It looks like a toy, and has a screen smaller than nine inches—but it runs Linux, surfs the web via WiFi, and as small as the screen is it’s still better than a Palm or smart-phone—plus a full QWERTY keyboard that I can use without a stylus. And it’s a damn sight lighter than a “laptop.”
It won’t make phone calls (actually, it might—if I activate Skype and attach the proper hardware…) but that’s what my cell phone is for.
Updated: Tue 30 Dec 2008 22:58
And now it’s already run out of disk space on the 4GB solid-state drive it came with. So, I’m downloading “Ubuntu EEE”—soon to be rechristened due to trademark issues—to set it up so I’ll be able to have only the stuff on this thing that I want. As pre-configured, it has a whole bunch of shit (and I’m not speaking figuratively, I promise you) nobody needs, that can’t be uninstalled. And with just one anti-virus update the remaining space on the drive has been filled up and it will no longer boot.
But I knew this might be an issue before I got it, so I knew I might need to do this.
Updated: Wed 31 Dec 2008 00:47
If only I’d known how many false starts it would take me to get the installation of this new OS going. It’s underway now though—finally. And hopefully I’ll have better luck managing the drive space now.
Updated: Wed 31 Dec 2008 01:47
Finally!
Updated: Wed 31 Dec 2008 05:16
Of all the ridiculous problems to have with a new operating system, being unable suddenly to use the flash drive Chris gave me to augment the tiny SSD pretty much takes the cake. The new flavor of Linux I installed had some kind of stupid error in one of its basic files that made the system think I don’t have the necessary permissions to use that drive. Internet searches for how to deal with this provided me with good info on what to do, but no hints on how.
God help the Linux n00b, because experienced users sure as fuck won’t. I stumbled on the fix by accident.
I’ve been up 23 hours now. I’ve finally got the toy laptop working again, and able to read and write to the flash drive. I need sleep.
Today I need to try to ship a laptop to a friend, and then see about getting a flat tire fixed on my Bronco.
Fortunately I found out about this flat the day before Christmas (on a previous attempt to ship the laptop—the UPS Store in question was closed that day), rather than the day Chris and I plan to drive home.
Updated: Fri 26 Dec 2008 12:11
Laptop shipped.
Updated: Fri 26 Dec 2008 14:42
Tire errand aborted. The spare seems to be fine, and nobody around here has the right size tire in stock. Finding that out succeeded only in giving me a bad attitude.
Although Heat Miser and Snow Miser have proven to be quite popular, there were a few other Miser brothers considered for the original “Year Without a Santa Claus” Christmas special way back when.
In fact, the first suggestion was to play off of the Rudolph legend and have Santa encounter Fog Miser.
I’m Mister Gray Christmas
I’m Mister Haze
I’m Mister Thirty-Car-Pile-Up-On-The-Interstate
I’m Mister Airport Delays
They call me Fog Miser
Everything that I touch
Disappears in my clutch
I’m too much
The bosses had just a slight problem with the song lyrics for that one. Next up for consideration was Department Store Riot Miser.
<sound of phonograph needle scratching abruptly across vinyl record>
If the lyricist had been quicker with the rhyme we might have gotten a complete verse for Rioty.
Part of the problem was that the idea session was held concurrent with the office Christmas party, so Rankin and Bass ended up having to wade through proposals like Attention-Deficit Miser:
If you want to know why the public is against the automaker bailout, here’s a hint from a previous bailout:
There has been no accounting of how banks spend that money. Lawmakers summoned bank executives to Capitol Hill last month and implored them to lend the money - not to hoard it or spend it on corporate bonuses, junkets or to buy other banks. But there is no process in place to make sure that’s happening and there are no consequences for banks who don’t comply.
“It is entirely appropriate for the American people to know how their taxpayer dollars are being spent in private industry,” said Elizabeth Warren, the top congressional watchdog overseeing the financial bailout.
But, at least for now, there’s no way for taxpayers to find that out.
I chose the title for this post because that’s been the news media’s theme all year. “Don’t question what ‘change’ means—just vote for 0bama!” “Don’t question where the bank bailout money’s going to go—we have to save the economy from instantaneous collapse!”
I’d include “Don’t wait for convincing evidence of global warming—the polar bears are drowning!”—but that one’s been going for years now. In fact, its success (apparently until this year) is probably what convinced them they could get their way with more panic-mongering on other issues.
And of course, only after politicians and the public have already run headlong over the cliff, do we learn that maybe their solution is just making things worse. “So sorry, but don’t distrust us or anything—we’re the most important institution for the preservation of democracy!”
This is why I would rather have a Superfund site adjacent to my property, than learn that there is a “journalist” living in my neighborhood. We have sex-offender registries, why not one for “journalists?”
I actually kind of enjoy writing the beginnings of a big, long blog post about nothing, and then just deleting it all because even I’m not that interested.
Updated: Sat 20 Dec 2008 20:44
On a completely different subject, I will reiterate—seemingly apropos of nothing at all—that I think it is retarded to let oneself be offended merely by what other people think. Take offense at actions, at behavior—but have the decency to leave people the same privacy of their thoughts that you count on while thinking your own.
The first time I got into an argument over whether mere opinion is worthy of taking offense, it was an avowed—and somewhat obnoxious—atheist on the other side of the question, taking offense at the fact other people believe in God. Tonight I am moved to reiterate my views on this because a believer has taken unprovoked offense at the atheism of a friend of mine.
People who act like jackasses offend me regardless of their opinions.
Chris (after looking through catalogs for hours): “That’s a nice smoking jacket, but he doesn’t smoke. And that other one had a hunting jacket I bet he’d like, but he doesn’t hunt.”
Me (from the other room): “Honey, have you seen my windbreaker?”
Those of you who know how I feel about mayonnaise might understand my irritation at learning (via my referral logs) they actually have a foundation—until I realized it’s associated with a clinic.
I knew mayonnaise dependency was a widespread problem, but the way people use it as a beverage here in Coweta County I would have expected the clinic to be based here, not in Minnesota.
I got my Christmas cards written and sent, and even added a little yesterday to the novella (started out as a short story, but I have a way of making short stories long—and of making readers long for shorter stories…). But somehow the last week and a half before Christmas has snuck up on me, and certain people have asked me, twice, for a Christmas want list.
Of course I want a winning Powerball or Mega Millions ticket, but for some reason when I say that everyone just laughs.
Maybe I should address that request to President Jesus.
A lethal encounter in the desert. With a bullet in his back, Caleb fights for his life against the elements, a determined killer, and his own fading strength.
In this, the first of the exercises mentioned here, the challenge is to write a 600-word story from the first-person point of view, but severely limiting the use of the first-person pronoun. The “I” nevertheless has to be important to the story.
Having recently seen I, Robot, I’ve been inspired to write something based on what I see as a more likely evolution of existing technology—one in which robots as conceived by Asimov don’t quite exist.
An attempt to write about my Clearwater characters closer to the present day than in “Play Rough, Fight Dirty.” Much of Wiley’s backstory from this effort translates into “PRFD,” but some is a little different, and I’m not sure whether I want to finish this story.
Prior to the release of Serenity, the studio-hosted Browncoats website hosted a number of contests, including one calling for fans’ versions of the vows said by Zoë and Wash when they were married. I couldn’t settle for merely writing vows—I had to write the whole scene.
