reesesWeb

Bloody heck. I now have reason to buy a mac. This is very similar to a project I've been working on for the past couple years, off and on, and haven't polished anywhere near this well.

I wonder if Kat would notice a g4 or g5 wedged under the desk? Someone needs to build a G4 like those old Ross 5-1/4" bay SPARCPlugs. Even if it used two or three bays, it would still be r0x0r, ja?

Since I have free time now that I don't have to work on the symbolic music system (which I had a much cooler name for, thankyouverymuch), I'll grab a soldering iron and spend ten more years embedding an iMac into my PC.

I've heard some of the new Liz Phair album, having been a fan for a hundred and thirty years. What did I think of it? Well...

I suppose I should give a little background first.

I suck at hearing lyrics in music. Suck at it. You play me a song, and I listen, and I try, but I kind of space out if I'm trying to listen to the lyrics. It's why I either like music without any lyrics, or at least without any comprehensible lyrics (I love jazz, opera, etc., but hate musicals, most showtunes, etc.), or songs with very simplistic musical accompaniment, so I can actually hear the lyrics. (The Beatles, They Might Be Giants, most 80s punk, and, of course, early Liz Phair)

So, when friends recommend stuff like Radiohead, I Just Don't Get It. They say the lyrics are good, but I just kinda...disappear when I listen to it, and not in a good, transcendental sort of way. I just lose consciousness for a while or get distracted.

As a result, I can't get into the new LP album (hah), because the drum-machine synth-pop in the background distracts me from the lyrics, which may or may not be quite good. The only song (of the four or five I heard) that I could really stand up for is H.W.C., which I absolutely loved, and I fully predict will become a gay dance-club remix favorite.

Plus, it has The Best Chorus Ever.

So, last week, I ordered the MS Action Pack, because I found a coupon on techbargains for $200 off, bringing the price for (among other things) ten licenses of Windows XP and ten licenses of Office XP down to $100. I wanted to upgrade my primary machine to XP, and thought that now was as good a time as any.

If I ever say 'upgrade' again, please shoot me.

On Friday, the box arrived, with lots of CDs. I fearlessly put the XP cd into my drive, and rebooted the machine. Everything's going hunky dory, and I install files, etc.

Then I reach a point where it says "Completing Installation" and giving the estimated time remaining as "25 minutes".

Yes, I am rage-man this week. I've noticed a similar dysthymia among other people, so you're probably bothering all of us.

Anyway, there are three words that, if you ever let them pass your lips, should be immediately crammed back down your throat, using the nearest fist or boot as a plunger. They're unforgivable, and if you thought for the briefest second after the adjective occurred to you, you'd realise that your uttering these words is as unwelcome as Andre the Giant at an ass-kicking contest.

Because, well, he's dead, and stinky. Wheee-ew!

Intense though the stench from his four hundred pound corpse may be, there are three little words that offend me more. Think before using them, and the life you save may be your own.

"You look pensive."

When people come over, they're quite impressed by my two talking monkeys, Ocanapilakitoo and Bob. They really seem to go nuts for the "who's on first" routine.

I don't have the heart to tell them Bob is a ventriloquist.

Last night I upgraded my primary HD from a 33-1/3 rpm MFM Philco to a recent-vintage 7200 RPM ATA-133 160GB Maxtor lovedisc. Programs...launch soon after clicking on the icon, the OS loads within a minute, and I don't have to find something to delete every time I want to install something new. (or grab Alias episodes from the ether)

Life is good.

I love the metro, because of the free cheese sandwiches, but people are insanely rude. Not just DC rude -- these are people who redefine rude.

Let's say you're in a car, and people are seated like this:

x & y are people, little boxes are seats. The red seat is a conspicuously empty seat with a person, y, sitting on the aisle-side of the seat.

Why, oh why, Ms. y, do you not move into the red seat, so someone else can sit down? Why do you sit there, and watch the aisle fill up with people, forced to stand because you're a steaming ass-frog?

Oh, I'm r, and I spit in your hair. Pleased to meet you.

So, last night, I was talking to my imaginary friends, and I happened to notice that Sarah Silverman was mentioned on lemonodor. I declared that she's quite the bee's knees.

"Yeah, she's ok, I guess."

"Well, she's an archetype of...my type."

"What, like a post-op transsexual?"

"No, not at all! She's like the other girls on my hot-actresses list*! Like, umm, Famke Janssen and Jennifer Garner and Parker Posey. Oh..."

* This is a thing all men keep, even if they don't admit it. Ask me.

Mr reeses, do you have a list of Top Ten Actresses You'd Bonk If You Weren't Married And Met Them On A Train?

Of course not. Sod off, troublemakers!