Sunday, July 29, 2007
I have apple-shaped bite marks on my hand.
It happened when I went to the Apple store yesterday. I was taking in my old tired G4 tower to get memory-transferred into my new spiffy MacMini...
I lugged that G4 tower on my hip, MacMini in my bag. But, as I entered the door to the Apple store, my G4 turned on me. Put both it's feet out. Braced against the door. It decided it wasn't going back - wasn't getting it's memory put into the young body. It wanted to LIVE!!!
3 black-shirted Apple geeks bounded toward me, and wrestled it to the floor. He screamed, his fan whizzed and he spit resistors at us. While we dodged and weaved, he bit my hand, blood oozing over the Apple store tile.
With me distracted by my blood, he made a dash for the door. A passer-by screamed 'First Blood!'
But the way out for G4 was blocked by a big red-headed 18-year-old Apple kid who looked the G4 in the eye. He quickly made a DOS prompt symbol with his hands. The G4 stopped in it's tracks. Red-headed Apple kid began speaking dulcet tones - I couldn't understand, maybe it was BASIC or C.
Lulled by the BASIC, the three other Apple boys wrangled G4 to the ground. He was still whirring and beeping as they carried him to a nearby door labeled 'repairs'. The red-headed tech, calmly explained to my G4 that he would take care of him, and patted him on the head. He told him it wouldn't hurt.
As the G4 walked off reluctantly, hand in hand with the red-head Apple guy, it turned back and gave me a look - a look of sadness, broken-hearted - he was a goner. I yelled at him to have hope - he'd be retrofitted as an external drive for my edited film clips - a far more important and dignified job! He smiled, but he wasn't convinced.
My new MacMini slept through the whole thing, but as I yelled to my G4 to be strong, MacMini woke up suddenly - stuck his tongue out at my disappearing G4, and pooped in his diaper
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
So, I ordered some hair conditioner on amazon.com, and when opening it today, I got a bonus gift.
A coupon for bagels.
Now, far be it from me to determine the logic that went into that decision. Amazon.com has recommended some pretty crazy stuff for me. I know somehow there is a method to their madness...but really.
Let's re-live the SATs for a moment:
"Conditioner is to Bagels as _______ is to _________."
a. pengiun ; non sequitor
b. Hart ; Hart
c. the shape of a bucket of water ; the shape of an eagle
d. Depeche Mode ; Flock of Seagulls
e. none of the above
Here's a lovely short list of the strange items Amazon has recommended for me recently:
Goji Tibetan Berries - I must seem the 'fruity' type.
Freddie Mercury Action Figure - Don't we all want one?
How to Mend Your Broken Heart (Paperback) - There's something you assume AMAZON shouldn't be aware of. Maybe I'm sharing too much?
The Edible Woman (Paperback) - Ahem.
What's New Scooby-Doo, Vol. 4 (DVD) - Who WOULDN'T want this? Rooby Racks!
Why Men Marry Bitches (Paperback) - Yeah, just tattoo the word ' hidden agenda' on my forehead.
Naked Chocolate (Paperback) - A girl's got to eat.
As I later washed my hair and used my amazon conditioner, I thought...'you know what would be really good right now?'
Friday, July 20, 2007
The five great questions - (and my predictions)
1. Is Dumbledore really dead? (not really)
2. Who else dies? (Snape & Neville (both helping Harry))
3. Is Snape really evil? (no)
4. Do Ron & Hermione survive & get together? (yes)
5. Harry vs Voldy - who wins and how? (Harry, barely (or he dies and comes back) With a little help from his friends.)
I shall be sitting curbside on Saturday wating for my amazon.com box in a gryffindor scarf and wand in hand.
Oh, and don't call me all weekend. I'm busy.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Only in Palm Springs does the radio station play 'Theme from A Summer Place.' Not ironically. It does so in all seriousness.
It's a world in itself.
Full of fantastical creatures that only appear here, and only a few times a year.
