My sister emailed asking for webmail recommendations, and of course I sent her a now-superfluous Gmail invite. For some reason this got me thinking about the site, and one feature I wish it had: color-coding of messages. This feature was one of my favorite things about Thunderbird prior to an unfortunate incident involving a massive loss of email and sworn oaths to never use the product again.

But, for the period when I still had my mail, it was easy to set up filters, and quickly tell which messages were from work, which were from the blog, and which were from the various mailing lists to which I'm subscribed. I've got several email accounts pointing at my Gmail address — filtering through the messages at a glance would be handy. And no, I will not just look at the text labels, goddammit.

So I took a crack at making a GreaseMonkey script that provides that Thunderbird-style functionality. Check it out. It color-codes your messages by label. There are only six colors in there at the moment; if you've got more labels than that, some will repeat (and others may be skipped, if they're not present on a page).

It needs some work. Allowing users to customize the colors would be good; so would un-breaking how Gmail highlights rows when you select them. Interested geeks should feel free to have at it.

UPDATE: Wolfson's pointed out that the script ought to be wrapped in an anonymous function. And it appears that when Gmail makes an AJAX callback to check for new mail it drops the formatting. Which means I'll have to dig into Gmail's javascript to figure out which function needs to be overridden in order to reestablish the formatting whenever that check happens. Nuts. Well, it still looks kind of cool.

Scientology's secret texts are being stored in a New Mexico bunker designed to withstand a nuclear holocaust.

This actually sort of makes me like them more. There's nothing innately evil about this project (other than how the money was raised to fund it, of course). And the idea of trying to construct something that will outlive humanity has a certain romance for me.

Nevertheless, I hope hordes of anti-cultists, ironists and burnt-out hippies descend on Trementina, NM and turn it into a fucking zoo. I want to see Xenu bobbleheads, goddammit.

UPDATE: Via boingboing, check out this image of the earthen constructs that mark the site.

The Smithsonian American Art Museum has launched a blog helmed by the one and only Kriston Capps! Nice job, buddy.

You can congratulate Kriston here; you can write to your congressman about this horrifying waste of tax dollars here. Don't worry about sending mixed messages — it's all part of the stealth marketing campaign. If we can get Rush Limbaugh to declare a fatwa on Kriston, we'll know he's really made it.

On Saturday, I gave notice to my boss. Catherine and I were out by Tyson's to see the Harry Potter movie and eat dinner with her family. My boss lives nearby, so I went over to deliver the news. There was a knot in my stomach composed of equal parts dread and pre-movie TGIFriday's quesadilla. The two vile substances tore at me as they intermingled, reminding me that I had already made one serious mistake that day, and could be on the verge of another.

Breaking the news went amazingly well. I was surprised. I've seen my boss's temper, although I've never been its target. But he said he understood and that I'd be welcomed back if I changed my mind. Work breakups don't go much more smoothly than that. I left; we went to dinner; everything seemed better. In fact, even today, back at this unending Navy project, things seem better. Which leads, of course, to second thoughts.

But I've got no serious reservations about my decision. So in two weeks I'll be starting at Exciting New Media Consultancy, Inc., which I won't name because Technorati would then deliver this blog to their inboxes within minutes. Not that I think its existence will remain a secret for more than a few hours into my tenure there — It's just that I intend to savor those hours.

Leaving this job is still still going to be a shock. I think I've got it figured out, financially speaking, but I'm not at ease about it. It's the only real job I've had since college; I've been here for three years and change. Sure, it was boring and getting boring-er, but I had a comfortable little rut dug for myself. The prospect of change is unsettling.

Last night I dreamt that I was riding my bike down some unknown street, when suddenly I spied the stolen bike that it had replaced. It was locked to a signpost. I dismounted and walked over, and held onto both of them. I called the police but couldn't get through — and what would I do if I had? I couldn't prove my ownership of the old bike, although I knew it was mine. I woke up before I figured out what to do.

I don't usually remember my dreams. When I do, their symbolism is usually completely incomprehensible, if it's there at all. If my subconscious is going to descend to analogies as prosaic as that one, it must really be worried.

somebody assassinated butterstick. i am not even kidding.

anyway, back in chicago. back to broken laptop, missing cellphone (slipped out in my dad's car on the way to the metro), computer desk from hell that arrived while i was gone and i need to put together although it seems highly unlikely that i will be able to, and back to the last two weeks of the quarter and several billion projects. yay!