DANA'S DESK CAM

The cam

Here is my desk, live-ish. The camera points at the desk and only the desk, never at me. It refreshes every sixty seconds, which is to say, whenever you press refresh.

  .------------------------------.
  |  dana's desk  --  live view  |
  |                              |
  |   .------------.             |
  |   | dana.txt   |     lamp    |
  |   | > homework |     _|_     |
  |   | > coffee   |    /   \    |
  |   '------------'    '---'    |
  |  =======================     |
  |   |mug|  [__keys__]   ,|,    |
  |   '---'  notebook   --(o)--  |
  |                      plant   |
  '------------------------------'

The picture is drawn, not photographed, my real camera gave up in the spring and I like the drawing better anyway. The clock, though, is real: it is reading your computer, not mine. Press F5 for a fresh frame.

What I'm doing right now

Today's diary

A little log of the day, newest at the bottom. Nothing much happens, and that is sort of the point.

Cam FAQ

Why do you do this?

Honestly, the desk stays tidier when I know someone might glance at it. And there is something quietly nice about feeling like an ordinary day is being kept, the way you keep a receipt or a ticket stub.

Is it really live?

The picture is a little drawing I update by hand, so: live-ish. The clock is the genuinely live part, it reads your computer, not mine. Press F5 and you pull a fresh frame of the desk.

Can I see you?

No, and that is on purpose. The camera looks at the desk, never at me. You get the coffee mug and Gerald the plant; I keep my face. That trade has served us both well.

What's on your desk?

• A monitor and a keyboard with three shiny keys.
• A mug that is always half full, in both senses.
• A notebook and one pencil with no eraser left.
• The desk lamp, which is how you know if I’m home.
• Gerald.

Can I be on your cam?

It is my desk, so no. But you can sign the guestbook and be on the page, which is nearly the same thing and a good deal less dusty.

Cam archive

Frames I saved through the day. You can’t click them, they are keepsakes, not links, but here is the desk, hour by hour.

.------.
| .... |
'------'

.------.
|  cc  |
'------'

.------.
| == = |
'------'

.------.
|  __  |
'------'

.------.
|  **  |
'------'

.------.
| .oo. |
'------'

House rules

Short list, kindly meant. Read it before you sign the book and we will get along famously.

Please don’t ask where I live or where I go to school. I won’t answer, and that is the whole of it.

• Be kind. My mum reads the guestbook, and so do I.
• The picture is a drawing, so don’t wait for me to wave. I can’t see you either, that is rather the deal.
• No means no about the cam: it points at the desk, never at a person.
• If a link is broken, it’s 1999, not you. The web is held together with tape.
• Take your shoes off. Metaphorically. It is that kind of page.

Guestbook

The guestbook lives on its own page. Leave a note, say where you’re visiting from, and tell me it isn’t strange to watch a desk. It is a little strange. That is allowed.

Sign my guestbook Read the book

On this demo the guestbook is just for show, the button points at a page that lives only in the fiction. No note you leave here goes anywhere, and nothing is stored.