Tuesday, August 19, 2008

CSS tortures

Folks who code CSS know that they have to test for major browsers, i.e. IE6, IE7 and Firefox (Lord have mercy on us, when IE8 comes out. It's Beta now) before deployment, and the process? A total bitch to test for. Neil Kilbride shared some advice on this:

"Browser CSS Differences (IE6 IE7 Firefox), by Neil Kilbride, Tuesday, 22 January 2008

Typically the 3 major browsers used are Firefox, IE6 and IE7. Perhaps you thought they would behave the behave the same when rendering CSS in the browser window? If only life were that simple.
Although Firefox and IE7 and more similar than ever in rendering CSS, IE6 has always had a mind of its own, adding padding and spacing amongst other things in random locations. However, there is a simple way to cater specifically for the major browsers. IE6 recognises underscore lines, but IE7 does not. IE6 and IE7 recognise period lines. For example...
margin-top: 8px;
.margin-top: 10px;
_margin-top: 4px;

Firefox, and every other non-IE browser, will only see and use the 8px, IE6 will see the 10px line, but then the 4px line will stomp on it, and only IE7 will see the 10px line. You can now support all major browsers without having to write a serverside script, clientside script or even a horrible CSS expression :)"

Visit DynamicDrive and FreeBits for other CSS tricks and kicks, e.g. inverted tabs.

The secret to a Man's Heart - Petite, Leggy and Busty

Article from Daily Mail, 19th August 2008

Small women with long legs are the most sexually attractive to men, scientists claim. Females such as Scarlett Johansson, Raquel Welch and Marilyn Monroe with short slender bodies, large busts and slim limbs have the ideal body shape, according to research.

Dr William Brown, of Brunel University, which carried out the study, said: 'We found that shorter, slimmer females with long slender limbs and larger breasts are more attractive.'

Small is beautiful: The study reveals that men find women like Scarlett Johansson, Marilyn Monroe and Rachel Weisz, with long legs, small frames and bigger busts, more attractive because they have low 'body masculinity'.
Body symmetry is important to what men and women find aesthetically pleasing in each other, the research suggests. Previous studies had demonstrated that those with facial features that are symmetrical - so the left and right sides of the face match - are more attractive to the opposite sex.

But the relationship between body symmetry and attractiveness has been less clear.

In the Brunel research, both men and women reported that symmetric bodies were more attractive than asymmetric ones.

The scientists claim, however, that we do not notice symmetry in the body directly, but instead look for much more obvious signs of attractiveness such as height, leg length and shoulder definition. This means women with low 'body masculinity' - who are short with long legs and a larger bust - are highly desirable to men.

Monday, August 18, 2008

How to Post a YouTube Vidz on Blogger?

1. Go to the YouTube link of your desired file
2. Copy the contents of the "Embed" Field as shown.

3. Create a new post in Blogger.com and go to "Edit HTML".
4. Type whatever nonsensical crap you want to talk about.
5. Paste the entire crap you copied from the "Embed" field into the Blogger post field, and remove all the crap
before and after the "<\Embed\>" (remember to ignore the \) tag, leaving
6. Recommended: Change the width to 400 and height to 300 for best view in Blogger.
7. Click "Publish Post".

PS: Will not teach how to force autoplay of the video. Got enough complaints already. Anyway check out this guy, he is teaching Photoshop with a really sarcastic commentary. Yet another competitive sufferer. Don't you just love it? Check out his series, You Suck at Photoshop!!!

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Read up on PHP @ PHP Everywhere

PHPLens, a PHP app server (free to download for use, up to 30 records) hosts John Lim's blog on all things PHP, literally PHP Everywhere.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Toast: the story of a Boy's Hunger

Nigel Slater chronicled his childhood culinary angst in Toast, 247 pages worth of yolked torment, chocolate pleasures and way, way too many initiations into the other camp. It is bittersweet in some places, weird in others while remaining extremely engaging from cover to cover. I found the part about his family most riveting, from his railing at his ailing mother that he hoped she would die not knowing that she would do so a few days after that during Christmas, his father marrying a working class woman and ultimately being killed by her excellent cooking.

