Thanks, but no. I've had my fill. Time to coordinate and articulate all those hours I've already spent chasing the images of a 144,000 sloppy but willing . . . and the cage is definitely out of the question. My underwear is caked in blood every morning after a fresh dressing at night. This is not an easy surgery to "put behind one" in the rush back toward the routine of merely sitting.
The 8600 finally arrived in woeful condition. The cardboard box and styrofoam packing both looked as if the world's angriest pit bull had slipped them the big one. The CPU was not even inserted into what was left of the packing. The mouse and powercord were missing, the visibly fatigued cardboard sooted and sullied, loosely retaped with the metallic footprint showing through the three inch gap at the bottom flaps. The floppydrive coverplate was missing one of its two snap-on prongs, the other needed a ninety degree twist back to normal.
Of course, the plate doesn't not stay snapped into place as a result of the missing prong. Apple said there was nothing they could do about it, when Liberty called to report the horrendous UPS service yesterday. Ran her a long line of probable first day on the job bullshit even telling her that Apple could not track the shipment (to verify any details, how long it took to get to us, etc. after telling her it was a money back return deal ONLY in the first seven days AFTER they shipped). Sue defied them in her usual weak way that indeed SHE had tracked the whole shippping path since June 20 (uh, to July 6, considerably longer than a seven day loop) from the UPS website, which she was sure he too could access since it was Apple who had E-mailed us the UPS tracking number (actually my version of the argument is probably more detailed than hers, unfortunately).
Back and forth, disgusting telephone dancestepping remarkable only in its depth of ignorance and misguided presumptuousness from the once highly touted Apple side of the equation and the frustratingly (for me, if not its own bearer) weak powers of articulation on the consumer side. They finally hung up, nothing resolved except a 90-day warranty. I will fret on this a few days before deciding whether or not to step into the ring to mandate satisfaction, or else simply let it go by pushing the limits of the machine in the first 90, find some spare parts elsewhere if I need them, and get back to business, knowing I'll never buy directly from Apple ever again (this ain't the first direct buy that's gone sour).
Miraculously, the damned thing booted right up. It's running OS 7.6.1 which we'll upgrade to OS 8.1. Still haven't decided on a server package, but as is my wont, I'll probably settle on the Mac industry leader, spend the bigger bucks on WebStar, and top it all off with the full throttle of nifty add-ons. And soon be comnpeting with the best and the rest, right here from the Dollhouse Studio Z.
Bat criteria? Simple. One that FEELS good and LOOKS good in the hands of the slugger. I'd ramble off a few brandnames and some arcaneia about appropriate lengths and weights to suit the needs and style of the hitter, but the doodads are calling. . . .
Showing posts with label computers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label computers. Show all posts
Monday, September 17, 2007
Saturday, July 07, 2007
WORKING TOWARD COLLAPSE
Originally posted on October 3, 1996
As I think so I do. What is THAT all about?
But on a more gripping note, why is it that THE VERY things we think only take us so far, torment us til our dying breath, while the rest is up to the fist or the finger, the tongue or the trigger?
Should an idea take root in infertile soil, is this a miracle or hard work with emphasis on the idea? Is any soil truly infertile, but only to its inverse proportion that it is soil and not something closer to another idea? Dirt unlike men evolve optimum relationships to nature. Maybeeeee I am wrong about men. Define irony.
If when tired I am still inspired, is this a good, bad, or ugly thing?
If uninspired when completely comfortable, what is THIS all about? There are some things a poet puts in his own back pocket. There are others he puts in hers. What is wrong with this picture?
Understanding that one plus one equals two, why does one more make three? One times itself is nothing more than itself, but adding one to itself, we come closer to the relationship of the bumble and the bee. We won't mention birds in this context. I lied, so dub me an epicurean.
Like the good admiral (is this redundant on the face of all things clarified?) I want to know only simple things like who am I and why am I here?
