in much the same way that bricks don't
Woe! I was reclining peacefully on the sofa last night watching Eureka, and got a sudden yen to discover where I'd seen the geeky café chef before (answer: the Toyman on Smallville, this series seems to be stuffed with Smallville alumni), and when I tried to switch on Winona she imitated the action of the brick and refused to respond in any way at all. Plugging her into the mains makes absolutely no difference. The ON button simply doesn't do anything. Taking the battery out and putting it back in again also doesn't do anything. I have so little experience with laptopoid objects, I have no bloody idea what's going on. Is there a secret handshake or something similar of which I am blissfully unaware? Help!
I should also add that I'm really enjoying Eureka, which I cheerfully admit is not quality television, but which offers sufficient in quirk, zan, mad science and slightly off-the-wall moments and characters to keep me happy. It also, after a discussion with maxbarners revealed that he and smoczek hated it, vouchsafed me the sizzling insight that tastes in bad/cheesy television or movie are infinitely more personal and individual than those in the good versions. It's wierdly akin to Tolstoy's statement that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." High-quality cultural product has far more norms in common than low-quality: whether or not you buy into a cheesy series is about the particular and personal buttons that it presses, rather than any objective sense of its worth as an artefact. Which is fine by me. I'm defiantly enjoying Eureka, in pretty much the same way that I enjoy puppies and kittens and chocolate éclairs.
And, while we're mentioning the Russians, however tangentially, last night I dreamed that I was a small boy escaping an oppressive Russian regime with the assistance of friendly townsfolk, who put me on a train with my giant trunk. This turned out to have been filled, behind my back, with young men being smuggled out of the country, which I assisted by carefully covering them with my coat and wiring the trunk shut. Dream-history does not relate whether they escaped or not, but I don't think I was stopped or searched. Also, I'm tending to blame China Miéville.
I should also add that I'm really enjoying Eureka, which I cheerfully admit is not quality television, but which offers sufficient in quirk, zan, mad science and slightly off-the-wall moments and characters to keep me happy. It also, after a discussion with maxbarners revealed that he and smoczek hated it, vouchsafed me the sizzling insight that tastes in bad/cheesy television or movie are infinitely more personal and individual than those in the good versions. It's wierdly akin to Tolstoy's statement that "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." High-quality cultural product has far more norms in common than low-quality: whether or not you buy into a cheesy series is about the particular and personal buttons that it presses, rather than any objective sense of its worth as an artefact. Which is fine by me. I'm defiantly enjoying Eureka, in pretty much the same way that I enjoy puppies and kittens and chocolate éclairs.
And, while we're mentioning the Russians, however tangentially, last night I dreamed that I was a small boy escaping an oppressive Russian regime with the assistance of friendly townsfolk, who put me on a train with my giant trunk. This turned out to have been filled, behind my back, with young men being smuggled out of the country, which I assisted by carefully covering them with my coat and wiring the trunk shut. Dream-history does not relate whether they escaped or not, but I don't think I was stopped or searched. Also, I'm tending to blame China Miéville.