He’s very talented and funny and very cute. And on his way up, so if you have aspirations of being a groupie, start on the bottom floor—so to speak.
So, two nights ago, I got a strange message on my iBook stating that Mail.app couldn’t write to any of the mailboxes so I should make room on the volume my Home Folder is on. Except that there were still a few GBs left on it. So I logged out. And I noticed, while the machine was logging me out, that the glowring on the power adapter’s plug had flashed off and on. Not the typical behavior.
As I tried to log back in, I got a kernel panic. This is something sort of analogous to Windows’ Blue Screen of Death, and since I haven’t actually seen a kernel panic on any of my machines for several years, it took me a moment to realize the level at which things had gone south.
So I shut the iBook off, restarted it while holding down the ‘T’ key (for Target disk mode), which turns the whole machine into an external Fire Wire hard disk. I plugged it into my PowerMac and dragged my entire Home Folder off of it and onto the Mac mini’s 1TB drive. Success!
I tried just about everything I could think of, but the iBook kept failing.
After much anxiety and stress yesterday, I burned my personal discount at work and ordered me a 2.0GHz 15” MacBook Pro. What’s interesting is that it’s fast enough and capacious enough in a stock configuration that not only do I not have to order extra RAM from somewhere else, but its speed is in the same ballpark as my PowerMac G5. Which I am selling.
So in a 15” package, I have a desktop replacement portable again. I’m really not able to comfortably afford it, but I also can’t afford to be without one.
Such is the life of a queek.
I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, and it’s been a while since I’ve called out anyone else’s blog for y’all to check out, but I seriously have to do this one.
It’s a brand new blog called Sacky’s Funhouse, and there’s a permanent link over in my blogroll on this page, but go check it out. I’m lovin’ the shit out of it.
Yesterday I was out at the Lone Star and was very pleasantly surprised to run into Homer! I’d like to say that in the close quarters of a very crowded bar, it’s a sizable plus to have Homer *right there* with you.
And, through Homer, I finally got to meet the Moby. Helluva nice guy..and as Paris Hilton might say, “Hot!”
As I’ve mentioned before, I love web quizzes, the way that some people love, say, unicorns or piggies (wait, that’s me, too) or nun dolls (hi Nick!) or duckies (again, Nick!).
I’ve taken a few IQ tests online and I almost always do quite well. One of the first ones I took, a few years ago, told me my IQ was 163. Then I paid the site $5 for a “detailed analysis” of the various areas of intellectual faculty. My friend Steve told me I should subtract 10 points from my IQ for paying them anything.
Aaaaaanyway, if you want to find really really stupid stuff on the net, go to the AOL of blogging, also known as “Live Journal”. It’s the internet’s largest by-choice ghetto on the planet. “LJers”, as they like to be called—and call themselves—form specialized echo chambers where every post that contains even one whit of aphoristic “wisdom” is met with a flurry of “well said!” and “god, that’s soooo true!” and “OMG LOL!”
So I went slumming for web quizzes, and I’m going to torture you all with them because I have to stop making fun of LJ! (the ! is always implied when pronounced)
Imaginative, erotic, passionate
You prefer to have one partner and to try everything with them. You have an enormous sexual appetite, and you often create sexy scenarios to play out with your significant other.
|Take this quiz at QuizUniverse.com|
Your dominant hues are red and blue. You’re confident and like showing people new ideas. You play well with others and can be very influential if you want to be.
Your saturation level is lower than average - You don’t stress out over things and don’t understand people who do. Finishing projects may sometimes be a challenge, but you schedule time as you see fit and the important things all happen in the end, even if not everyone sees your grand master plan.
Your outlook on life is bright. You see good things in situations where others may not be able to, and it frustrates you to see them get down on everything.
You scored 86 masculinity and 83 femininity!
|You scored high on both masculinity and femininity. You have a strong personality exhibiting characteristics of both traditional sex roles.|
|My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:|
|Link: The Bem Sex Role Inventory Test written by weirdscience on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test|
Oh, and note to tight-assed XHTML-strict HTML-validation queens: Not all the HTML in the above is mine, and I’m not going to spend the time correcting their ugly stuff.