First things being first if I multiply myself do I remain the same? But add myself to myself, do I become two minds?
Is it Wittgensteinian to question the mark at the end of this sentence, which for obvious reasons must remain motionless...
From the Guy Kawasaki file. True or false, he taunts: Managers would rather delegate problems that cannot be solved than empower subordinates to implement solutions that cannot be understood.
He continues: "Pity the poor echidna. Captain Willian Bligh documented this animal's existence on a voyage to Australia in 1793. (This was a trip Bligh and a small number of loyal crewmen had taken after having been "right-sized" from the BOUNTY.) The echidna is an egg-laying anteater that combines reptilian and mammalian characteristics likes its relative the duck-billed platypus.
"Because it exibited reptilian characteristics such as laying eggs, biologists in the early 1880s typecast the echida as primitive—not quite up to the standards of us mammals. These bilogits ignored one minor detail: the echidna has a very large brain for its body size.
"We can surmise that these bilogists cherished their precious theory: reptilian equals primitiveness. This theory was so powerful that it prevented them from seeing an obvious and myth-shattering fact: the echidna's big head. Retrofitting a popular riddle, we might ask, 'Which came first—the brain or the egg?' The answer for biologists in the 1800s was clearly the egg.
Like these biologists, business folk can become prisoners of conventional wisdom, traditional methods, and the holisest of mismangement litanies: 'This is the way things have always been done." My message: Resist the known and defend the unknown. Switching from biology to..."
Mother, if Mom suffices, why do you bother with the other?
There are times I think on purpose and there are times I cannot stop. These two times are congruent. Do the math, screamed the antichrist drunk on uppersmanship. Always a hops man, myself.
Why haven't the feminasties abandoned the word: w-o-m-a-n?
If one figgers a wigger is not a nigger on the trigger why opt for a bigger chigger in the woodpile? Rather rig her routing each rocker along the first stone to sinners as blood is to beer.
Facts are like fantasies. It takes one to know one.
I can't believe I am writing this, but my disbelief is as illogical as yours. The sun sets. The set sums. No wonder the subsets are rioting in the streets.
Like Bob Dylan knows, there are things to behold. But I know the only way to drive the point along a circle is to divide it. It doesn't take much insight to realize this elephant is more than a sum of its parts.
Trumpets. Gold. Now does gold trumpet its appearance like so many fameseekers man has produced, or does it just exist, limplike soft but confined after man grabs it, sprawled across the bed, inert? Gold is like a boring lay.
Laid within a manger, the ultimate manager of fools, Jesus changed his name from Emmanuel, and the world forgot.
Forgetting that time is just another number, age becomes the deciding decoding factor in the youth culture which promises itself the same promises at least a dozen generations before them promised in spades. Has someone sued for enfringement, yet?
Savior of sinners? I think saviors have sinned enough. Sinners haven't saved enough, however.
Language as redemption. I only WISH I could talk like a kitten.
Money buys its own safety, but safety buys nothing money can own. I feel like Ben Franklin, but gawd what a fat twisted turkey he was...
Somebody needs to confront Felicia Rashad on her comments about the computer industry. She made these revolutionary statements on the Derek McGinnety radio chat show on WAMU a couple of weeks ago. I was in the audience. My longstanding pleasure rejecting federal grant monies was rocked by her arguments about art subsidies. It's a discipline thing that keeps on giving, she says, as I parse. Damn, I was indeed moved by her logic. Yet her gall still floors me as she added, and of course the quote marks are bogus as I again paraphrase but only somewhat, "Cutting art funding is racist. The arguments about not enough money are bogus. There is always money for this or that. Computers? What is THAT about?"
Girlfriend, GET a clue. Computers are about the end of time as we know it. What exactly causes a series of word links to race across the finish line of a completed thought? Armageddon brings us closer to both God and the devil.
