inbetween

So, it has been a little while, eh? March 24th since I last wrote. Things have been busy. Perhaps a little too busy at times and not busy enough to keep me out of trouble at other times. Oh well.

So...

Umm...

Yeah...

I like the software that is available for Windows. Photoshop, Dreamweaver, Corel Draw. They rock. They kick ass really. I wish I could write or work on software like that really.

I don't like Windows. It doesn't have multiple/virtual desktops. The command line interaface licks dirt. The GUI isn't stable. I've even managed to crash my network card using Windows (loads of network load, might have been a driver issue?). If it is connected to the internet, and turned on, I should be able to have full access to it, and the files on it. You (mysterious reader) should not.

So I thought I would try linux and friends again...

Deep in the bowels of a hellish twelve level prison camp, everyone clothed in dirty rags I sat. I stared up at the horrors around me. Everything was shades of brown and blood red. It was a vertical cave, with wooden floors built into the sides of the rock. The floor was sand. There were spiders.

I was at the bottom. I had been there a very long time. There were others with me, broken and beaten like me. People further up were throwing things at us, and at each other. Social rank was determined by position. White people were at the bottom. Darker skinned people were naturally higher in the prison. That was the way of things.

The dictator needed a new personal slave, and chose me. I guess that's because it was my dream. The second in command chose my friend beside me as his slave.

I was lucky. The dictator was kind, but his second was cruel and nasty. The second cut off the ears of his slave. I remember at this point thinking this is too nasty. I don't want to watch. So I didn't. I opened my eyes and was back home.

Two minutes later I was back in the dream. The cave was outside. There was sunshine. It was a cleft in the cliff face beside us. My friend was dead, without any ears.

I started a revolution with my people. We attacked the dictator and won. I didn't fight. I think the revolution was an accident. I didn't mean to start a war, but I did. I stood by the wayside, looking down at my feet during the war.

We won, but it was just a battle. The dictator brought his army on horses, with swords. Everyone fought, except me. I stood by the wayside again, looking at my feet.

And so it continued, our army running off to the right, attacking. Then the retaliation from the left, horses screaming.

Until I found a sword. It gave me magical powers. I flew up the side of the prison, realizing I didn't need to climb stairs. Everyone was amazed. I met the dictator at the top.

He was a big stack of won-ton noodle wrappers.

I woke, laughing.

http://www.digitalronin.f2s.com/politicalcompass/questionnaire.pl

It tells you where you are, in the socio-economic spectrum. I'm a lefty-libertarian.

Yay me!

New Release

Wow. Now you too can launch your tee shirts a whopping one hundred and sixty feet. Just imagine the uses for this device. Think of all the non-tee shirt things you can launch with it. All that for just $1400 USD.

I think better still would be a tea launcher. Just imagine launching tea bags 160 feet. That would be special. You could be in the kitchen and ensure tea in all your guests drinks in the gazebo! Wow, how special would that be.

Cucumber Aspic != Cucumber Ass Pick

I should have been paying more attention to the entire conversation. Just hearing "Cucumber Ass Pick" set me giggling. And how do you explain "Cucumber Ass Pick" to a family member?

Local officials defy the Patriot Act

When the Patriot Act passed into law I decided that I didn't want anything at all to do with America. The idea that a government agency can track any information about me is truly disturbing. Agents of the only superpower on earth could look up what books I've borrowed from a library, what I buy at the store (via credit cards), what I watch on television (via TiVo) and anything else.

Without telling me. And while preventing the banks, library, or credit card companies from telling me too.

Blech! Praise God, I'm a Canadian, eh.

I think I may visit this little town in California. Maybe I already have, on a road trip. Either way, I'm really very impressed. Maybe that's what I'll do in the summer.

The Brunching Shuttlecocks | The Apathetic Online Journal Entry Generator

I haven't gotten much done these days. Shrug. I feel like a complete blank, but whatever. It's not important. I've just been letting everything happen without me these days.

Current Mood: spiritless

My grandmother on my father's side of the family lived her entire life in one house. She was slow and stupid and fat and looked at me with empty dullard eyes. She wore a pink button-up sweater that was forever unwashed. Her thining grey hair must have hated her laziness. She died perhaps five years ago. I was last in her house as a child.

But I was an adult. And my friends were there with me. We were in her house. She was there. I was looking after her, too. And her house. And my mother. And my mother's mother.

And I was a wreck, crying and bawling. I realized in the dream that I couldn't do it anymore. It was slowly killing me. All my friends were there, they were trying to help. They couldn't. Nobody could. I was dying.

I no longer fear death, for I have been to Hell.

--unknown

I no longer fear death, for I have been to Kamp Krusty.

--Bart Simpson, The Simpsons

Where does one go for chicken fried chicken? In wha strange corner of our world can I find a pub that serves a six ounce steak, deepfried, as an appetizer?

Glutonia - That's right folks, I've been south again. It was fun and strange at the same time. Four days, three nights of 'merican psuedo-culture and fine dining.

Actually, the hotel was lovely. Some of the restaurants were very nice. Chicken Fried Chicken was on a menu, as an appetizer!

I didn't think I had ever seen such poverty, but then I remembered South Africa. Cape Town, and Soweto were my first experiences with poverty, gripping poverty. Dirt floors, crime, and shame were everywhere, along with a sense of joy I've never experienced anywhere else. People, too poor to feed their children, enjoyed their existence, had hope, and had made peace with their situation. There were no beggars. Everyone was trying to improve their situation on their own.

The streets of Seattle were filled with the poor, and homeless. There was something else though, hopelessness. People had given up, had nothing to do, no way to do anything. They couldn't help themselves, and were asking, begging for help from others.

It wasn't just money these people were asking for. To look in their eyes, one could see them begging for hope. They needed to know that people could help them, that they were worth saving.

They were paupers in their souls.