Thursday
1/15/04
Cranky Computer.
On around 1850, Thoreau said, "Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." ... a quote which means just a little bit more today, perhaps, as I sit here watching the falling snow. Indeed, a day like today, at just about 8 degrees with six inches of fresh powder on the ground is the sort of day to make one consider the seasons and cycles of life through which we travel: the search for Easter finery on cool spring mornings, the smell of fresh mown grass on pluvial summer afternoons, a crisp blue sky under which we rake the autumn leaves… and Winter, which is when my Goddamned, muther f+%#ing piece of monkey sh#t computer suddenly turns up more addled than the hapless Ronald Reagan and less trustworthy than John Poindexter. @*$%.
In short, it’s time for a disk wipe and fresh install of XP. And actually, it’s just fine that the kids are home for a snow day today as I wouldn’t have gotten any thing else done anyway. (Anybody who’s done a factory restore on their machine will tell you that it is inevitably a miserable, whole day thing.)
Anyway, if Dads on the Couch never reappears, you’ll know the real story of its demise. ( Imagine, if you will, a thirty-something guy hudled in the corner in a fetal position mumbling "Can't... find... ASPI controllers. Gone... all gone... ) Hey, but then again, I’d sure hate to go back to scribbling my absolutely ludicrous flights of fancy with mere paper and pen. "Fresh mown grass on pluvial summer afternoons" indeed.
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Cranky Computer.
On around 1850, Thoreau said, "Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each." ... a quote which means just a little bit more today, perhaps, as I sit here watching the falling snow. Indeed, a day like today, at just about 8 degrees with six inches of fresh powder on the ground is the sort of day to make one consider the seasons and cycles of life through which we travel: the search for Easter finery on cool spring mornings, the smell of fresh mown grass on pluvial summer afternoons, a crisp blue sky under which we rake the autumn leaves… and Winter, which is when my Goddamned, muther f+%#ing piece of monkey sh#t computer suddenly turns up more addled than the hapless Ronald Reagan and less trustworthy than John Poindexter. @*$%.
In short, it’s time for a disk wipe and fresh install of XP. And actually, it’s just fine that the kids are home for a snow day today as I wouldn’t have gotten any thing else done anyway. (Anybody who’s done a factory restore on their machine will tell you that it is inevitably a miserable, whole day thing.)
Anyway, if Dads on the Couch never reappears, you’ll know the real story of its demise. ( Imagine, if you will, a thirty-something guy hudled in the corner in a fetal position mumbling "Can't... find... ASPI controllers. Gone... all gone... ) Hey, but then again, I’d sure hate to go back to scribbling my absolutely ludicrous flights of fancy with mere paper and pen. "Fresh mown grass on pluvial summer afternoons" indeed.