I love Jack and Jack loves me, but I think this tautology frightens us both to the point of a designated conversational nix. Well, a one-sided event multiplied by itself is still one-sided. Added to itself it becomes a clue doubled over, a mere echo of eggs still in the basket.
Easter is a lovely depravity. Who am I, the egg, or the sperm? Of course I am both. I am a dual nature. Gabriel coagulated on Christmas Day, 1954, was squeezed out on September 26, 1955, nine months and a day later, a sign of the ushering in of the age of rock and roll. Not everybody can say this with a straight face, and mean the same thing, but it follows that Jesus was a Libra, the question of balance, not a Capricorn. Yom Kippur. Life of Atonement. Flocks in the field. The ninety-nine versus the one. Et al.
God what a shit I can be. Jesus was a perfect messiah because he was born for it, that’s all. I am the imperfect. Yes, I was born for it, also.
What can common numbers have in common with uncommon numbers? Do the language dude. And keep a careful eye on the punctuation, dude, or you might miss an opportunity on your way to hilarity.
Fear of flying? Does this mean I am predestined to NOT make the cut on rapture day. And are we sure it won't happen over the six o'clock news, with a LIVE FEED? So maybe it will be rapture night, or as is frequent with biblical a day is equal to a year or an age...
Oh, I guess it's time to stop this Gabriel stuff. Let me know your silence is not indicative of your personal stake in the questions. Or let us gather around the party banner, and forget we ever had this conversation. Remember sofa is couch, purse is pocketbook and Gabriel Thy in a white heat is R......S.......N.......
A star.
GT
As I think so I do. What is THAT all about?
But on a more gripping note, why is it that THE VERY things we think only take us so far, torment us til our dying breath, while the rest is up to the fist or the finger, the tongue or the trigger?
Should an idea take root in infertile soil, is this a miracle or hard work with emphasis on the idea? Is any soil truly infertile, but only to its inverse proportion that it is soil and not something closer to another idea? Dirt unlike men evolve optimum relationships to nature. Maybeeeee I am wrong about men. Define irony.
If when tired I am still inspired, is this a good, bad, or ugly thing?
If uninspired when completely comfortable, what is THIS all about? There are some things a poet puts in his own back pocket. There are others he puts in hers. What is wrong with this picture?
Understanding that one plus one equals two, why does one more make three? One times itself is nothing more than itself, but adding one to itself, we come closer to the relationship of the bumble and the bee. We won't mention birds in this context. I lied, so dub me an epicurean.
Like the good admiral (is this redundant on the face of all things clarified?) I want to know only simple things like who am I and why am I here?
First things being first if I multiply myself do I remain the same? But add myself to myself, do I become two minds?
Is it Wittgensteinian to question the mark at the end of this sentence, which for obvious reasons must remain motionless...
From the Guy Kawasaki file. True or false, he taunts: Managers would rather delegate problems that cannot be solved than empower subordinates to implement solutions that cannot be understood.
He continues: "Pity the poor echidna. Captain Willian Bligh documented this animal's existence on a voyage to Australia in 1793. (This was a trip Bligh and a small number of loyal crewmen had taken after having been "right-sized" from the BOUNTY.) The echidna is an egg-laying anteater that combines reptilian and mammalian characteristics likes its relative the duck-billed platypus.
"Because it exibited reptilian characteristics such as laying eggs, biologists in the early 1880s typecast the echida as primitive—not quite up to the standards of us mammals. These bilogits ignored one minor detail: the echidna has a very large brain for its body size.
"We can surmise that these bilogists cherished their precious theory: reptilian equals primitiveness. This theory was so powerful that it prevented them from seeing an obvious and myth-shattering fact: the echidna's big head. Retrofitting a popular riddle, we might ask, 'Which came first—the brain or the egg?' The answer for biologists in the 1800s was clearly the egg.
Like these biologists, business folk can become prisoners of conventional wisdom, traditional methods, and the holisest of mismangement litanies: 'This is the way things have always been done." My message: Resist the known and defend the unknown. Switching from biology to..."
