6.5.03 fragments

My daughter was trying to teach me how to use this infernal computer. She stood next to me, one hand on my shoulder and the other wrangling the mouse. She demonstrated various tricks with iTunes and then wandered off. I didn't notice for a good thirty minutes that she had left The Joker on automatic repeat. Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah, some call me the gangster of love... over and over and over. Now I like Steve Miller as much as the next person. But thirty minutes of that song is a bit much.

I've turned on a really old Butthole Surfers album. Really loud.

Lucky thing the albums are still stacked all over the living room.

It is hard to be a hermit when my social schedule fills so quickly. I have conflicting, overlapping parties to attend all weekend. One of them is a tribute to my lively girl child, which means I should be cleaning the house, but I've retired with the vapors and I'm fiddling with newfangled technology instead.

Of all the things I've lost over the years, this is what I miss the most: my cranky old Linux machine. No software, no crashes, just me and Pine and a telnet client...

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