In an alternate universe
Sometimes I have occasion wonder what would happen if I applied myself. You know, to anything.
But then I think "Sure, but if you're busy applying yourself, then who's gonna save that Bothan convoy from that Interdictor?"
Then I go and play X-Wing.
(The Y-Wing, by the way, is still a DEATH TRAP.)
In other news: Dave's lungs have appeared to have undergone something of a FAIL. There's a lesson here, but try as I might, I can't quite grasp what it might be. Oh wait, I can. SMOKING IS BAD, kids. Don't do it. Seriously.
In other other news, I started as a Publishing Coordinator today. Presumably I coordinated some publishing at some point, although I can't be sure. I certainly coordinated moving to a different desk. Now I have a pretty flash Mac to play with that I am pretty sure would be the envy of some of my Mac-loving friends. I, on the other hand, am in fact not so impressed, but instead still pissed off with the failure of the delete key to delete things. Intuitive. After working with Macs for a year now though, I will admit do miss the F11 function when I get home to the PC. (I'm sure there's a Windows equivalent somewhere, but I haven't bothered to go and find it.)
This evening I have been sitting here as usual, engrossed in what I am doing and merrily typing away, and then being freaked out every time I turn around and see a room with no furniture in it. Then approximately 0.3 seconds later I remember we're moving, and that Karen and her Dad took all that stuff away somewhere else today. It's still mighty strange though, let me tell you.
I may have a plan. Or not. The best clue to its ultimate existence will I suppose be its eventuation, or lack thereof. You can never tell with these things.
Ben away.
But then I think "Sure, but if you're busy applying yourself, then who's gonna save that Bothan convoy from that Interdictor?"
Then I go and play X-Wing.
(The Y-Wing, by the way, is still a DEATH TRAP.)
In other news: Dave's lungs have appeared to have undergone something of a FAIL. There's a lesson here, but try as I might, I can't quite grasp what it might be. Oh wait, I can. SMOKING IS BAD, kids. Don't do it. Seriously.
In other other news, I started as a Publishing Coordinator today. Presumably I coordinated some publishing at some point, although I can't be sure. I certainly coordinated moving to a different desk. Now I have a pretty flash Mac to play with that I am pretty sure would be the envy of some of my Mac-loving friends. I, on the other hand, am in fact not so impressed, but instead still pissed off with the failure of the delete key to delete things. Intuitive. After working with Macs for a year now though, I will admit do miss the F11 function when I get home to the PC. (I'm sure there's a Windows equivalent somewhere, but I haven't bothered to go and find it.)
This evening I have been sitting here as usual, engrossed in what I am doing and merrily typing away, and then being freaked out every time I turn around and see a room with no furniture in it. Then approximately 0.3 seconds later I remember we're moving, and that Karen and her Dad took all that stuff away somewhere else today. It's still mighty strange though, let me tell you.
I may have a plan. Or not. The best clue to its ultimate existence will I suppose be its eventuation, or lack thereof. You can never tell with these things.
Ben away.