Mother, if Mom suffices, why do you bother with the other?
There are times I think on purpose and there are times I cannot stop. These two times are congruent. Do the math, screamed the antichrist drunk on uppersmanship. Always a hops man, myself.
Why haven't the feminasties abandoned the word: w-o-m-a-n?
If one figgers a wigger is not a nigger on the trigger why opt for a bigger chigger in the woodpile? Rather rig her routing each rocker along the first stone to sinners as blood is to beer.
Facts are like fantasies. It takes one to know one.
I can't believe I am writing this, but my disbelief is as illogical as yours. The sun sets. The set sums. No wonder the subsets are rioting in the streets.
Like Bob Dylan knows, there are things to behold. But I know the only way to drive the point along a circle is to divide it. It doesn't take much insight to realize this elephant is more than a sum of its parts.
Trumpets. Gold. Now does gold trumpet its appearance like so many fameseekers man has produced, or does it just exist, limplike soft but confined after man grabs it, sprawled across the bed, inert? Gold is like a boring lay.
Laid within a manger, the ultimate manager of fools, Jesus changed his name from Emmanuel, and the world forgot.
Forgetting that time is just another number, age becomes the deciding decoding factor in the youth culture which promises itself the same promises at least a dozen generations before them promised in spades. Has someone sued for enfringement, yet?
Savior of sinners? I think saviors have sinned enough. Sinners haven't saved enough, however.
Language as redemption. I only WISH I could talk like a kitten.
Money buys its own safety, but safety buys nothing money can own. I feel like Ben Franklin, but gawd what a fat twisted turkey he was...
Somebody needs to confront Felicia Rashad on her comments about the computer industry. She made these revolutionary statements on the Derek McGinnety radio chat show on WAMU a couple of weeks ago. I was in the audience. My longstanding pleasure rejecting federal grant monies was rocked by her arguments about art subsidies. It's a discipline thing that keeps on giving, she says, as I parse. Damn, I was indeed moved by her logic. Yet her gall still floors me as she added, and of course the quote marks are bogus as I again paraphrase but only somewhat, "Cutting art funding is racist. The arguments about not enough money are bogus. There is always money for this or that. Computers? What is THAT about?"
Girlfriend, GET a clue. Computers are about the end of time as we know it. What exactly causes a series of word links to race across the finish line of a completed thought? Armageddon brings us closer to both God and the devil.
I love Jack and Jack loves me, but I think this tautology frightens us both to the point of a designated conversational nix. Well, a one-sided event multiplied by itself is still one-sided. Added to itself it becomes a clue doubled over, a mere echo of eggs still in the basket.
Easter is a lovely depravity. Who am I, the egg, or the sperm? Of course I am both. I am a dual nature. Gabriel coagulated on Christmas Day, 1954, was squeezed out on September 26, 1955, nine months and a day later, a sign of the ushering in of the age of rock and roll. Not everybody can say this with a straight face, and mean the same thing, but it follows that Jesus was a Libra, the question of balance, not a Capricorn. Yom Kippur. Life of Atonement. Flocks in the field. The ninety-nine versus the one. Et al.
God what a shit I can be. Jesus was a perfect messiah because he was born for it, that’s all. I am the imperfect. Yes, I was born for it, also.
What can common numbers have in common with uncommon numbers? Do the language dude. And keep a careful eye on the punctuation, dude, or you might miss an opportunity on your way to hilarity.
Fear of flying? Does this mean I am predestined to NOT make the cut on rapture day. And are we sure it won't happen over the six o'clock news, with a LIVE FEED? So maybe it will be rapture night, or as is frequent with biblical a day is equal to a year or an age...
Oh, I guess it's time to stop this Gabriel stuff. Let me know your silence is not indicative of your personal stake in the questions. Or let us gather around the party banner, and forget we ever had this conversation. Remember sofa is couch, purse is pocketbook and Gabriel Thy in a white heat is R......S.......N.......
