Twisted Spinster

Okay, I bought a new computer at Compusa, which was having a going-out-of-business sale. I forgot they were shutting down. I got a pretty good deal — It’s got Windows Vista Premium (ugh, but I didn’t have any trouble with the initial setup, it’s just fancier XP), and more important it has 2 GB of RAM and a big hard drive. It’s a Gateway, but it seems to work okay. I just went ahead and bought it before I could change my mind — I’ve been dithering about getting a computer for months now, and if I waited any longer I knew I’d end up with a dead computer and no money again.

Of course, I can’t connect to the internet yet — my cable internet is still out, I’m stealing some weak wireless connection just to get this up here. The computer came with all this stuff, which surprised me — keyboard, mouse, speakers, some sort of remote control media setup thing. Unfortunately, it isn’t a laptop — they had some, but they were still going for a tad more than I wanted to spend despite the fire sale discounts — it’s a desktop. Well, I had the monitor mouldering away in the closet anyway, now I can use it. And I half killed myself getting the box up the stairs — my arms still ache. But it just fit under my desk, so it will work out. I’ll be removing lots of crap software once I get everything set up (McAfee Antivirus and all its garbage will go bye-bye, as will a bunch of outdated internet connection stuff (AOL! Netzero! No thanks) and Napster for some reason is installed), but I’m used to that. Not bad for under five hundred bucks. And it’s all thanks to my readers and their generosity. You guys rock.

My laptop took ages to start up. I think I bought the new machine just in time. Well, I’ll get back online tomorrow, I hope. I am diverting myself with “classic” (80s-era, “Fifth Doctor” –the blond one) Doctor Who dvds. One thing I have noticed about the “classic” Doctor Who that I don’t miss at all isn’t the horrid cheap sets (they weren’t all horrid; “The Keeper of Traken” had quite a nice set design) or the rubber monster suits, or the uneven acting — it is the excruciatingly slow pace of the old shows compared to the new one, or frankly any new show that’s been on tv since the 90s. I don’t know what happened, but television shows are filmed at a faster pace, or at least the illusion of one, and with a lot more detail crammed in to the forty-five or so minutes of episodes, and I’ve gotten use to it, which makes watching anything filmed before, oh I don’t know, 1992, difficult.

One more thing: thanks (again) to the contributions from readers, I will still be able to make the upcoming rent, with just a little squeezing. All I have to do is hold out until April 30 (well, as things turned out it’s actually until May 3rd, because I moved in May 4th last year) and then I get my deposit back. Of course they’ll take their time sending it to me, apartment management companies always do, but I plan to have a job by then. Actually, I plan to have a job in the next few weeks, because this situation is ridiculous. I caught a glimpse of an article in today’s paper about how immigrants are leaving the state because of the construction industry (and everything else) downturn. And I’m sure that only about half of those “immigrants” are actually illegal aliens, without which we were told the construction industry would collapse. Well it collapsed frickin’ anyway, didn’t it?

Yay, not only did this falling apart laptop of mine cack out last night so I had to do an extra-hard reboot (this involves yanking out the entire battery to force it to shut down), I woke up this morning to find that my internet connection has gone kablooey. Nothing the tech guy over the phone had me do (unscrew the cable and unplug the modem, rescrew the cable and replug the modem, unscrew the cable and press the reset button with a pen, etc.) worked, so I am here at Panera with a token order of coffee, using their free wireless. It took my machine forever to start up, and it moans and groans and complains, so I am going to have to bite the bullet and look for a new computer. I think I may just be able to squeak out a lower-end desktop from my budget — I hope. If I can’t, then I will have to put up with old Betsey a while longer, but I don’t know how long it will last. (By the way, it’s only because of the contributions from my generous and wonderful readers that I am able to even think about doing this. Otherwise I’d be up the creek all together. Wish me luck at Compusa and Walmart.)

Or whatever the equivalent is for a website… I’m sorry, the constant whining about Hollywood’s annoying yet unsurprising (because anyone who is older than twenty can remember this being not so much a new problem as a tradition of Tinseltown) behind-the-times clinging to outdated and tired political notions is one thing, but claiming that the Titanic movie (the 90s version that came to us courtesy of James Cameron’s cliché-raddled mind) is “an event, an experience, one for the ages” as well as “what movies are all about”? No. Just– no. Sure, Kate What’s-‘er-name looked nice in her outfits, but everything else was either bloated with hackneyed ideas of what life was “really” like back in the early 20th century (life below decks was more wholesome and lively than the dessicated existences of the rich stiffs above! Wow! Excuse me while I try to recover from that feather-blow!) or else just plain wrong (Florence King pointed out — it’s in one of my books of her columns, I am too lazy to look for it right now — that the slow waltz-type dancing the rich bores were shown doing was wrong for the period), and was hideously acted by almost all the principles with the possible exception of Kathy Bates (the worst was Billy Zane, who must have added considerably to the cost of filming for all the scenery he chewed). And let me add the cherry on the craptastic sundae: it starred as the Heartthrob Love Interest none other than Leonardo Di Caprio, who is to sex appeal what Roseanne Barr is to the push-up bra. People keep telling me he’s supposed to be sexy as hell, but stringy arms, tiny noses, and a general ephebic appearance in males are a buzzkill to me.

