Preferences, of course. Weakness? Maybe.

It's so cold I don't even need a fan at night and I still wake up with my skin prickling from the cool damp air. But I look at this as a chance to train myself against the cold.

I could use a sheet. Or wear a thicker shirt. But no. I resolve to wear sando and shorts in the house, regardless of the cold. I will learn to love the cold. Even if it kills me... or gives me the sniffles. :P

I'm watching castle over at videostic.com

Stana Katic is hot.

I crash through the wood, hot on the trail of my prey.

Lungs burning. Heart bursting.

Branches rake against my skin as I cut through.

Skin burning. Heart bursting.

So fast. So far. Always so, so very far.

Anger burning. Heart bursting.

They killed my baby. The bastards killed my baby girl.

Heart bursting. Heart bursting.

They killed my baby.

I want to sleep.

[WARNING: Long Rant with swearing]

cross-posted to my multiply

Ever since Gmail came out, it's been my main online email client. I like the ease at which I can organize my mail. Emails organized as conversations instead of chronological, filters, labels, archive control, browser-based chat... It was a revolutionary take on the whole email system.

Needless to say, my Yahoo, Lycos and Edsamail (long long time ago) all became obsolete. I still maintain my Yahoo Mail, but only as a spam and yahoogroups dump. Even Yahoo Mail Beta's in-page tab system (however convenient it was) couldn't entice back to Y!Mail.

But that's not to say I was completely satisfied with Gmail. For me, and probably for every user with a slow internet connection, Gmail had one major flaw...

Attachments.

Gmail had a fucking lousy attachment system. If I ever tried attaching anything over 300kb I'd spend anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, watching the page tab's spining circle and the yellow "Still working..." message up at the top of the screen. The worst case scenario is that the upload would time out, giving me the "Ooops! An error occured while attaching your files. Retrying..."

(The only indications that I'm uploading is the spinning thing at the Tab title and the "Sending request..." message on that browser's status bar. You'd expect there to be a progress bar beside the file attachment, but noooooo...)

Of course "Retrying..." never really meant anything. I'd watch the upload/download status of my internet connection. Two big fat zeros. Google was lying to me.

So then I'd disconnect, clear my private data (cache, cookies, history, etc), close the browser, reconnect, log-on to google again, reload my draft message, then go through the attachment process again.

Sometimes it'd work. Most of the time, I'd just be burning my life away with my eyes on that goddamn loading circle.

And it's not like the circle actually means that there's anything being uploaded. It's just an animated GIF that gives you an illusion that the thing is working. You have no idea how much you've actually uploaded unless you're diligently watching your upload statistic. Was it too much to ask for a progress bar?

There's a progress bar when you load Gmail, meaning they do have the code for it. Why couldn't they just implement it for the uploads?

Also, there was no way to "retry" your upload. If it failed the first time, you'd have to do the "Attach File" -> "Browse" process again. Now this wouldn't be a problem since the browser generally "remembers" what the last folder you accessed was. When you hit Browse, first thing you see is the folder and all you have to do is look for the file.

Unless, of course, if you've cleared your private data. Which you have to do. In that case, you'd end up back in your default folder (usually My Documents).

So, if the file you want to attach is nested ten folders deep (it happens) you spend another three to five minutes finding the file all over again. And that's not even a guaranteed upload. What a crock of shit.

To get around this stupid-ass problem, I use Yousendit for any attachment large than half a megabyte. Of course Yousendit limits you to sending only 1 file at a time, but that can easily be solved by packing your files into a .ZIP. Something you can do on your end without using internet time and without relying on the site's service. Once you choose an attachment, Yousendit shows you a graphical progress bar plus a text display of the percentage and byte count of the upload.

It was a relief that I could see if the upload was actually working. Information at a glance, instead of constant monitoring of my internet connections up and down speeds.

Yousendit also has an excellent resume system. If I get disconnected or if there's a connection error (network timeout), the Yousendit page gives me the following message.

"Error uploading. Retry?"

Retry. It's a beautiful word that brings tears to my eyes. All I have to do is reconnect and click "Retry."

And Yousendit would really try again.

The page would reload with a fresh progress bar. If I'm lucky, the previous upload would have cached on Yousendit's system and instead of starting from 0%, it'd resume from whatever percent the connection fucked up. Maybe it doesn't matter to the people who have 10+Mbps connections, but it's a God-send for us poor shits who have to make do with shitty ISP's.

So let's see, using Yousendit on my slow-ass wireless broadband (a.k.a. SmartBRO) I could upload 10 MB in about thirty minutes. On Gmail, I could only upload about 300kb in the same amount of time. That meant Yousendit is 30 times more efficient. That's such a huge difference that I completely disregarded Gmail's (supposed) capability for attachments.

Until now.