Old school TheGays go for the Judy Garland. More recent TheGays go for Babs or Bette. Current TheGays go for Madonna and Britney and Christina.
I’m more on the actor side of the diva equation than the songstress side. I prefer male voices and male songwriters in general.
But on the actor side of things, I go gay gangbusters. Put Sandra Bullock in a movie, or Catherine Zeta Jones in one, and I’m all hers. Good Lord! To say nothing of Julia Roberts, the Diva-inest Actress of ‘em all.
Have you ever seen America’s Sweethearts or My Best Friend’s Wedding? I think I’ve gotten around to seeing all but one or two of Julia Roberts’ movies, and today Netflix delivered The Mexican, a one-two-THREE punch of a movie with Julia and gay themes and Brad Pitt.
Favorite action: death from a bullet that falls from the sky from others firing off guns into the air.
Favorite line [about relationship issues]: Are you blameshifting???
Right now, though, I’m tearing through Footballers’ Wives. Hottie men showing full frontal nudity, and bitches bitchier than almost any bitches on American telly.
I’m in a Mood.
Also sprach der Gott der Plätzchen.
<br/><br/><br/>Previous lesson: The Gays #001
So much for feeling a bit better.
I’m still ok with the big changes that have gone on, it’s the lack of change, the same old same-old pain in my left ribs that’s got me feeling a bit down.
Trying to use these lidoderm patches again instead of vicodin just made it hurt just enough to also make me sick to my stomach. Probably it’s because the lidoderm patches didn’t stay stuck on me. Guess I’m going to have to shave parts of me again. Not that I mind the shaving; it’s just itchy when it’s growing back, y’know?
<LJMODE>Current mood: dispirited</LJMODE> (props to Joe.My.God.)
The chain of pain continues—and ends at a meeting of the weirdnesses.
First, you may recall, I invoked the dark side of pop music with references to an O’Sullivan and a Jacks. Then, BdbdbdbdbdbdBuck brings in a melancholic ONJ reference. Then Mr. Johnny Trinity invokes Ms. Manilow.
And yesterday was the 100th Anniversary of the Great San Francisco Earthquake.
Which got me thinking about the City’s history, which got paired with Barry [Wo]manilow (as we used to call him) and I remembered the movie Foul Play, which was set in San Francisco in 1978 or so, and whose main theme song is my second-favorite Barry Manilow song, “Ready to Take a Chance Again”, which is an entirely apropos sentiment for me these days.
And? It just happened to be on comcast cable’s “On Demand” section, so I watched it immediately last night.
You know, I love this town. As if I didn’t already have the best parents in the world, not to mention the embarrassment of riches in all those who’ve been there for me through the years, San Francisco is something of the Mother of All of Us who know this is the only place to live.
One has friends who are funny, sweet, kind, gentle, decent. Who are hot or handsome or pretty. Who have been thought of as more than friends or too much like family.
So what do you do with one of those in-betweeners, who is your friend and whom you think is hot, but who does something so horribly, horribly wrong that you don’t know what to do with yourself?
I speak of my friend Buck, who after reading my entry about Gilbert O’Sullivan and Terry Jacks, decided to add even more saccharine to the mix by offering up some lines to a song as an in-kind gesture:
I find the days hard to take now.
Empty rooms, with much too much space now…
It took me embarrassingly little time to suss it out. The artist came first, oddly. And then the name of the song. And then the true nature of the appropriateness of the song.
I’ve been singing the damned song in my head since I got his email last night at 10:32pm. Even more embarrassingly, I remembered all the words to the song. I guess they write these heart-wrenching ballads for a reason.
I kid the Buck. Even though what I’ve told you is all true. When I get back to the house I’m going to have to find it in my music collection and play it over and over again. (Yes, I own the song and have for a while—fuck you, too and shut up 🙂
Actually, everything in the last few days has reminded me of one song or another. Not necessarily sad songs, but sometimes the happier ones are the ones that end up being the most poignant as they play contrapunto to beat of your steps and your heart.
Still. Buck will pay.