I’m RIGHT HERE, GUYS
Category: Angst
Every time I start to think I’m good at this real life proves me wrong
NEVER BUILD YOUR OWN COMPUTER. Thank fucking Christ I bought a backup system last month, and double thanks I bought it from Apple.
According to Yale, when you are self-employed everything is tax-deductible as long as you claim it’s paper
My purchase of a laptop justified itself today when the RAM in my tower exploded and lost me about six hours’ worth of work. Bad RAM! Literally, bad RAM! It would have cost me another day and a half if I didn’t have the little white rectangle on which I’m typing this. Cost-benefit ratio so far is about 9:2. At least it’s tax-deductible.
How to write this post.
- Your package has finally arrived. Open it. It is a refurbished MacBook!
- Boot it up to see if it works. It does! Have Maria show you neat tricks in OS X.
- Snip open the mylar packets of RAM and new hard drive that you bought to make this thing more than a toy. Crack the case and immediately fall prey to the shit hell middle screw of death.
- Break Maria’s screwdriver trying to get it out. Yes, the screwdriver. Don’t even scratch the screw.
- Become very irritable and take it out on the dog. Buy more screwdrivers and, in a fit of bad decision-making, WD-40.
- Screw will suddenly decide to pop out about six hours later. Replace hard drive and RAM. Upgrade mood.
- Reinstall OS X. Install Boot Camp. Try to set up partition for Windows.
- You have erased OS X! GOTO 7
- Obtain Microsoft Windows™ XP Professional patented encrypto-mathic secure Protectivation Key™ by advanced method of asking a couple dudes.
- Install Windows. Accompany Maria to hospital (she is working; note that in current state of health she should possibly be a resident). Find Wifi. Post.
- Profit!
My dignity, like a bottle of Gauthier ’88, shatters on the prow of Alison’s new blog.
I have whiplash now! Great! Dammit! This is from about eight seconds of headbanging during “Blister in the Sun” at Erin and Stephen’s wedding. I used to be able to dance like that for hours, and now my limit is less than eight seconds.
I guess having ruined my spinal column in college is worth some cred. Maybe.
This is going to seem unprovoked but go with it
Who the fuck sent me the creepy email with the talking monkey?
Update 2307 hrs: Ken did.
Live the good life on the offworld colonies
Think of somebody you knew briefly, for a week or two, maybe one night, maybe a month: a camp counselor or a host sister, a bad date or that guy who dropped out before midterms. Think of somebody you owe.
You’ve got one afternoon and one present, no larger than a garment box, to give this person. You have a table at a restaurant anywhere (except Paris) in the world.
Where do you eat lunch? What’s in the box?
This is called a business trip
Meanwhile, here I am in New York on September 11th, having flown up yesterday evening with a cadre of FDNY firefighters and a pilot who looked about ten. (Years old.) I nearly lost my luggage; my cabbie got lost. I’m on an expense account but I won’t get those reimbursements for two weeks, and this morning I walked eight blocks the wrong way. No idea when I’ll be allowed to leave work tonight.
It’s going okay!