A star.
GT
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
ARMED ROBBERY & THE REVOLUTIONARY POSE
Originally posted on December 2, 1996
Well, Peter, I've been busy as a muscle spasm in Tim's backside trying to banish all the unjesus around here organized to a T. A rotting basement door led directly to rat attacks in October. Poison and ingenuity killed three Tim found in the utility room where they came in, and he then buried in the trash. An adult and two ratlings gone gratefully with not too much hassle. Dead carcass under kitchen sink, however changed our lives in a bigger way. A terrific three week odor no human should be forced to abide had us cursing the nature of death.
Maggots emerged, and at the 3-week mark, now fat stupid flies. I've swatted some fifty five flies in four, almost five days. These are dumb easy marks. It doesn't take a solid swap to fell them. And they don't buzz too far away after a miss, and just a little patience leaves me smiling that I've smacked another on the windowpane with only a slight mess. They've been coming out at a rate of ten to twelve a day, for about five days. I take down the ten, and tomorrow another ten replace them. Eventually the carcass will decompose completely, and this crises will be behind us, but geez what a long filthy look at reality in all its amazing distinctions!
Which segues to this armed robbery mess of your own. Tim and I were speculating, but of course were shy of information. Maybe you've written about it already, something you could forward here. All of us care enough to want to know more details.
Just purchased a 200mhz 2.4GB Mac Performa 6400 which crashed hard and died in its very third day, and now a month later parts are still unavailable, motherboard and chassis. Apple is rotting from the core it seems. I also am building an 8500 AV whiz machine, slow going, but most of the hardware is in place. Just a few minor details left. After I finish reading my mail this morning I'll hop on the web to check out your pages and email you from there with a few impressions. I've been taking most of my own web material down in a restructuring and consolidation move as I work this 120 mhz 80 MB RAM 8500 (only a month old as well) into full gear.
Reorganizing my rather vast Syquest domain to configure with the next wave of GT computing has been eating up most of my time not spent in general housekeeping. But life is feeling pretty good these days. Sorry you still cannot stomach my existence (according to Tim, and of course I trip on the paraphrase...), but maybe one evening as you look forward to the morning star you'll sponsor a vision in some new fashion you can count on, and you won't feel so threatened by my presence, but then again, maybe it is written that you'll always be my adversary.
Thanks for writing. Good luck in your move. Is your "Saint August" AOL address still valid? This address is good and you can reach me at "saintnix@aol.com" also.
GT
Well, Peter, I've been busy as a muscle spasm in Tim's backside trying to banish all the unjesus around here organized to a T. A rotting basement door led directly to rat attacks in October. Poison and ingenuity killed three Tim found in the utility room where they came in, and he then buried in the trash. An adult and two ratlings gone gratefully with not too much hassle. Dead carcass under kitchen sink, however changed our lives in a bigger way. A terrific three week odor no human should be forced to abide had us cursing the nature of death.
Maggots emerged, and at the 3-week mark, now fat stupid flies. I've swatted some fifty five flies in four, almost five days. These are dumb easy marks. It doesn't take a solid swap to fell them. And they don't buzz too far away after a miss, and just a little patience leaves me smiling that I've smacked another on the windowpane with only a slight mess. They've been coming out at a rate of ten to twelve a day, for about five days. I take down the ten, and tomorrow another ten replace them. Eventually the carcass will decompose completely, and this crises will be behind us, but geez what a long filthy look at reality in all its amazing distinctions!
Which segues to this armed robbery mess of your own. Tim and I were speculating, but of course were shy of information. Maybe you've written about it already, something you could forward here. All of us care enough to want to know more details.
