Testing..."Number nine...number nine..."
I am having terrible computer problems, and this is inhibiting new postings at UPI. The current HAL-9000 Mk. II may have to be replaced. HAL is named after the talking “Heuristic Algorithmic Logic” computer that ramrodded the Jupiter mission in “2001; A Space Odyssey.” Like the cinematic HAL, my Dell Dementia home version is cutting lifelines, refusing to open the pod bay doors, and being murderous of my files.
As is rote, I am composing offline, in MS Word. To paraphrase Mr. Fred Rogers, can we say “disk read error… socket error…fatal…sorry for the inconvenience”? My neighbors shun me because they think I’m a madman; I scream and curse at this inanimate object. The sound carries downhill. Scorpion Hill looks down on a sort of collective neighborhood of scattered houses; yelling and screaming is discouraged, despite the therapeutic effects.
I am perhaps mad. I possess a 400-watt stereo with 18” woofers that can rival a concert hall with a competent engineer. I occasionally like to inflict my musical tastes upon the aforementioned neighborhood. Even Keith Emerson’s brilliant piano playing doesn’t endear me to the people next door. Roy Harper’s minor key singing definitely doesn’t do it. Buck Dharma and Blue Oyster Cult are beyond the pale.
To “celebrate” Hurricane Katrina, Led Zepplin’s “When the Levee Breaks” is too wicked.
This post is an experiment. If HAL-9000 Mk. II will stay online long enough, I have new posts working. I thank my faithful readers for checking in, and as soon as we whip these microchips into submission, there’ll be new stuff. There are outlines for a cautionary tale of fried chicken, and there is a very serious tribute to a 9/11 victim. I can compose my thoughts offline; if only I can stay online long enough to post my scribbling here. Chemotherapy is not helpful to the thought process; lucidity is inherent to the young, and along with the 400-watt stereo, it feeds into madness at my age.
It’s become a cliché, but if you can read this, thank a teacher. If you can read this without fear of reprisal, thank a soldier.
As is rote, I am composing offline, in MS Word. To paraphrase Mr. Fred Rogers, can we say “disk read error… socket error…fatal…sorry for the inconvenience”? My neighbors shun me because they think I’m a madman; I scream and curse at this inanimate object. The sound carries downhill. Scorpion Hill looks down on a sort of collective neighborhood of scattered houses; yelling and screaming is discouraged, despite the therapeutic effects.
I am perhaps mad. I possess a 400-watt stereo with 18” woofers that can rival a concert hall with a competent engineer. I occasionally like to inflict my musical tastes upon the aforementioned neighborhood. Even Keith Emerson’s brilliant piano playing doesn’t endear me to the people next door. Roy Harper’s minor key singing definitely doesn’t do it. Buck Dharma and Blue Oyster Cult are beyond the pale.
To “celebrate” Hurricane Katrina, Led Zepplin’s “When the Levee Breaks” is too wicked.
This post is an experiment. If HAL-9000 Mk. II will stay online long enough, I have new posts working. I thank my faithful readers for checking in, and as soon as we whip these microchips into submission, there’ll be new stuff. There are outlines for a cautionary tale of fried chicken, and there is a very serious tribute to a 9/11 victim. I can compose my thoughts offline; if only I can stay online long enough to post my scribbling here. Chemotherapy is not helpful to the thought process; lucidity is inherent to the young, and along with the 400-watt stereo, it feeds into madness at my age.
It’s become a cliché, but if you can read this, thank a teacher. If you can read this without fear of reprisal, thank a soldier.
posted by Robert at 1:20 PM
1 Comments:
"Number nine...number nine"
Beatles fan, eh? Me too.
To “celebrate” Hurricane Katrina, Led Zepplin’s “When the Levee Breaks” is too wicked.
Nah, it's quite apt, actually...
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