Posts (page 2)

Wherein, I acquire new software that likes a fast video card.

Wherein, I have an evidently old video card. The computer has many slots. Seemingly, all I'd have to do is buy a new one, stick it in, and the new software would just work so much better.

But it's not that easy.

No one makes a faster video card for my computer. And if they did, it looks like I'd have to get a new monitor, at the same time.

Apple really messed this one up, for sure. While my computer is still fast, in terms of processor speed and memory, the video card is a crutch, alongside their proprietary video connectors (DVI vs. ADC).

So the moral of the story is...

Apple: I've bought your $1300 new software suite. Yes, I did check, and my computer meets basic requirements. But let's be honest. Spinning around in 3D with live previews isn't happening. In fact, it slows down my whole computer. About all it can do then is spin little colorful beach-balls at me.

What you should have added was that the $1300 software was only the beginning. I'd also have to shell-out for the new computer ($3500) plus the new screen, since the old one won't plug into the new cards ($1800). Point is, if i want to do what you are doing in your demo videos which got me to buy the software in the first place, well... it's gonna cost me well over $5000. And I don't have that for little podcast intros or fun.

Why won't someone (hello? ATI?!) a graphics card for AGP slots, instead of just PCI-Express?! Will this one work?

http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

Makes me wonder how we fail kids nowadays with such poor writing skills.

Something tells me she gets points docked for run-ons in school, notwithstanding.

Damn it all.

the other day i bought some ice cream. or so I thought.

I knew that some labels were GOLD, and others SILVER. I just scooped out some cookies & cream ice cream, only to discover, the box really reads: YOGURT.

I bought frozen yogurt instead? What the hell! I feel cheated.

I know, it might be healthier for me, but shit, I want some real ice cream. Compared to HaggenDazs, this stuff is lightweight. Where's the fat content?

Granted, the oreo part is good. Yum. But I don't like frozen yogurt. I'm an ass for not better reading the package. And I bought a super-sized tub, too.

Reminds me of that Seinfeld episode... at least their "frozen yogurt" was good tasting.

http://www.udfinc.com/homemade%5Fbrand/

What is it about permission--specifically, about being told "no" when you either want to be told "yes" or not questioned at all? As we grow up, as children, we are often told "no" by parents, who either control the money, or know best regarding this situation, or that. "I want a bike!" I yelled. And mom said "No, you should save some money so you can help pay for half."

I imagine myself sitting there, dumbfounded... how I would be able to save-up half the money for that shiny bike. Seeing other kids get the bikes made the experience all the more painful.

As an adult, I no longer ask permission. I figure I am the adult, and I don't need it. Yet, in times like tonight, I'm still told that most-feared word: "No!" How frustrating it is to be told you cannot buy something. I had a $180 fancy noise-filtering surge protector for my stereo in my hands... "You can't buy that! How much is that? Oh no, put it back."

Next was a demand to know what it did. "Well, we don't need that." We. I paid for the stereo. And I intended on paying for this surge protector, too, but I was told, "You can't have it."

So, yes, bitter here I sit. Wondering how much "cleaner" the hi-fi would sound with the surge protector. I already have an investment in $450 for cables, why hold back on $180 for the improvement in power? I have thousands of dollars worth of equipment hooked up right now through a $14.99 plastic power strip. It doesn't make sense.

I don't wnat to spend the money either, but I feel I have an obligation here.

In the car, on the ride home, I heard detailed reasons why I could not buy that device. The amount the car repair cost today. The amount of the upcoming vacation. The home repairs. The amount I already paid to upgrade the hi-fi. Then the dismissive tone: That thing isn't going to do anything, anyhow, you know...

Not only do kids and their parents have money problems, but couples fight too. My mom was a big saver, and my dad the spender. I have friends who are married and split everything. They don't share one cent in a joint account. They both accept responsibility for their own debt.

I understand the good intentions in holding me back. But I also feel I deserve it. I win an award. That's grounds for some element of celebration, right? Why not a surge protector to insure the investment in hi-fi hardware? I've felt nasty for the past week with sinus problems... allergies... why not "pull myself out" of the doledrums with a little stereo upgrade? Why not just look at it as an investment in my passion?

If you are reading this, and trying to decide who is "right" here, you are likely to take one of two sides:

• I am lucky to have someone in my life who is concerned with my financial health, and is willing to stand-up to me, and even upset me, to ensure my financial welfare.
• I shouldn't need a reason to buy something. I am an adult and no spouse, partner, or loved one should stand in the way of telling me what I can do... at least at this type of issue, and price-point.

It's difficult, for sure. Difficult in balancing desire, want, and responsibility and the knowledge that someone you care about is standing in your way.

