I just discovered this excellent technology that lets you develop your own modules for Google Personalized . It was cool enough that they let you subscribe to Atom feeds, but this takes it one step further.

Atom's simplicity & ubiquity mean the content can be repurposed in a gazillion different ways - but in other ways it can be very limiting. The Google Homepage API is sweet because it lets you provide a richer interface experience to your end users than a simple list of articles. They've got everything from interactive weather maps to a Flash-based Pac-Man game. How sweet would it be to have an up-to-the-minute list of local events brought to you by your favorite alternative newsweekly, right on your Google homepage? It would be very sweet. How sweet would it be to have a mini (e:chatterbox) in Google? Also, very sweet.

- Z

I grew up in Buffalo, and spent a not-insignificant amount of time in suburban Rochester as well. Both cities take their food very seriously. Buffalo, of course, but you can't overlook the birthplace of Wegman's and DiBella's. What amazes me is that, even though we love food, new food, different food, comfort food, any kind of food - there's very little culinary crossover between Buffalo and Rochester.

To whit: wings. I knew a guy who would drive sixty miles to go to Duff's. Then a Buffalo Wild Wings opened up down the street from school and he said - God bless his heart, he's from Indiana - "this place almost makes it seem silly to have to go all the way to Buffalo for wings."

To whit: subs. DiBella's and Pellegrino's can run rings around John & Mary's, Mike's, and your friendly local pizza parlor with both feet tied behind their backs.

To whit: weck. It's not that you can't get good weck in Rochester. You can't get any weck in Rochester.

To whit: garbage plates (WIKIPEDIA - Garbage plate), which started this whole rumination. When a coworker spied my Tahou's souvenir mug, he turned me on to University Hots, which has always been around on Main, but has just opened up another restaurant on Elmwood. For those of you who are former Rochesterians, fear not the knockoff College Plate - U. Hots gets high marks for authenticity whenever possible and bonus points for innovation where necessary.

U. Hots offers the same selection of sides as Tahou's, with approximately the same selection of main dishes [snaps for carrying white hots (WIKIPEDIA - White Hot) in Buffalo] and the same toppings in a similar grungy setting. The staff is well-trained, as well: "Cheeseburg homefry macsalad everything to-go box for here" gets you exactly what you'd expect.

The improvements they've made are subtle but profound: the grease sauce has flavor; the home fries are deep fried for crispiness; they offer a barbecue sauce that's less astringent than your usual Frank's/A-1 mixture; they offer a chicken finger plate that I think is pure genius. Their inclusion of ketchup in "everything" was unexpected, though understandable. Their omission of the stale bread chunks is sensible, though some may object. We will be back.

- Z

I am going to tell you a little story about Buffalo, which happens to be approximately this [] big.

Around St Pat's day, we ran an article about Dave Moore, the uillean piper for Jackdaw. As a byproduct of the multimedia segment of the website, I came into an advance copy of their newest CD, which I promptly copied and gave to (e:dragonlady7) , who generally likes Celtic music, both classic and modern.

(e:dragonlady7) then promptly wrote some reviews where the words "anemic version of the Dropkick Murphys" were uttered.

A couple weeks pass. A couple anonymous comments show up on (e:dragonlady7) 's blog, saying you know, this may not be the best material for first impressions, maybe you should see Jackdaw live - signed "the bagpiper."

So I come home and she says, "Check this out! Do you really think that's him?" And I say, [shrug], I wouldn't be surprised. Buffalo is, after all, this [] big.

The sun sets and rises. The guy I bought my scooter from is hosting a grand opening party for his new shop. So we show up, hang out, good times ... and I'll be fucked if that one guy doesn't look familiar. No shit, it's Dave Moore, who bought his '77 Li150 from the same guy I bought my Stella from.

Turns out he's a really nice guy, and we hung out and bonded over scooters and Celtic rock and accordions, and those poor little girls with the bright orange and green dresses and the curly wigs that always end up at Irish festivals. A good time was had by all.

