“I.T. Workers – Unhappy Campers?” Yes, yes, yes! Well, for this one, anyway. That article sums up a lot of the thoughts I’ve been having about this industry for the last couple years. I’m not happy. I don’t make anything real or useful or lasting. Most of the websites I’ve built are now dead. (At least one was sold to a porn company that wanted to mine its database.) I don’t help anybody. I don’t make the world a better place. I sit at a desk and move meaningless electrons from one place to another. It’s just not doing it for me anymore.

I need a Change. I’ve got a couple different options I’m considering. The big issue is, of course, money. I get paid more to do this unsatisfying job than I would to do anything else. Is job fulfillment worth taking a pay cut? I think I’m reaching the point where I say “yes”. I’ll keep you posted.

Roger Ebert’s “Answer Man” column this week tackles the burning post-Oscar question: Was Billy Crystal being gracious or rude with his onscreen comment about Bill Murray losing Best Actor? (Specifically, it was his “Don’t go Bill… We love you!” bit.) Ebert took it as a friendly joke, but a lot of other folks seemed to think it was mean-spirited and catty. As I didn’t actually watch the show myself, I have no idea what the context was. What did you guys think?

Neighbours is coming to the US! Now you may all share in my secret addiction. (Except for you British weirdos, who are even more obsessed with it than the Aussies.) “That’s when good neighbours become goooood frieeeeends…”

Congratulations to my sister, who just got engaged last night! She’s planning a Thanksgiving wedding… which means the Snook and I will once again be gracing the land of Red, White, and Blue come November.

On a totally unrelated note, her e-mail also contained this announcement. “ATTENTION: It has been determined that the strange, filmy, silvery trails occasionally noted on the carpet in Amy’s apartment can, indeed, be attributed to SLUGS of some sort.” She’s kinda freaking out a little about that.

Fascinating Feline Facts. I found that page while researching how cats purr. (Answer: Nobody really knows. There are a number of theories.) There’s a lot of weird facts in there I didn’t know, like how white cats with blue eyes are deaf and only female cats can be both black and orange. Apparently “cats respond most readily to names that end in an “ee” sound,” so we lucked out with her name. Also, it says that tortoiseshells are “black with red or orange markings” and calicos are “white with patches of red, orange and black.” That makes Amy a calico. I wonder if that’s an American term or something, because the Cat Protection Society definitely had her down as “tortoiseshell-and-white.”

New Poll: In honor of the disgusting Easter treat I just polished off, what’s your opinion on the ubiquitous Cadbury Creme Egg? Some folks love ’em. Personally I think they’re gross. (Yeah, yeah, I still ate one, but only because a co-worker gave it to me.)

The mind boggles. Not only did the Archbishop of Canterbury give the Royal National Theater’s production of His Dark Materials a glowing review, but he and Philip Pullman then met to discuss religion, art, and education and take questions from the audience. I had no idea modern Anglicanism was so progressive…

Crud. I just discovered that they’re changing the Hogwarts scarf design for the Prisoner of Azkaban film! (You can see pictures here.) I guess that means I’ll need to revise the pattern I use…

Huh. Jamie Oliver has a weblog. I haven’t been through all the archives but I really like the section where gives cooking tips and answers questions.

We got Amy one of these Treat Ball things. Basically it’s a plastic ball that you fill up with cat food and it’s got a little hole so that when she rolls it around, a few bits of food fall out. It’s supposed to be fun for them. The only problem is that she just doesn’t get it. She stares at it and sniffs it, and she eats the food that falls out when I roll it, but she hasn’t made the intuitive leap yet that rolling = food. I feel like my Dad must’ve felt upon presenting three-year-old me with a really fly tricycle, only to discover that I was too dumb to ride it.