Milk (Excerpt from Toast, pg 61)
My first glass of milk, in truth just two mouthfuls, had ended with my being violently sick over my new sandals. There had been odd attempts to encourage me to try it again, but none had succeeded in getting me to do more than dip my finger in it and shudder. If it looked as if I might be pushed further, a mock heave usually brought the matter to a close. At break times, Miss Poole, our mild-mannered, grey-skinned, grey-clothered form teacher allowed any unopened bottles of the compulsory milk to go to the first to finish.
One cold, flat morning in September I moved up a class. My teacher was now to be Mrs Walker, a woman so stern-faced, so unwaveringly strict as to be used as a threat by the other teachers. She was a stout bulldog of a woman, her unwashed hair pressed tight to her head, dressed as always in a knee-length black skirt and grey twinset. As I picked up my pencil case, my set of twenty Caran d' Ache crayons in their flat tin, my English books with their spelling tests and essays entitled 'An Autumn Day' and 'My Ten Favourite things', to move up to Mrs Walker's class, someone whispered, ' She makes everyone drink their milk'.
One week after milk had yet to pass my lips. I started offering my small bottle of milk to any girl who would show me her knickers. After getting ripped off a couple of times by girls who failed to keep their part of the bargain, I worried I might have to start paying people to drink my unwanted white stuff.
'Can I have your milk if you don't want it?' asked Peter Marshall one morning break. So I said, 'Show me your dick first', and with that set a precedent for the whole term. None of the girls wanted an extra bottle enough to give me a quick flash, but the other boys were queuing up for it and perfectly happy with the deal. I think this was the first time I realised food could be a bargaining tool.
Nothing prepared me for how ill a bottle of milk could make a boy. Mrs Walker caught me pretending to drink my ration while waiting for someone to finish theirs. 'Come and stand at the front.' I put my milk on the desk and walked towards her. 'No, bring your milk with you. I've been watching you for days and now you are going to drink it in front of everyone'. Uncertain of just how much of the milk game she had seen, I half wondered whether she was going to make the girls show their knickers to the entire class.
I stood in front of the class, head bent down, my stomach flipping and diving. I worried not about the shame of being caught but simply that I was going to to have to swallow the wretched, wretched milk. Please God, don't let me have to drink this stuff. He didn't answer. 'Drink it all,' said Mrs Walker, her eyes narrowing like a lizard's in bright sunlight. I put the straw to my lips and sucked, sticking my tongue over the open end. 'We will sit here all day until you have finished every drop'.
It was a warm day, mid-September. The milk had been standing in its crate in the sun for a good hour before she sent Robin Matthews to drag it into the classroom. The tinkle of the bottles and scrape of the metal crate always filled me with fear. I sucked. A great bubble of warm, creaming milk hit my tongue, then filled my mouth. It was like vomiting backwards. I tried to swallow slowly but my throat closed tight and then something acid, almondy, welled up from my stomach.
The vomit came so quickly I didn't have time to move the milk bottle. The straw shot out across the floor the bottle fell with a clatter and I closed my eyes. Partly to block out the horror of it all and partly because I always close my eyes when I throw up. The puke spluttered down my green school pullover and onto the floor , it splashed the bottom half of the bookcase with its Conan Doyles and Kiplings, Sylvia Mountsey's satchel and a marrow on the harvest festival display. At least it missed my bare legs. When I opened my eyes there was milk over the floor, running under the radiator and Mrs Walker's desk. There was thin, milky-yellow vomit over my shoes and the bottle, whole and unbroken, had rolled under Peter Marshall's desk. 'Go and sit down,' she yelled, ignoring the fact that one of her students had just been violently ill down himself. She evidently intended to leave me to stew.
I skulked towards my chair, surrounded by a sea of shy smirks and dropped heads. I bent down to pick up the stray bottle. I got down on all fours and crouched under the table. As I stretched to reach the bottle, something moving caught my eye. It was a flash of three pairs of green knickers and Peter Marshall's dick, fully erect and waving back and froth like a child's flag at a royal walkabout.
PS. Nesquik was my parents' last ditch attempt to make me drink milk. Orange, strawberry, chocolate. The only thing that changed was the colour of my puke.


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