I've been working on a 3D rendering project and am required to send about 32MB worth of JPEGs to my client. Today, on a whim, I tried attaching one image to my Progress Report email.

To my surprise, instead of the usual pointless hypnotic whirling circle, I saw a big black rectangle to the left of my attachment... and it was slowly filling up with blue.

Holy Fuck. A progress bar.

Hmmm... I wonder if they've added a resume function. Let's fail an attachment on purpose...

1. Pick attachment.

2. Allow about 10% upload.

3. Disconnect my internet.

4. Wait for fail message...

Holy Double Fuck! Not only is there a "Retry" option, there's also a "Help" option. And "Help" actually helps. It opens up a new tab with a short guide saying you that you need to have the latest flash player installed... Flash? For a simple loading bar you could do with javascript? Whatever. The important thing is that it works.

Now let's test the "Retry" option.

1. Reconnect internet.

2. Click retry.

3. Wait for confirmation...

Holy Fuck in a handbasket!

Not only did it retry the upload without having to ask me to browse for my file again, it resumed from 10% instead of 0%! It's an actual, working resume function! I was able to upload a 7MB image without getting a single "Oops..." error. I'm so happy I could crap my pants!

Crap of pure joy!

Now, as I said, I haven't used the Gmail attachment feature for anything but tiny files (50kb or less) so I'm not sure how long this feature has been around. Maybe this is news to you, maybe it's old hat.

For me at least, it's renewed my faith in Google's services. Sorry, yousendit. Looks like I won't be needing you (as much) anymore.

I slew them. I slew my demons in the dark of night.

"Krack," went their necks.

"Splut," went their hearts.

"Grbbblgr," went their lips.

I slew them in the dark of night.

And chased the shadows away.

And the sun peeped over the horizon.

And my world was filled with light.

Light... and blood-stains, corpses, filth, decay.

In the heat of the moment, I'd forgotten.

But the light shows me the way.

I was glad to have forgotten.

But the damned light shows me the way.

Damn it all.

Blood run. Blood run.

Lanky boy split, spit on the wet ground.

Red rum. Red rum.

Blood run. Blood run.

Red rum. Red rum.

Black dog dance with the nasty loon.

Wild flap tangle in the red white room.

Blood run. Red rum.

Blood rum. Red run.

Black dog howl.

Wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

I got six shots in my revolver. They talk. They Talk loud.

Bang.

I got five shots in my revolver. One in the bed.

You shout and try to get up. You ask me if I'm insane. You're talking now. But not the words I want to hear.

Bang.

I got four shots in my revolver. One in the bed. One in your leg.

You scream and curse. You spit and promise to fucking kill me. I tell you not to make promises you can't keep.

Bang.

I got three shots in my revolver. One in the bed. One... no, two, in your leg.

You're talking to God. It's funny. He's way up there. I'm right here. Talk to me instead.

Bang.

I got two shots in my revolver. One in the bed. A fresh one in your shoulder. Two in your leg.

You open your mouth. Words and blood. Mostly blood. Interesting stuff. But not enough.

Bang.

I got one shot in my revolver. One in the bed. One in each shoulder. Two in your in your leg.

I promise to let you go. You give me a name. I say thank you. I untie you. I walk through the door.

Oh, one last thing before I go.

Bang.

I got no shots in my revolver. One in the bed. Four in your body. And one in your head.

The corner of the old man's mouth twitched.

"You recognize it boss?"

"Yes. It's a lock."

"A what?"

"A lock. A lock that's been unlocked."

"I don't get it."

The fat man turned his head just slightly to get a better look at the saliva drawing on the floor. That was all Benny needed. With one quick move of his hand, Benny caught the fat man's wrist and twisted hard. There was a sick sound of bones popping out of sockets.

The fat man opened his mouth to howl in pain. To his surprise, he could not utter a sound as his mouth had suddenly been crammed full with his own pistol. He looked down the length of the barrel and saw that his own limp hand was still wrapped around the gun handle. Unfortunately for him, it was Benny's finger on the trigger.

Benny pulled. Twice.

Each gun shot was a dull wet boom, muffled by the fat man's fat cheeks and his thick neck flesh. Still, it was loud enough to alert the two guards outside and the skinny man who was still rummaging through his pants for his lighter.

The guards burst through the door first, fingers just a hair's breadth off the triggers of their sub-machine guns. They would've come in with guns blazing, except that the boss was in the room.

It took them a half a second to confirm the boss's position.

Another half a second to train their guns on Benny.

Within the next two seconds, they would have fired a total of sixty bullets into Benny's torso and Benny would have slumped down to the floor looking like he had a chest made of hamburger.

They would have... But they didn't.

They never got that far.

As it was, Benny had started firing on the door as soon as it opened. In the split-seconds the guards were confirming their targets, bullets were already plowing through their skin, muscles and organs.

One of the guards took a bullet to the heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The other guard had two punctured lungs. He fell to the floor, grasped his chest and gurgled.