Just purchased a 200mhz 2.4GB Mac Performa 6400 which crashed hard and died in its very third day, and now a month later parts are still unavailable, motherboard and chassis. Apple is rotting from the core it seems. I also am building an 8500 AV whiz machine, slow going, but most of the hardware is in place. Just a few minor details left. After I finish reading my mail this morning I'll hop on the web to check out your pages and email you from there with a few impressions. I've been taking most of my own web material down in a restructuring and consolidation move as I work this 120 mhz 80 MB RAM 8500 (only a month old as well) into full gear.
Reorganizing my rather vast Syquest domain to configure with the next wave of GT computing has been eating up most of my time not spent in general housekeeping. But life is feeling pretty good these days. Sorry you still cannot stomach my existence (according to Tim, and of course I trip on the paraphrase...), but maybe one evening as you look forward to the morning star you'll sponsor a vision in some new fashion you can count on, and you won't feel so threatened by my presence, but then again, maybe it is written that you'll always be my adversary.
Thanks for writing. Good luck in your move. Is your "Saint August" AOL address still valid? This address is good and you can reach me at "saintnix@aol.com" also.
GT
Sunday, July 01, 2007
EARLY RISER
Originally published on October 11, 1996
Today's Sue's 47th birthday. She's still asleep. I ache all over with a variety of old age outa shape self-abuse seasonal change ailments. Sinus. Pinched nerves. Left earbuzz half death and in a state of perpetual ringing caused at the Zodiac Mindwarp show in London [in '92]. Brain tumors. Colon cancer. The works.
Richard is leaving today on his way to Philadelphia to visit an old friend berfore returning to Georgia. It's been a rather enjoyable three days, but I think we've gone as far as we can go. He'll be seventy in February, has a classical art fetish, and knows little about the 20th century other than what he can remember from yesterday's news, although he has recently redeveloped his fondness for the Beatles. He gave us a nude he painted. The model is a Southern Baptist virgin schoolteacher he likes to tell for the laugh, although he actually paints from pictures in magazines or photographs he has taken. In this case, the former method was used. His style is impressionistic much in the fashion of Renoir, whose works the two of us took in at the Phillips Collection earlier this week.
I'm rather peeved that my fancy monitor hasn't arrived yet. If it doesn't show today, Apple's three week delivery projection will have been proved bogus. Meanwhile, the 8500 just sits on the table unattached. Of course, I recall your PC sat in the box for quite some time before you developed the right combination of enough interest, nerve, and need to string it all together...
Appreciated your last letter as usual.
Everybody's beginning to stir, so I 'll sign off and join them...
Love,
Gabriel
Today's Sue's 47th birthday. She's still asleep. I ache all over with a variety of old age outa shape self-abuse seasonal change ailments. Sinus. Pinched nerves. Left earbuzz half death and in a state of perpetual ringing caused at the Zodiac Mindwarp show in London [in '92]. Brain tumors. Colon cancer. The works.
Richard is leaving today on his way to Philadelphia to visit an old friend berfore returning to Georgia. It's been a rather enjoyable three days, but I think we've gone as far as we can go. He'll be seventy in February, has a classical art fetish, and knows little about the 20th century other than what he can remember from yesterday's news, although he has recently redeveloped his fondness for the Beatles. He gave us a nude he painted. The model is a Southern Baptist virgin schoolteacher he likes to tell for the laugh, although he actually paints from pictures in magazines or photographs he has taken. In this case, the former method was used. His style is impressionistic much in the fashion of Renoir, whose works the two of us took in at the Phillips Collection earlier this week.
I'm rather peeved that my fancy monitor hasn't arrived yet. If it doesn't show today, Apple's three week delivery projection will have been proved bogus. Meanwhile, the 8500 just sits on the table unattached. Of course, I recall your PC sat in the box for quite some time before you developed the right combination of enough interest, nerve, and need to string it all together...
Appreciated your last letter as usual.
Everybody's beginning to stir, so I 'll sign off and join them...
Love,
Gabriel
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