- Z

It has recently come to my attention that my employer is the worst kind of publisher - one who carries the banner of fair, balanced news coverage while participating in a vast Republican conspiracy . Many of you may find this difficult to believe but, to paraphrase Deep Throat, follow the hyperlinks.

Fact: Since I began collecting web usage statistics in January our web traffic has doubled. Our top two articles of the entire year have seen more traffic in the last three weeks than any other articles have in the last three months.

Where do you think all this traffic is coming from? Design and usability improvements? Give me a break, and I'll give you another Fact: The week of that issue our #1 source of referral traffic came from one site and one site only - an outlet operating under the guise of "media watchdog."

Coincidence? Then what do you think about this Fact: There is a demonstrable, concerted effort by this "unaffiliated" website -one member in particular- to drive web traffic to our site. He may seem like an angry person on the outside , but it doesn't take much to figure out it's all an act. This guy's gotta be on the payroll.

You think that's far-fetched, don't you? But you can't ignore the Fact: that 7500 pageviews per day from 3800 unique visitors don't lie. It looks like server logs to you, but to me it smells like advertising revenue potential.

You want me to spell it out for you? Check out this little-known Factoid: 'v5n10' upside-down spells 'Ol' USA.' Kinda.

- Z

_______________
Moral: there are some real mouth-breathers all over the political spectrum. Take advantage of the situation by merchandising their arguments.

Woke up this morning on the floor reeking of a two-day software development bender. I've got a tattoo on my butt that says 'I [heart] Python,' and this program I've never seen before is on my desktop saying I'm its daddy and now I've got to take care of it.

It seems that certain parties have taken issue with the way our annual popularity contest was held three years ago , but I can assure you the process is fair and transparent. Votes with fewer than 30 answers are rejected outright, and nonlocal establishments are disqualified [there's no surprise here - we say as much right on the ballot]. That having been said, even though the polls are open until Friday it's pretty clear who the top three in each category are going to be. Furthermore, if I really could get free Caramel Chameleons from Cafe 59, I wouldn't be drinking Folger's crystals with Coffee Rich every morning. And in closing, I feel that it should be mentioned that this does not negate the fact that I am a cheap whore.

- Z

I'm not usually fond of the idea of blogging from work, but this is so cool I peed myself.

The new editor's personal laptop [15" G4 iBook] just died. The new sysadmin had a look at it, took a deep breath, and said, I got bad news. The editor's eyes just lit up and he said, 'Can we destroy it?'

'Umm ... I guess ... if you don't need it, we don't really need it either.'

'OK, lemme go ask the boss!' So he quick ran out of the room and a minute later he came back and said, 'I asked the publisher and he said, 'meh, whatever,' so let's do it!'

At this point I stepped in and said ... woah, hold on there chimpy. You can't just go around throwing laptops off the roof. Not unless you take videos, too. We need Total Coverage. And while you're at it we've got some microwaves and TVs and vacuum cleaners I'd like you to get rid of. Our assistant music editor said, hey, before you trash that microwave, can I stick in a stack of crappy promotional indie CDs and see what happens? Sure!

So we're totally going to roof-test our crappy nonfunctional equipment and I plan on putting the video on our corporate website. Keep your eye out for it!

- Z

So I'm a shareware software developer, since I wrote a program last summer when I was unemployed that at least three people have paid me $5 for. It is a Gmail notifier for Mac OS X, much like the Windows 'Gmail Notifier' made available by Google. Since it had the same function but a different platform I gave it the same name - or, more accurately, 'Gmail Notifier for Mac OS X.'

At this point in history, most or all of the Mac Gmail notifiers were defunct or inoperable, and Google had not exactly thrown us Mac users a bone.

Until, that is, a couple months after mine hit the 'net. I got about ten emails that day saying 'uh hey, somebody stole your program's name, and you won't guess who it is.' Well, I knew who it was and I admit it was kind of an assy thing of me to bogart their name, so I don't begrudge them that. Their program had about the same feature set as mine, the main difference being that mine lives in the dock while theirs lives in the menu bar. Also the icons were different.