I should add some detail to demonstrate the complexity. Another mall store sells a massaging device for $300. And I love getting my feet rubbed. No one in a 10-mile radius here likes rubbing my feet. The "NO!" character has a $50 gift certificate for the store that sells the foot-joy machine. "Go get that machine, I'll give you my card" has been uttered.

I wince at the thought of spending that money on something so personal and indulgent. But spending $250 plus a $50 gift card, some how, is a "yes" versus the $180 stereo "upgrade" is a pass. Maybe its just my history. Growing up, my parents always had credit card debt. They routinely carried $2000 on their cards, collectively. Yet every few months, I'll hear "Goodie! We're debt free once again..." or "you're debt free again... let's keep it that way."

Yet if I die tomorrow, who cares. Yes, I do think like that.

I know my desire is true and just. I know debt-free living is in my best interest.

I just want an über-stereo. I can't afford the next $1000 upgrade now. I know that. But I thought $180 was reasonable. No?

So, get this! I am away on very important business for several days, out of the office. Yesterday afternoon, upon arriving, I find some rather telling evidence that suggests my office was used without my permission when I was gone.

In fact, it is likely they used my computer. What evidence do I have?

Digustingly, I found skin flakes on my keyboard, around my keyboard, and on my black leather chair. With the finesse of a CSI agent (from the hit CBS Show, CSI), I picked up the skin fragments with tweasers, holding them up to the light. They were indeed light and transparent, but nonetheless, they were there!

I mean, ask me for my permission, sure. But just invade, and leave behind your flakey, virus-infested dead skin? Over the top! You've got the cajones! I mean, sure, I can sweep-off my chair, and I can wash-down my desk surface with a bleached handiwipe. But how can I get your germs out from between the keys in my keyboard?

Meanwhile, in a meeting, I saw lotion being passed around. A good idea that has come too late.

Recently a colleague at work endured a suntan. Hello? Have you heard of sun screen? There is no excuse, barring being stranded in a desert without transportation, for someone to become sunburned. It's not like it's instant. It takes time!

So, there she is, now, days later, shedding skin off her nose, and now... how gross... off her arms. Being cold blooded, she's shivering in air conditioning, brushing her arms up and down, and in repose, comes the bounty of lepers, her peeling skin. It's like snow. But it's human skin. Skin is an organ. And she's shedding it all over the place.

You might not care. But to some, no doubt, it's gross.

Hell, I'm breathing in this stuff. I'm breathing in her skin. Yew. Her organ... at least part of her dead skin... like fried chicken skin... who wants to inhale that?

Is that legal? To make people inhale your dead skin cells? If it has her DNA inside, its likely to have viruses, too. Nose viruses. My nose is all stuffy now. It's the dead skin viruses, for sure. In fact, I was feeling great until I saw her skin shower, and saw those little flakes rushing towards my nostrils... being pulled in against anyone's will. Just going up the nose. I snorted some out, but it was no use... I hadn't been prepared with some sort of SARS mask.

I think all skin issues should be banned at work. No lotioning up, no moisturization. Some girls do that. Putting on their strawberry sweetheart lotions... lathering up in that... and it stinks. No lotion maker puts good scent into a lotion. You either smell fruity or like grandma Jones. Maybe you'd like to see a girl rub that lotion up and down her silky legs at the conference room table, but there's nothing sexy about Suave lotion in a bottle.

Once I saw this guy picking at a sore on his arm. Oh, like it was the death of him... picking, scratching.. soon he had a good bloody mess on his hands, and under his nails... he finally smiled, like some milestone had been reached. Then the next day, he was scratching again... picking at it... squeezing out whatever he could. Like a giant arm wart and zit all mixed into one. Three days later, I saw him again, and now it was oozing yellowish puss. He claimed it hurt. No doubt, it was infected with whatever dirty germ had been under his nails. The ass.

Worse was the girl who had this huge wartzit on her neck. That's worse. She sat in the meeting, with it glowing all red and shit. Pick, pick, pick. It started to bleed. She came back looking like a guy who had a shaving accident... with tissue stuck to it... on her neck. Gross.

Then there was the guy who I caught trimming his nails at the lunch room table. He smiled, and quartered-up all the trimmings, and threw them away. He left. On the table was some kind of nail dust. I could detect it wasn't clean.

So, I have a thing for skin. Is it ever right to put on makeup in public? That's covering up your skin. I say no. Makeup is for the bathroom. Speaking of the bathroom, I once walked in and some guy on the can is talking to another at the urinal. About what? How itchy his ass was. "Maybe there's something on the seat..." And the other guy said, "No, it was itchy before I sat down here... ahhh.. man!"