From the flaming spa owner who professed the benefits of a dry finnish sauna and his mineral pools...to the wealthy socialite wearing her layered heavy gold chains into the pool, complaining about the pressures of a vacation in Tuscany or Venice. 'Which spa to go to next week?', she wondered aloud as we floated on our water noodles with indecision. We couldn't advise her, so she retreated to her aromatherapy massage to ponder in tension-releasing silence.
Here in Palm Springs, the passing of centuries seems only no longer than one night. Or more precisely, the mid-20th century stands still.
There were our new friends, two men so in love. They referred to their own community as 'the gays' and suggested softball might be a good way for me to meet quality guys. They informed me that Palm Springs' is 47% gay. It was proved when we took our evening stroll on Palm Canyon, every second car waved at them, and every second passersby was a neighbor or friend. That makes it more like 50%.
The enchantment of Palm Springs is limited... no-one may leave, otherwise the one-night enchantment spell will be broken.
We walked in vain, searching for the elusive restaurant Melvyn's, Frank Sinatra's wedding spot, only to decide it was the Brigadoon within the Brigadoon. We walked past the hoochie mammas in skirts smaller than their heads, all tan and slicked up for free margaritas bought for them by balding divorcees in tropical shirts. There were the locals at the pinkberry rip-off 'cactusberry' ordering 'the usual' frozen passion-fruit yogurt with kiwi and tropical fruit.
And yet you fall in love. With the city. With the people. With the yogurt. You want to stay.
'Caution Blowing Sands' signs frame the highway, and the cliffside of a mountain rises up, blocking Palm Springs from the infrared vision of the desert. It hides itself away underneath the palms, each street named Palm Drive, Palm Canyon Drive, Palm Tree Drive...evoking images of Cary Grant lounging with Randolph Scott pool-side, their secrets hidden from the world.
But you cant stay, otherwise you'd get sucked in, forced to live in Palm Springs forever...you must leave, and those with you disappear.
Late that night, after discussing love, Palm Springs, and the elusive search for a place to call your own...my friend V tore me out a magazine photo of a Palm Springs Boy in sympathy naming him 'Henry'. I was allowed Palm Springs Henry for only that night. He would comfort me. She placed him next to my pillow for company. But in the morning when I awoke, Henry was gone, disappearing in the night. Only there for the moment, before vanishing from view.
Such is Palm Springs.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
My dream is finally coming true! I'm starting at M.I.T. in the Fall!
Ok - not really. I'm getting my geek on by taking the online courses M.I.T. offers. Nearly its entire undergraduate and graduate curriculum is represented in free online courses. What's the catch you ask? I can't legally enroll, take classes on campus, or earn my long-missing Ph.D. in Physics. But I can at least tell people I'm attending M.I.T.
You won't tell anyone, will you?
I'm sure you're asking, 'Who in their right mind would take Graduate Quantum Physics if they don't have to?'
Um...that would be me.
And who told you I was in my right mind? I handled radioactive Uranium with my bare hands. If that doesn't bode badly for my mental state, I don't know what does.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Monday, July 02, 2007
Not that I'm the champion of everything Disney (ok, shucks...I am), but I've become distressed with the lack of knowledge regarding the recent movie Ratatouille. Not that people don't know about this movie in general. I am not a marketing person for Disney films (ok...I am). It's more about the amazing slew of people that don't know...
A. How to pronounce this word.
B. What it is.
I got tired of hearing 'Want to see Rataroo?' 'How about Rattan?' 'Or Rat-a-tat-tat?' The Rat Movie?
So, for the edification of everyone...here you go:
Ratatouille ("ra-ta-TOO-ee", IPA:[rætəˈtui, -ˈtwi]; French pronunciation: [ʁataˈtuj]) is a traditional French Provençal stewed vegetable dish.
Tomatoes are a key ingredient, with garlic, onions, zucchini, eggplant, bell peppers, some herbes de Provence, and sometimes basil. All the ingredients are sautéed in olive oil.
The name of the dish appears to derive from the French touiller, "to stir", although the root of the first element "rata" is slang from the French Army meaning "chunky stew".
There you have it! From now on, I expect you all to at least call it 'The Soup Movie.'
There will be a quiz on this tomorrow. Bring your scantrons.