Despite the best efforts, I could not get the chosen print monitor to work. I read the entire help files and faq pages, but they all failed at the same point. The client computers would not network with the server, always referring to a connection that never occurred. I finally emailed the manufacturer to discover they were in Romania.That means the quest begins again. All day, every day. Things are picking up slightly so the demands on my time will continue. This means Wallace and I won’t be getting around much, although that is more due to the dog than lack of time. It turns out Millie-Belle demands 24 hour a day attention and this situation was totally unexpected (by me). Pudding-Tat, on the other hand, is trained to keep herself amused for days on end. Then again, Wallace did say Millie-Belle was a good guard dog, which makes Pudding-Tat is a good guard cat. N’yuck, n’yuck.
It is time to ask about the cookbook. I have nothing to report. The reason is simple: the next move is not up to me. I’ve got my share of bachelors, recipes, forms and computer work arranged. If it was my decision, I’d lay down a schedule of how and when these bachelors will be contacted, and another schedule for collecting and standardizing the recipes. Most bachelors are not going to sit down and produce a word-processed document, so that means recording equipment, cameras and interviews. I have all that, but as I said, the next move is not up to me. Nor have I volunteered anything.
Another change is my music practice. I’ve only learned two tunes in the past few months. I was not expecting that. This also means I have not cornered Arnel and got that all important song list that will make our duo the most novel sound in this town in years. I didn’t say best, I said novel. Neither of our styles is heavy or technical, you know what I mean. Neither of us rely on $50,000 worth of stage gear to keep the audience’s attention, nor do we have that local “look at me” approach. I would describe our style as “infectious innovation”.
The free movie was “Nick & Norah’s Unending Playlist” or something like that. For those who prefer all the budgets, plots and talent of YouTube, this is your puppy. Otherwise, don’t even wait for the re-runs as the more believable weight-loss commercials will distract you. Beyond the bubble-gum gross-out scenes, the most remarkable item is an unusual surname in the credits: “Motherslaugh”. This movie strains to include every known Hollywood cliché except teenage divorce. The hero falls for the fatter, dumpier broad, making the movie into science fiction.
Bad scenes include a toe in the ear, featuring a true lizard-foot. How about the humble Jewish broad whose father recorded Hendrix, no less? “But if I take this $400,000 a year job instead of going to Brown, I’m afraid I might like music less than I do now.” (This Triple-Ugly-Duckling-Gag gives away the entire plot.) Another predictable scene had the good sense to back itself with “I Believe in Miracles”, but already I can’t remember the scene.
I’ve got another gripe. When will I learn not to go to the Hollywood library? They have the worst computer section, and I’m not given to stating absolutes. There are roughly 60 books there, none on any programming, that is, mostly user manuals. Books about computer jobs don’t count. In fact if you take away the books that are only a little about computers, I have a better library in our living room.
Unable to find anything on printers, I skimmed through something about the Egyptian Book of the Dead. I thought it might be interesting to learn all that an ancient society knew about death. Instead, it seems to be a book of mystical chants, many of them dialogues with their gods. Here’s a sample; see if you can guess which line I wrote.
“What will you eat?”
“Seven loaves of bread.”
“Who will count them?”
“Well, you dumb ass, if I had not already counted them, how in hell would I know there are seven. You call yourself a god?”
