Misery and magic powers
God, I've lost track of time. I seriously thought it had been more than a month since i'd last been on here, but it's just been two weeks. Of course, two weeks without a computer is like two years for me. I still haven't been able to scare up the money for a new one as all this is coming when every bill ever is due and even though I had about 700 burning a hole in my pocket, I decided to be responsible and pay the bills with it.
Don't weep for me too hard. I should have the money for my new one (which is already picked out and is everything I ever wanted in a computer... that costs less than 500) by next Friday, hopefully sooner.
But I did get my sad little heap to start up today, which is great as I was out of gig pimpin postcards and did not want to redo everything on some other computer that does not have my awesome collection of fonts. I printed up a mess of them, then some cd labels, business cards and backed up everything more... and more... and then more. Basically, if this computer freezes again and makes that beeping noise instead of starting up, I am prepared to say goodbye.
Which is sad because this computer and I have bonded to the point where I can telepathically communicate with it. Why, ever since I spilled oil all over it, there's MAGIC between us! Without even touching it, I can get it to press n, comma, backslash, j, semi-colon... just all kinds of keys continuously, filling up address bars and search boxes and password prompts in a never-ending line! And just by pressing p, I can sometimes bring up a random, mystical projector command that I'd never seen before instead of silly things like making the letter p materialize!!!
Now if only I could make it do things I actually want it to...
Anyway, the psychic link between us is on the fritz right now, but could come back at any time. Just sneaking in a hello. I am working on fic when I can and hope to come back next week with a shitload of updates and will really try to update SOMETHING this very night if this comp doesn't start going all MAGICAL again.
In other news, RIP Lauren Bacall, you gorgeous, whiskey-voiced goddess! Every time a Hollywood Golden-ager passes, I get the nostalgic weeps.
But that's nothing to the pain of Robin Williams...
I never realized how much of my life had been spent with his characters and his energy. Even when I objectively knew a movie he was in was lightly flawed or even bad, I could never actively hate on it. There's something sweet and well-meaning in him that almost forbade it.
That's not to say I couldn't get behind him playing the bad guy. I loath-loved the hell out of him in Insomnia and One Hour Photo. He was just amazingly versatile and, throughout my life, I watched him grow from a risque comic to a family friendly film star to a rather inspiring dramatic actor and, all along, always a sweet, friendly man. I never heard any rude celeb horror stories about him. Even with his drug issues, I never heard that he treated anyone badly. I think he was a sweet, giving man and I can only be sad he didn't see himself the way the rest of the word did. It breaks my heart that he found himself in such a dark place that suicide was the only option he could see.
Now I'm probably going to watch What Dreams May Come and ponder the afterlife and wonder if that film (or Matheson's book) ever entered his mind in all this sad business.
Don't weep for me too hard. I should have the money for my new one (which is already picked out and is everything I ever wanted in a computer... that costs less than 500) by next Friday, hopefully sooner.
But I did get my sad little heap to start up today, which is great as I was out of gig pimpin postcards and did not want to redo everything on some other computer that does not have my awesome collection of fonts. I printed up a mess of them, then some cd labels, business cards and backed up everything more... and more... and then more. Basically, if this computer freezes again and makes that beeping noise instead of starting up, I am prepared to say goodbye.
Which is sad because this computer and I have bonded to the point where I can telepathically communicate with it. Why, ever since I spilled oil all over it, there's MAGIC between us! Without even touching it, I can get it to press n, comma, backslash, j, semi-colon... just all kinds of keys continuously, filling up address bars and search boxes and password prompts in a never-ending line! And just by pressing p, I can sometimes bring up a random, mystical projector command that I'd never seen before instead of silly things like making the letter p materialize!!!
Now if only I could make it do things I actually want it to...
Anyway, the psychic link between us is on the fritz right now, but could come back at any time. Just sneaking in a hello. I am working on fic when I can and hope to come back next week with a shitload of updates and will really try to update SOMETHING this very night if this comp doesn't start going all MAGICAL again.
In other news, RIP Lauren Bacall, you gorgeous, whiskey-voiced goddess! Every time a Hollywood Golden-ager passes, I get the nostalgic weeps.
But that's nothing to the pain of Robin Williams...
I never realized how much of my life had been spent with his characters and his energy. Even when I objectively knew a movie he was in was lightly flawed or even bad, I could never actively hate on it. There's something sweet and well-meaning in him that almost forbade it.
That's not to say I couldn't get behind him playing the bad guy. I loath-loved the hell out of him in Insomnia and One Hour Photo. He was just amazingly versatile and, throughout my life, I watched him grow from a risque comic to a family friendly film star to a rather inspiring dramatic actor and, all along, always a sweet, friendly man. I never heard any rude celeb horror stories about him. Even with his drug issues, I never heard that he treated anyone badly. I think he was a sweet, giving man and I can only be sad he didn't see himself the way the rest of the word did. It breaks my heart that he found himself in such a dark place that suicide was the only option he could see.
Now I'm probably going to watch What Dreams May Come and ponder the afterlife and wonder if that film (or Matheson's book) ever entered his mind in all this sad business.