Benny could hear the skinny man's foot steps in the hallway. Benny released the clip from the pistol. It was empty.

The skinny man finally made it to the door. He got off three shots at Benny before something hit him hard on the forehead. The skinny man's vision burst into stars.

Dimly, he realized that he had just been hit with a bullet clip. "Good", thought the skinny man. "Benny's out of bullets."

Suddenly, a hand grabbed him by the nape of his neck and something was pressed into his left eye.

The skinny man screamed as he felt his retina being seared by the red-hot pistol point Benny was driving into it. The skinny man flailed his arms to push Benny away, dropping his pistol in the process. He dropped to the floor sobbing and hands held the right side of his face.

"Dammit, Benny! What the fuck'd you do that for!?"

The skinny man never got an answer. Benny shot him thrice in the head with the sub-machine gun he'd picked up from one of the guards.

Benny kicked the skinny man's pistol out into the hallway and threw the fat man's empty pistol along after it. Then he bent down next to the guard who was still writhing on the ground, drowning on his own blood.

With a quick squeeze on the trigger, Benny put three bullets in the guard's brain, ending his misery.

Benny pulled the guard's gun out of the pool of blood that had formed around it. Benny took a moment to see if blood had seeped into the chamber. Satisfied that it was still in working condition, Benny pointed the gun at his last enemy; the old man.

"Benny. My dear sweet boy."

In the forty five seconds it had taken for Benny to kill four people, the old man had not moved from his chair. In fact, he had crossed his legs and was looking quite relaxed. The old man's index finger was tapping a steady rhythm against his thigh, as if he were imagining music in his head.

"Are you going to kill me, Benny?"

Benny, walked slowly forward, the sub-machine guns in each hand both pointed at the old man's chest.

When he was less than a meter away, Benny suddenly tilted his guns down, flipped the safety switches and let the guns hang loose on his side. He brought his hands together, turn his palms to face outwards and stretched. After a few seconds, he lowered his hands and sat down on the same stool the skinny man had sat on.

"Are you going to kill me, Benny?" said the old man again. His raspy voice oddly calm and even had a hint of amusement in it.

Benny fixed the man with a blank look.

“Benny’s not here right now.”

The old man frowned a little.

“Vincent then? Vinnie, is that you?”

Benny shook his head. Then he leaned over to pick up a pack of cigarettes from the floor. It was the skinny man’s cigarettes.

“Must‘ve flown out of his shirt pocket when he ran in.” mused Benny.

The old man frowned some more. His hand reached around the arm of his expensive leather chair. He pushed against some unseen button and with a quiet click, a small drawer popped out of the side of the chair. From the drawer, he pulled out a small golden lighter which was embossed with a lion insignia. Throughout the entire process, Benny had watched him with eyes as black and blank as a starless night sky.

The old man proffered the lighter to Benny, which he wordlessly took. Two clicks and he had his cigarette lit. Benny took a long drag, puckered his lips and starred puffing out tiny smoke circles.

“Peter?” the old man asked. His raspy voice had acquired a note of distress.

Again, Benny shook his head, blowing smoke rings left and right as he did.

“Two more left. Which one are you?”

“I don’t get out much.” Benny replied.

There was a span of eerie silence punctuated by the sound of leather upholstery stretching against the old man’s tightening grip.

Benny smiled at the sound. A smile that made the old man’s skin crawl.

“Right answer.” said Benny, still smiling.

He flicked away his cigarette.

The old man screamed as Benny crossed the distance between them in a single bound. He felt a hand clamp around his throat and a fist slam into the bridge of his nose.

And then it was dark.

~ ~ ~

A quarter before midnight, a black SUV pulls up to an expensive house on the fringe of the city. At a glance you can tell that the owner of the house is very wealthy. Also, you can tell that the house is rarely lived-in. Perhaps someone’s summer home.

The front door of the house opens and two men emerge from the shadowed doorway. They slowly walk towards the driver of the SUV is standing with his hand on the passenger door’s handle.

One of them is old. His back is hunched and he seems to suffer a great pain with every step. The other man looks to be in his twenties. He keeps pace with the old man, but offers no help. He watches the old man, smiling all the while.

When they finally reach the SUV, the old man barks some orders at the driver.

“Take me home. Then take him home. Afterwards, do whatever he tells you to. From now on, I’m paying you to work for him.”

The driver hesitates. His hand snakes behind his back, fingers closing around his pistol’s grip. The driver starts to speak but is cut short when the old man snarls.

“Don’t ask questions! And don’t say a word about this to anyone! Loose lips don’t sink ships. They kill your family and friends with horrible painful tortuous deaths! I guarantee it.”

Without another word, the driver opens the SUV’s doors and helps the two men inside. He then takes his place at the wheel and they all drive off into the cold, dark night.