cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I So Sneaky You wanna know what really fucking sucks? Maxim magazine. Nothing turns me off of a woman more immediately than seeing her in those retarded gold lam=E9 hotpants and other such fashion crimes that they put all of the women in. Everything about Maxim is lame. It's full of dumbed-down articles about things that are intended to be manly but inevitably have somewhat of = a 'your parents put it together' tone. It's a magazine aimed at neutered, suburban men who wish that they were something better. Which is fine, excep= t that the magazine does nothing to improve them. 'They' should put me in charge of a men's magazine. Every issue would have a piece on how to build something, a history of the development of some engine, transmission or rifle cartridge, something about hunting, something about firearms, power tool reviews, and a feature article on something unusual that someone has built in his backyard. Could be a working rocket ship, maybe a plywood replica of the Millennium Falcon, a 6 story tall zip line, a castle made of cinder blocks, whatever. Nothing would be dumbed down. You read my magazine, you're going to learn useful shit that you squirrel away in your head for that half-drunken conversation at a labor da= y barbeque in 6 years where your friend's cousins will be terribly impressed with your knowledge of the straight 6 cylinder engine's origins in 1906 and subsequent history all the way through the 2005 BMW 3 series. I suppose there had better be a centerfold. People expect that. But no stic= k figure super models in my magazine, please. I think that centerfolds should be chosen based on photos that readers send in of their girlfriends. You pick the best of the bunch, make sure the photos are current and then send out a professional photographer to do a proper job of getting some soft-cor= e pictures suitable for a centerfold. My magazine would totally fucking rule. Oh, I discovered something cool yesterday afternoon. I believe that I have found a back door into Diaryland. Remember that all of my entries are added via email and I have not been able to access DL from work for some mysterious reason for close to a year now. I had to stop using proxy services because they are riddled with malware. Anyway, there's this software that I use at work which is basically a client to use a database owned by a large company that we do business with. I've noticed that the whole program appears to be run through Windows, in the sense that when I have the window open for this program, the window *is* a copy of Windows running from the company's server and then the actual database I'm working with opens within that other copy of Windows. It's very odd. But it got me thinking that all sorts of other Windows applications must be theoretically available through that copy of Windows. So through means I won't bore you with, I managed to open Explorer. Except of course it was not my copy of Explorer from my hard drive. It was theirs. And everything I do on it is routed directly through their web server, not mine. When the data comes bac= k through my own company's server, it all shows up as coming from the server of this one other company that hosts the database. Pretty fucking cool, eh? Effectively, I can use this as my own secret little proxy server. But I must use this sparingly and never for evil purposes, as eventually the admin over there might notice some odd traffic that isn't supposed to be happening at all and the results could be quite awkward. I am one sneaky bastard. 12:30 - 2008-05-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||