| | When Designs Attack
Exciting news: smartypants Tamara (Death Before Onions) will be
transferring her blog to hissycat.com. How fantastic. I'm flattered.
I
don't sleep anymore. I cry and I code (no connection). CSS is the best/
worst thing to happen to me. I'm obsessed. I'm still tentative about
messing with any of the non-CSS MT template files. I tried to "plug in"
a couple of extremely modest, teeny-weeny little scripts, but when I
loaded the page the scripts not only failed to execute anything but
also made my formatting go ape-shit. I'm thinking I must have plugged
them into the wrong jack, or outlet, or whatever the fuck I'm supposed
to call the place where they plug into. I want to get my page icon to
display in the url bar, but I can't. And other difficulties, middling
to moderate in size. The hissycat blog, at the very least, should
launch by the end of this weekend. Additional pages will follow. Now
that I have a working schema of the site, I can do fun, design-related
tasks. Like playing with pictures of bunnies and ducks. Like making
pretty patterns. Like offending and horrifying Alex with my
opposite-of-minimalist "design"-- chock full of lacy crap and cobbled
together clutter. Everything I touch looks like the frumpy, faded
tschatzke of a packrat-spinster-librarian who lives alone, feeding off
of books, public radio, and obscure scholarly/ literary journals, and
talking to the three-legged cat she named after a character in Ulysses.
I'm trying to excercise restraint, though. I don't want to be precious
and, like a good bookworm spinster nerd, my first priority is
readability.
The elevator in Alex's apartment building was done in a wallpaper that,
frankly, is horrifying. Even to me, and I'm, like, the least
effeminate gay man† I know. The pattern is so obnoxious and
bizarre and aggresive. Alex has perfected a backwards walk into
the elevator with his eyes half-closed and cast down so as to avoid the
blight on his vision. It gives you motion sickness just to look
at it. I started to feel like the heroine of the Charlotte
Perkins Gilman story. Before long, I felt compelled to enact the
final scene of The Yellow Wallpaper.
It sticks horribly and the pattern just enjoys it! All
those strangled heads and bulbous eyes and waddling fungus growths just
shriek with derision!
. . .there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so
fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?
†"gay man" = adjective.
Oh. And this:
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| | Posted 9/9/2005 2:02 PM - 45 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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