Ah yes, the icons. Funny, you don't really give icons much thought. Mine was kind of a weird ugly red 'mvelope' with your typical Mac OS X candy-coating:


Theirs was an admittedly better-executed blue mvelope, rotated slightly:


But today I got two emails saying, hey, how come Gmail Notifier is in my menu bar rather than the dock where I like it? And I said, ehm, it's always been in the dock; you're thinking of the Official Gmail Notifier, which is in the menu bar. And he said, no, I'm pretty sure this is yours, because it's got the same icon. So I grabbed a copy of the Official Gmail Notifier and holy shit:


What the Hell?!

Furthermore, they've confused a number of software-tracking websites who are now convinced that I am a Google developer and theirs is actually a continuation of mine - and confused those sites' users in the process. I had always planned to name the 1.0 release something else like 'Dave's Gmail Notifier' or something dumb like that, but I'm seriously considering renaming it 'The Google Asshats Can Suck It.'

- Z

This is the last week to vote. Every vote counts! [But please please please be sure to fill out at least thirty categories.]

Furthermore, be wary of certain unsavory establishments who would rather make a couple bucks than to give a hand to dying people. I think I've only ever been there once, and their drinks sucked as bad as the band they had playing, and my feet stuck to the floor. Also I hear the owner can only have an orgasm if he's kicking a puppy - but you didn't hear it from me.

- Z

If you are in on the Doc Platinum mythos, my userpic is self-explanatory. If you are not, do read on:

Doc Platinum was a very high-concept band for whom I was the drummer, on and off, from 1997 onwards [depending on whose accounts you're reading]. High-concept, in that we were international superstars before we could carry a tune. I know this happens with all garage bands, but keep in mind that all garage bands don't usually write their own fanfiction.

By consensus our #1 hit song was 'Chuckwagon,' and by that I mean, the only one anyone outside the band could listen to more than once. Chuckwagon was one of the very few songs that I wrote. I came up with this real ballsy guitar riff in Precalculus class one day but the only lyric I could make fit was the word 'chuckwagon,' and I think we all know where this is going so I'll just get on with the lyrics. We have a few recordings of it so posting an mp3 of it sometime in the future not entirely out of the question.

Chuckwagon
don't bogart these licks 'cause it's (c) 1997 Doc Platinum, beeyotch

['Jow' refers to the guitar. I am a drummer and am thus unconcerned with all your fancy 'chords.' Besides, getting the chords right is less important than the attitude with which you play the song - emote 'Richie Sambora joins the Scorpions.']

Verse 1
Jow jow jow jowww...
Jow ja jow - chuckwagon!
Jow ja jow - chuckwagon!
Jow ja jow - chuckwagon!
Jow ja jow - aaaaaahhh!

Bridge
Chuuuuuuckwaaaaaagoooooon - aaaaaahhh!
Chuuuuuuckwaaaaaagoooooon - aaaaaahhh!

Verse 2
[Continues in 4:4, but the backing vocals are in 3:4. Why not?]
Chuckwagon yeah! [Chuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagon!]
Chuckwagon yeah! [Chuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagon!]
Chuckwagon yeah! [Chuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagon!]
Chuckwagon yeah! [Chuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagonchuckwagon!]

[Then some damn fool* goes:] Everybody solo! [and everybody solos together, yet apart.]

[And then some damn fool** goes:] Second verse! Same as the first!

[Repeat ad nauseam. The song ends abruptly when some Philistine neighbors call the cops.]

- Z

_______________

• That would be me.
  
• That would be me, again.

Bridget asks on her Livejournal : what do you think about as you're drifting to sleep?

When I go to bed I find myself inventing solutions to invented problems. But not normal problems, oh no. I once spent two weeks of naptime deciding my answer to the question:

If this mattress were a piece of bread in a toaster, and these sheets were slices of cheese, which kind of cheese would be most comfortable once it melted?

I finally decided on baby Swiss, but I'm starting to think that maybe Gruyère was a better choice.

- Z