term feast. The way you carry on, you’d think it was an inspection from the Ministry. I doubt if anyone’s even looking at you, other than the first years."

"Yes- well-" A familiar odor stung at her nostrils, distracting her from what she was about to say. Hooch, noticing the silence, turned to see what was so interesting.

"Oh," she said. "Well, that explains a few things. Can’t say I blame you."

Sophronia’s cheeks went red. "It’s not-"

Hooch grinned. "Of course it’s not," she said soothingly. "I understand. Don’t worry, I shan’t say a word."

"I’m serious, Rolanda! This has nothing to do with the new fellow!"

"Really? Can I have him then?"

"Rolanda!"

"I mean, look at that arse of his-"

Sophronia would’ve liked to sink through the floor. All she could manage was an indignant squeaking noise.