That's gross. It's all about skin, too.

So, seeing my friend had this snowy skin problem, what was she to do, seeing she already had the tan and the burn?

* Rub lotion on the skin at work, to keep it hydrated. No. Involves lotion.
* Long sleeves. Ok, but the day before she was itching like a dog with fleas with the peeling skin on her legs. Hmm.
* Witch hazel application before coming to work. Hmm..
* Defoliation outside during lunch break. Now you're talking!

So the moral is... itch and scratch and pick and defoliate out of sight, out of harm. Follow up with a witch hazel spritz, and maybe a little antibacterial spray just to keep those dead-skin viruses at bay.

(Just for the record, I know that stuff isn't terribly effective at viruses. And no, I don't actually have such a problem with the peeling skin. But she's likely to expect me to write about this, and so I did. If I find it on my keyboard, though, she's gonna get it.)

The double-U. What a letter. It's got mystery, class, and an all-around upright character that just screams "excess" and luxury. No, I'm not writing about the W-hotel chain, but the letter. Come on, live a little... come with me...

It's also an iconic letter... like an S. Or an X. Two Vs, or somehow Us... and my favorite "W" word? Worthless.

I know about the Darwin awards. But I'd like to propose we start a "Worthless" awards. You get a Willy Wonka-style gold invitation... gold leaf all the while.. with the big iconic W. And what does it say?

"You have been deemed Worthless, for at least a day. Youv'e done something so idiotic or at the very least num-brained, that you are here-by recognized for your stupidity."

Your hand will feel the raised W. It will be hard-pressed into the thick card stock. Covered in shiny gold. You'll admire its sheen and its texture. Then you'll feel sick, because your friends have called you stupid. Will you save it? Or throw it away? After all, it is beautiful. Donald Trump might have designed it. Hell, he could have earned it. Then again, how many people keep reminders that they've been fools?

The choice will be a dicey one.

I'd like to give one to the girl that has misspelled my name twice. To the awful waiters I've had in restaurants. To the idiots on the road. To the bad baristas at Starbucks. Like the one the other day that so did not deserve any tips. I had my hands full... multiple drinks... and a bag of goodies.. and she couldn't help me by putting the hot sleeve on the cup. They do that no matter what at the other store. But not her. She just looked at me in my condundrum, and smiled.

W.

You know, I read that people eat for satisfaction. I mean, people take drugs (legal or otherwise) to find satisfaction... but do people LOVE food, drinks, drugs, or habits that are designed for satisfaction?

Or do they simply find them convenient when otherwise typical daily life won't do?

I love Haagen-Dazs Cinnamon Dolce-Leche ice cream. I do. I love a frozen cream and sugar concoction, infused with the sultry flavors of cinammon and caramel.

Oh yum-o, Rachel Ray... YUMO!

As worthless as:

• Diet7Up
  
• blunt thumtacks
• a flower without water
• a grated cheese dispense with no holes
• a laser printer without any semblance of toner
• a bell's ding without its dong
  
• a compass with no magnet
• diapers without a baby
• a bike with no chain
• a car with no gas
• PMS
  

Desparate for food, I walked into a local grocery store and demanded to myself that I find food.

Hunger was setting in. And who might stand in MY way?

There was a line a mile long at the fried chicken counter. Pass that up. Next, I spy the salad bar, but I wanted something quick and hot. Hot soup.

I spied the flavors du jour as the French might sass. Two favorites: the tomato, and the broccoli with cheddar. I wanted the tomato.

But the bitch was there. Mind you, she was a nice "girl," getting soup. She was standing in the middle with the chili. She was making a royal mess. I edged in, I was not going to wait for her.

And yet, she only moved a tad further away, then an inch more, now totally obscuring the beloved tomato soup.

"Move outta here! Beotch!" I screamed. Inside my head, of course. Just "clean up your damned mess, and get out, I want the tomato soup."

I looked at her. Pathetically looked at her. She, herself, was a pathetic mess. She had dribbled the soup all over herself, the cup, the counter, everywhere. She was a nightmare. A bumbling idiot. A moron. A morass of disappointment, when it came to soup service. I only grew more angry, more hungry.

A settled for a small broccoli, and a small salad. By the time I was dredging my salad in copious "glugs" of spicy salad dressing, she was still cleaning up her mess.

Let's review.

I encountered an idiot tonight, holding up, and restricting access to hot soup. She should have been laughing at herself. Resign herself to no soup. She should have had enough self respect to throw it all away, take a free cup of water, and just sit there. Contemplating her stupidity.

Take a break without a meal. Think about her wrongs.

It wouldn't have killed her. And I would have had tomato soup instead of broccoli.