In the composition of this web site, I made some very specific choices. One was simplicity. I want a Lynx friendly page that's still interesting to look at. So, while the table I build this whole thing into might not come up, all the text and links will be easy to find in any given browser, and I only have a background graphic and a picture of me, looking characteristically smug, in one corner. Neither are vital to viewing this thing.

For people on something other than Lynx, with stuff like color, I've taken a very specific approach (as you can see). As with most of my other pages, I go with yellow or white text on a dark grey background. However, I put a very light grey background on the actual journal cell that I write in. This is for two reasons. One is practical, the other aesthetic.

The practical reason is simple -- black lettering on light background are easier to read and easier on the eyes than any other color combination. I have one friend (hi Mason!) who claims that yellow or white letters on black are easier for him, but he's about it. For most people reading large blocks of text, black on white or light grey is the way to go.

(One of my usual journal reads puts "warm" grey text on "light" grey background. She's a professional designer. Apparently, they don't cover 'contrast' in design courses any more. It's like reading a journal written in one of those 3D computer image things.)

The aesthetic reason... well, that's pretty simple. To me, the light color in a rectangular box on top of the darker grey background color looks like a piece of paper, just waiting to be written on. This is a subconscious cue for me -- I'm of a generation where I can remember typewriters. While I was into computers at an early age, it was rare, and the typewriter was the way to go with most things.

I only see a typewriter about twice a month these days, depending on where I go. I remember, working at Kinko's, that many people would come in looking for one, since there weren't any more typewriters in their life and they needed to address envelopes or the like. I have no clue how people fill out college applications these days.

So, I have a virtual piece of paper in a virtual typewriter when I sit down and bring up the journalling software each day. It somehow suggests writing to me.

Of course, on days when I'm not sure what to talk about, that light colored box on my screen mocks me, just like that blank piece of paper used to. So, it's at best a mixed blessing. On the other hand, I can usually come up with some cretin topic if I try. Say, web page composition.

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It's hot. Sweltering hot. Miserable hot. Humidity-rich hot. You know, hot.

I mention this as a preface about air conditioning. Again. But what the heck.

Walking home from my (air conditioned) office, I felt ready to die. The humidity had crawled into my clothes and was nestling against my skin, which did the only trick it knows to cool off, namely spewing salty water out, trying to force evaporation and cool me off through the expansion of the liquid into a gas (see, I was paying attention in physics). But as with all killer humid days it wasn't working, and I was just getting wetter and wetter, praying a deep prayer that my air conditioner hadn't blown a circuit breaker in the night.

I heard it humming merrily away as I approached, and my heart lifted. I climbed the stairs to my porch, looked at the machine in its plywood shell for a long moment, and went inside....

It was like that threshold of 'cold' in a movie theater when you first walk in. It was like stepping through the Wardrobe into a frozen Narnia. Cool, humidity-free air surrounded me. Decadence had paid off.

I called home, to gloat. Mom had taken to calling me "Wuss Boy." I was looking forward to being just a hint superior.

It was better than I'd hoped. They'd gotten one of their own. We are wusses, but we are cool and dry.

All evening long, I marveled at the wonders of "conditioned" air. Every so often, I'd step outside onto my porch, to feel the evening swelter and wrap around me like a moist sponge of horror. Then I'd go inside, and my cool apartment would restore me to health and prosperity.

I slept like a baby last night. Mmm... sweet sweet dry air. I did have a dream that I broke my sternum, but I don't think the air conditioner had anything to do with that.

Looks like another scorcher today. I think I can cope. Bob the Landlord's over putting a dedicated 20 amp circuit in for the AC even as we speak. I can understand why Rome fell right now -- hedonism rocks.