So, that’s the end of me taking Libertas at all seriously. Call me when you get your critical faculties back, guys.

I must say I’ve never been into William F. Buckley. I’ve tried reading his columns and stuff in the past and always got bored. His writing style just wasn’t my cup of tea. I’ve never been able to stand him live, but that’s how I feel about most people. (How anyone can stand talk shows and interview programs I’ve never understood. I can stand actors pretending to be other people; real people being themselves on tv bore and irritate me. And don’t get me started on radio.) Also, everyone is recounting fondly his threatening to punch Gore Vidal in the face as if it were some rhetorical triumph instead of a common kneejerk reaction to Vidal’s bullshit. I mean, who doesn’t want to punch Gore Vidal in the face? I’ll bet even Vidal wants to punch himself every now and then.

Be all that as it may, apparently Buckley died with his boots on. As someone whose expired and half-eaten-by-cats corpse will probably be found when the smell starts to bother the other hobos in the alley, I’ve got to respect that.

The local news was going into hysterics last night because a Big, Bad Storm-laden Cold Front was to be heading this way. Well, apparently it did, but all my neighborhood got was some rain, a bit of breeze (earlier), and occasional distant thunder. Usually the area along I-4 (which we call “the I-4 Corridor”) is a thunder-‘n’-lightning magnet, but for months now the weather above my apartment complex has been almost continually placid. I suppose I should consider myself lucky, as I’ve already had more than a few electrical appliances destroyed by lightning (such as, oh, a usb port and network card short out in a computer I had). But I was hoping at least for a real downpour.

I was out in the traffic today, and I don’t know how much of it was affected by the state-wide power outage, but it sucked extra-specially. I ended up around the downtown area, and this is not New York, but Orlando still hasn’t adjusted to becoming a Sudden Metropolis, and everything is under construction. And there was an accident blocking the streets. So I got lots of extra practice shifting gears (and swearing, and complaining under my breath).

I have decided to get a small storage space in one of those store-your-junk places, because I have too much stuff (my closet is crammed, I can hardly get into it), and I just don’t have the patience to sort through all the boxes, set up the Ebay store, decide what needs to just get taken to Goodwill, etc., right now. Also I think some of my furniture will have to be stored when I do move because I am planning on moving to a smaller and cheaper place. And obviously if I end up renting a room instead of an actual apartment I won’t be able to fit everything I own into it. I hope I’ll be able to find a reasonably-priced storage place (some of them charge so much it’s not worth it).

Well that’s it for now. Working on some stuff, be back later.

So you can take that cookie… Hey, Oliver, here’s news: Hitler didn’t “do it for the money” either. Asshole.

As if the empty-platitudes campaign platform wasn’t enough, apparently a vote for Obama is another signature on his death warrant. I’m sorry, but as a responsible American citizen, I can’t have his impending assassination on my conscience. As for all of you who are planning to vote for him, I wonder how you can sleep at night! Well, actually, I know that you frequently stay awake all night, biting your handkerchiefs and sobbing in fear for your god. The funny thing is, there’s an easy way out of your dilemma! Don’t vote for him! Remember, a vote for anyone else is a vote for keeping Obama alive!

Semi-related.

Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’ — I do believe I’ve found my (better looking) alter ego:

There’s more neat stuff here. And now what I would really like is for some nice person to make me a WordPress Steampunk theme. I’d do it, but I seem to have lost the necessary patience to fool around with web page design that I once had. Or I’ll just take a raygun — a working model.

…that I have the BEST internet readers. Really. You guys rock.

I tried to read through this story of a whiny, guilty white Canadian guy — boring singer and songwriter Dan Hill, who is responsible for this interval of fetid mush (which song is on my special “nuke them from space, just to make sure” list) — and his failed efforts to prove to his son he can get “down with the brothers” better than those racist Americans, but I got bored. Sorry. (Via Kathy Shaidle, who isn’t impressed either.)

PS: thanks for all the donations! I might eventually be able to make up for the arm and kidney I had to give H&R Block today…