So the old computer lost its mind and the new computer has a busted disk drive and I just *knew* I’d be getting myself into daily hourlong tech support sessions when I set Fabiola up with a computer that old, it’s entirely my fault. The kid is patient, but angry now, and she knows she’s been sold a bum steer. When I took the machine over Saturday she swore up and down she’d never turn it on. Today she called me and told me between gritted teeth that she couldn’t get the floppy out of the drive, and made no bones about how much I sucked for putting her in this situation. I walked her through a number of steps she had mostly taken care of on her own. I feel guilty and at the same time harassed and then among it all I can see her slowly taking command of the machine and I know in the end she’s going to get something out of this. and maybe she won’t hate me when it’s done.
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Various chickens are coming home to roost at the DSWJ. I was somewhat unnerved the other day when the son of one of the doctors whose handwriting I disparaged found me and commented. I should have checked to see how many hits that guy’s name was getting on Google already. I didn’t really know how to respond, because I don’t know how upset the guy was to find some random nutjob bagging on his dad’s handwriting on the Internet…
Also, either the Olsen Twins post is getting a shitload of attention or someone’s having a lot of fun with my attempts to make academic meaning out of stray comments on my website… which if it’s the case y’all can cut that out now, I ain’t bitin’…
I still don’t know what to do with the Final Fantasy screenshot analysis, intellectual-wise. I guess you didn’t either, because I gots no comments. I’d still love to hear from y’all.
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It becomes clear to me that not much has changed since I was six when I find myself faced with an unravelable set of ideas for homework, and suddenly have the urge to stick my butt in the air. I press my cheek against the bed, tuck my limbs under my stomach, and stick it way way in the air. Like a stinkbug. I don’t know why I’m compelled to. I’ve just always felt like I think better with my butt in the air.
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Lynda Barry is always good.
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I went on a planting spree over the past two weekends and now I have filled about every available container with succulents, spider plants, and peas. It makes me so happy. They’re so brilliantly green in the sunlight, and there’s so much sunlight in my room.
Charlie’s laptop broke somehow when he was away, and he has been despondent, roaming around the house instead of suckling the teat of Mama Hypertext. Then he sat down and drew a picture of what he thought happened (it got kitt0wnd). Jamie made up a batch of purple cabbage juice last night and we spent way too much time using it to test the pH of various household substances — milk, baking soda, Febreze, and overused cat litter. The latter indicated we were very bad parents. Also in the apartment someone was puking — it wasn’t me! It had cat food in it. And in other news, Jacob came over last night, gave me a really good comic, and did hilarious things I can’t repeat here, along with making the usual faces and sight gags about being terrified of me.
Yeah, the domestic life is pretty good.
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